There is a picture of me with an umbrella when I was about four years old that I always thought was cute. Last night I came across it and thought that my four year old son might appreciate this picture of his "mommy" at around the same age he is now. Well, yet again I was reminded of how sentimentality is so personal and individual when later I found the framed picture discarded on the floor. Since this memory of mine didn't seem to be super impressive to his four year old brain, it told me that this picture is probably most dear to me, and only me. It obviously wasn't super-special to my parents since it ended-up at my home at some point, and I'm doubting that my husband finds much joy in the daily viewing of his wife's baby pictures. So, to my side of the bedroom it went. I figure if I'm the only one that really enjoys looking at myself as a small child, then I'll gaze on it each morning when I wake. :)
This topic is one of sensitivity for me as I ponder what I should do with the forgotten memories of my family members that have passed-on, along with those still with us. As one full of emotion and sentiment, it hurts deep inside to discard memories that can never be replaced. But why? If my father didn't feel the need to keep his high school or college yearbooks, then why is it that I have a hard time letting them go? What to do with the guest book from my great aunt's wedding, a woman that I never knew?
As my generation has matured, my siblings and I have found ourselves in possession of photos and items from our childhood that were once being treasured by our parents and grandparents, but seem to have lost their value as we have aged. Is there an expiration date on how long your "cute" items remain as such? Why is it now that we are parents ourselves that we are being returned what seem to be the majority of any items reminding our own parents that we once were youngsters ourselves? Is this all a great cycle, making room for the grandchildren's things as now there are new baby pictures to display?
I once spent a few very long nights up in the wee hours, doing my best to put together photo albums for various family members as Christmas gifts. It occurred to my sister and me while working on this project that it was easier to organize photos during this time in our lives than it would have been years earlier. Now you knew not to include photos of this family member in that one's album, and vice versa. Divorce seems to have that one benefit...parents still together might view one photo album as a small gift for the both of them. Divorced parents mean two houses, two albums, two gifts. After putting such devoted efforts into this project, expectations for the recipients' reactions were high. Needless to say, when one recipient reacted with less than favorable emotion at seeing the "old pictures," it hurt.
Why is it I constantly feel like Jo from Little Women? You would think a young woman of my age and status in life would not still feel so tied to the past, much less so negatively. I've married, weathered considerable troubles within my marriage, birthed two beautiful children, and now stand poised for their school years. Why, why, why am I still troubled by what seem like unbreakable bonds to still lingering questions and injuries of the past???
I'm still struggling, very obviously, with how to respectfully honor my elders and their memories, and also with what I do with my own. Now that my baby pictures are no longer of any joy to my parents, do I just keep them to gaze upon for myself? Will one day down the road my children have any interest in such items, or will they show the same disinterest as when they were toddlers? Has our digital world eliminated the value of "old pictures?"
I welcome comments, especially to this post. I know I'm not alone in my sentimental world, yet this particular topic makes me feel very much so. Here I remain, growing up.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
Building a Mystery
Anyone that's read my previous entries knows that I have struggled with my paternal relationship and feelings surrounding my father for many years. Today I wish to explore that part of my growing up a little deeper as I find myself again attempting to rebuild broken bonds with my father and his wife.
There is a song that I hear on the radio by The Zac Brown Band called "Highway 20 Ride." This song really caught my attention due to the subject matter and perspective of the estranged father. I've spent many selfish years as a daughter looking for perfection in a man that isn't perfect, when I am obviously not a perfect daughter or mother. This song is written for a son by his father, the father desperately trying to explain all of the heartache that he feels being away from his son.
The listener is able to gain from this song that the father cares so much for his son that he makes a long drive every other weekend in order to have just a small amount of time with his beloved child. It's been a song that I hear at the most needed of times, almost like the radio DJ knows that it's time to play this one for Jenn. I heard it when my friend lost her daughter as I was on the way south to be with the family during a very tragic time. On arrival at my destination, a long time family friend reminded me again of what a wonderful and devoted father I have.
Every time this family friend has commended my father for his job raising myself and my siblings, I have a bitter feeling inside. Sure, the trips and activities seemed great from the outside perspective, but what about everything else? What about the support that I needed so many times that just didn't seem to be there? Now, at 30, it's starting to make sense to me.
