![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jadedmusingsDay 03 - Your Parents
Well, this is going to be a short entry. Maybe.
Really, there isn't a whole lot to say about my parents, at least not a lot that I'll speak about publicly with too much detail. It's not hard to look through this journal or to read comments I've made to learn a bit about them.
My father passed away two years ago from pancreatic cancer. He was an ex-Marine who worked for eighteen years at a chemical plant until a (fourth) back injury forced him into early retirement and onto disability. He had been a chronic pain sufferer for years even before that final fall at work (which was the fault of a contractor doing some work at the plant). Our relationship was kind of a weird one, and if you knew my father, you'd wonder how the hell it was we were related. He was a staunch neo-conservative and would probably be a member of the Tea Party had it been around when he was alive. I dreaded traveling anywhere with him between the hours of twelve and three on a weekday because it meant listening to Rush Limbaugh.
Yeah, he was that kind of conservative. We had an unspoken rule about politics after a while. It always devolved into a fight with my father yelling louder because, apparently, if you spoke at the proper volume it made your point right, even if I could refute him left and right on several issues. So it was just better that we skirted around that subject entirely, unless it was a "safe" zone. He and I had similar ideas about gun control and hunting, things like that, so those were okay to talk about.
Religion was another subject we didn't discuss, thought that was because I always stopped him. He never understood and I never explained my issues with Christianity, mostly because I knew he wouldn't accept that I was pagan. Toward the end, he was a very devout Christian. The irony was that as a very young child I used to ask him why he didn't go to church more often (when he was off work that is). He got mad at me when I refused to go to church with him and when I wouldn't drag the kiddo to church, but at least he didn't press the issue much.
This isn't to say my father was a bad man all around. He had his good points too, though I do have to admit that were he not related to me and not my father, I probably wouldn't cut him as much slack as I am. Take away the politics and religion and he was a pretty decent father, or at least his heart was in the right place even if his actions were kind of bad. He made a lot of mistakes, some of which he did apologize for after I'd moved out and gone off to college. When I got pregnant, he took it in stride. He adored his grandson and loved him with all his heart. In some ways, he was a better grandfather than father, though I like to think it's because he learned a lot from raising me.
As for my mother, she was a former school teacher cum dental hygienist cum attendance supervisor/truant officer. When I was four years old, she was diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia. When I was 16, her diagnosis changed to Bipolar Type II, and her most recent diagnosis is Schizo Affective Disorder. As of 2002 she's been on disability and unable to work since she's not quite able to function well enough to maintain a job any longer.
Her illness is the result of a head injury sustained in a car wreck that happened on the night she found out she was pregnant with me. In fact, she was on her way home from the doctor's office. The only way they knew she was pregnant was because she'd stopped to call my father and give him the good news.
Growing up under the shadow of mental illness was pretty awful and not something I'd wish on anyone. My mother and I have a strange sort of relationship as a result, and in fact, my entire family is really dysfunctional as a whole.
My parents split in June 2001 due mostly in part to my mother's mental illness. The divorce was finalized in 2002. Still, they remained on tense terms and became somewhat friends again when my son was born.
And that's a rather brief description of my parents. It's not something I really enjoy getting into.
The Meme:
Day 01 – Introduction
Day 02 – Your first love
Day 03 – Your parents
Day 04 – What you ate today
Day 05 – Your definition of love
Day 06 – Your day
Day 07 – Your best friend
Day 08 – A moment
Day 09 – Your beliefs
Day 10 – Your physical constitution
Day 11 – Your siblings
Day 12 - Something you feel strongly about
Day 13 – This week
Day 14 – Your education
Day 15 – Your dreams
Day 16 – Your first kiss
Day 17 – Your favourite memory
Day 18 – Your favourite birthday
Day 19 – Something you regret
Day 20 – This month
Day 21 – Another moment
Day 22 – Something that upsets you
Day 23 – Something that makes you feel better
Day 24 – Something that makes you cry
Day 25 – A first
Day 26 – Your fears
Day 27 – Your favourite place
Day 28 – Something that you miss
Day 29 – Your aspirations
Day 30 – One last moment
Well, this is going to be a short entry. Maybe.
