I am grateful for my family and the kind of upbringing I had. What! you must be thinking, Gentle Reader. After everything this wanker has said and written to slag and discredit his own flesh and blood? After all the abuse he claims to have suffered? After the way they rejected, abandoned and ignored him when he was homeless, all except for his father who then turned against him? He now says he's grateful! What is he smoking? I want some, too!
I haven't been smoking a blessed thing, Gentle Reader, neither anything that is not particularly blessed. I have simply been reconsidering some matters and exploring and ruthlessly examining my memory. Before I proceed, let me make one thing perfectly clear: I am not giving my family a pass for their treatment of me. Abuse and bad treatment are just that: they are abuse and bad treatment. That is what I received from my family and this has impacted me something huge. But I don't want the painful memories to eclipse the good that happened.
True, my parents weren't ready to be parents. Dad was twenty-four and Mom was still twenty-one when they got themselves all pregnant and stuff five months before tying the knot. It wasn't a shotgun wedding, but those were still, being the early fifties, different times. They were not well-off and had to live in a series of cheap rentals while waiting for my brother's birth. Property was cheap during those post-war days and almost three years after my own birth in 1956 we were living in a two bedroom bungalow on an acre of land in Richmond. The yard was beautifully landscaped with flowers, trees and fruit trees. There was also a large pasture in the back. It was a semi-rural ambience and we were always playing outside, my brother and I and our many friends. Dad worked hard all day at the collision shop to bring home the bacon. Mom was a fastidious homemaker and kept the house spotless and us well fed with her excellent home cooking. They were rather poorly educated, especially my father, and their values were very conservative, but they did have a lot of common sense which they also through role-modeling imparted to me.
My parents were both decidedly working class. My mother was a German farmer's daughter and my father was the son of a Scottish truck driver. They believed in hard work. Being both children of the Great Depression and World War II they were both geniuses at thrift and economy. Despite my mother's hard exterior she was affectionate when I was little. I remember as a four year old cuddling up to her while she was enjoying a midday nap on the couch, playing with her hair and enjoying the secure warmth of her protective body. My father, despite his drinking, was very self-disciplined and always kept himself decently dressed and groomed, from first thing in the morning till bedtime. He was not even remotely affectionate, but this never felt like a severe lack, and I think this actually helped make me self-reliant. We did a lot of things together as a family and I think this was of great benefit. My older brother taught me how to share. Even though he was very selfish, himself, I had to be generous in order to survive his bad tempers. Living with the bully taught me how to negotiate and how to cooperate.
From my mother, especially, I learned the value of fairness, honesty and transparency.
Because of the trust and freedom they gave me I was already taking long exploratory and often solitary walks when I was but eight years old. The only condition was that I be home in time for dinner. I suppose those were gentler and safer times, but maybe we were just a little more naïve in those days. I also learned incredible stuff about nature during my solitary explorations, being hugely curious with an insatiable desire to learn.
Because my personality was in many ways different from the rest of my family I had to carve out my own existence. They were not able to help or support me because they simply could not understand me, and they were usually the first to admit it. I went my own way at fourteen when I became a Christian. My parents were divorced and this somehow forced me to mature rather quickly. I became a responsible adult at the ripe age of fifteen.
Domestic instability forced me to move out on my own upon completing high school. Ever since then for me it has been normal to be mature, adult and independent.
Of course, there are many things that I have missed because of the challenges of my formative years: not being able to complete post-secondary education, nor being able to ever secure really stable remunerative employment that would also enable me to own my own home. But the strength of the survival ethic I learned from my mother was such that it still kept me going and I have since learned to discover all kinds of secret treasures in everyday life that often appear to remain hidden from others.
I would like to salute my entire family in this blogpost. I do not blame any of you. Things were not perfect but they also could have gone a lot worse. I have survived despite all and I also thank you for the strength that you, unknowingly, imparted to me. This, more than anything, has helped me grow into the person that I am today, to not only survive, but also to thrive.
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