No, my father isn't perfect now. No, he wasn't perfect during my formative childhood years. I have set my expectations too high, though, and have not appreciated what I do have in a father. A voice mail message that I can't bring myself to delete that says, "I love you so much." Something I know I've taken for granted all of these years. "Of course my father loves me," I've often thought to myself. What I know now, however, is that he doesn't have to say so. He says this because he needs to.
He didn't have to pick us up for the weekend visits, nor did he have to take us places. As children, we expect so much. My four year old has developed a habit of asking me daily what "prize" I have brought him home. What he doesn't understand at his age (yet) is that not every day brings a prize. What I didn't understand as a child was that not every father goes to the trouble and expense to take his children to the beach, the mountains, the amusement parks...all of those wonderful things that we did growing up and just expected.
As my father's health is so obviously in decline, I find myself regretting the relationship never being more developed than it is today. Will I know the answers to questions posed by my children about their grandfather? We have already lost my father-in-law, also a man that remains a mystery to me in so many ways. I want for my sons to know their grandfather in this life while we still have him here with us, and I want for them to remember him fondly when he is gone.
I feel so strongly that my father not only loves me and the rest of the family, but also would love to know us better. I would like to know him better. How? That is the simple yet troubling question that I find myself facing at this point in life. Visits are costly with our current fuel prices, and phone conversations are difficult with modern phone service being no better than what we all know it to be. So...letters? Maybe that's the answer. I'm not sure how well the responses could be written with the paralyzing stroke leaving its mark on my father since last year, but it's worth a shot. :)
There is a song that I hear on the radio by The Zac Brown Band called "Highway 20 Ride." This song really caught my attention due to the subject matter and perspective of the estranged father. I've spent many selfish years as a daughter looking for perfection in a man that isn't perfect, when I am obviously not a perfect daughter or mother. This song is written for a son by his father, the father desperately trying to explain all of the heartache that he feels being away from his son.
The listener is able to gain from this song that the father cares so much for his son that he makes a long drive every other weekend in order to have just a small amount of time with his beloved child. It's been a song that I hear at the most needed of times, almost like the radio DJ knows that it's time to play this one for Jenn. I heard it when my friend lost her daughter as I was on the way south to be with the family during a very tragic time. On arrival at my destination, a long time family friend reminded me again of what a wonderful and devoted father I have.
Every time this family friend has commended my father for his job raising myself and my siblings, I have a bitter feeling inside. Sure, the trips and activities seemed great from the outside perspective, but what about everything else? What about the support that I needed so many times that just didn't seem to be there? Now, at 30, it's starting to make sense to me.
No, my father isn't perfect now. No, he wasn't perfect during my formative childhood years. I have set my expectations too high, though, and have not appreciated what I do have in a father. A voice mail message that I can't bring myself to delete that says, "I love you so much." Something I know I've taken for granted all of these years. "Of course my father loves me," I've often thought to myself. What I know now, however, is that he doesn't have to say so. He says this because he needs to.
He didn't have to pick us up for the weekend visits, nor did he have to take us places. As children, we expect so much. My four year old has developed a habit of asking me daily what "prize" I have brought him home. What he doesn't understand at his age (yet) is that not every day brings a prize. What I didn't understand as a child was that not every father goes to the trouble and expense to take his children to the beach, the mountains, the amusement parks...all of those wonderful things that we did growing up and just expected.
As my father's health is so obviously in decline, I find myself regretting the relationship never being more developed than it is today. Will I know the answers to questions posed by my children about their grandfather? We have already lost my father-in-law, also a man that remains a mystery to me in so many ways. I want for my sons to know their grandfather in this life while we still have him here with us, and I want for them to remember him fondly when he is gone.
I feel so strongly that my father not only loves me and the rest of the family, but also would love to know us better. I would like to know him better. How? That is the simple yet troubling question that I find myself facing at this point in life. Visits are costly with our current fuel prices, and phone conversations are difficult with modern phone service being no better than what we all know it to be. So...letters? Maybe that's the answer. I'm not sure how well the responses could be written with the paralyzing stroke leaving its mark on my father since last year, but it's worth a shot. :)
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