Really, there isn't a whole lot to say about my parents, at least not a lot that I'll speak about publicly with too much detail. It's not hard to look through this journal or to read comments I've made to learn a bit about them.
My father passed away two years ago from pancreatic cancer. He was an ex-Marine who worked for eighteen years at a chemical plant until a (fourth) back injury forced him into early retirement and onto disability. He had been a chronic pain sufferer for years even before that final fall at work (which was the fault of a contractor doing some work at the plant). Our relationship was kind of a weird one, and if you knew my father, you'd wonder how the hell it was we were related. He was a staunch neo-conservative and would probably be a member of the Tea Party had it been around when he was alive. I dreaded traveling anywhere with him between the hours of twelve and three on a weekday because it meant listening to Rush Limbaugh.
Yeah, he was that kind of conservative. We had an unspoken rule about politics after a while. It always devolved into a fight with my father yelling louder because, apparently, if you spoke at the proper volume it made your point right, even if I could refute him left and right on several issues. So it was just better that we skirted around that subject entirely, unless it was a "safe" zone. He and I had similar ideas about gun control and hunting, things like that, so those were okay to talk about.
Religion was another subject we didn't discuss, thought that was because I always stopped him. He never understood and I never explained my issues with Christianity, mostly because I knew he wouldn't accept that I was pagan. Toward the end, he was a very devout Christian. The irony was that as a very young child I used to ask him why he didn't go to church more often (when he was off work that is). He got mad at me when I refused to go to church with him and when I wouldn't drag the kiddo to church, but at least he didn't press the issue much.
This isn't to say my father was a bad man all around. He had his good points too, though I do have to admit that were he not related to me and not my father, I probably wouldn't cut him as much slack as I am. Take away the politics and religion and he was a pretty decent father, or at least his heart was in the right place even if his actions were kind of bad. He made a lot of mistakes, some of which he did apologize for after I'd moved out and gone off to college. When I got pregnant, he took it in stride. He adored his grandson and loved him with all his heart. In some ways, he was a better grandfather than father, though I like to think it's because he learned a lot from raising me.
As for my mother, she was a former school teacher cum dental hygienist cum attendance supervisor/truant officer. When I was four years old, she was diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia. When I was 16, her diagnosis changed to Bipolar Type II, and her most recent diagnosis is Schizo Affective Disorder. As of 2002 she's been on disability and unable to work since she's not quite able to function well enough to maintain a job any longer.
Her illness is the result of a head injury sustained in a car wreck that happened on the night she found out she was pregnant with me. In fact, she was on her way home from the doctor's office. The only way they knew she was pregnant was because she'd stopped to call my father and give him the good news.
Growing up under the shadow of mental illness was pretty awful and not something I'd wish on anyone. My mother and I have a strange sort of relationship as a result, and in fact, my entire family is really dysfunctional as a whole.
My parents split in June 2001 due mostly in part to my mother's mental illness. The divorce was finalized in 2002. Still, they remained on tense terms and became somewhat friends again when my son was born.
And that's a rather brief description of my parents. It's not something I really enjoy getting into.
The Meme:
Day 04 – What you ate today
Day 05 – Your definition of love
Day 06 – Your day
Day 07 – Your best friend
Day 08 – A moment
Day 09 – Your beliefs
Day 10 – Your physical constitution
Day 11 – Your siblings
Day 12 - Something you feel strongly about
Day 13 – This week
Day 14 – Your education
Day 15 – Your dreams
Day 16 – Your first kiss
Day 17 – Your favourite memory
Day 18 – Your favourite birthday
Day 19 – Something you regret
Day 20 – This month
Day 21 – Another moment
Day 22 – Something that upsets you
Day 23 – Something that makes you feel better
Day 24 – Something that makes you cry
Day 25 – A first
Day 26 – Your fears
Day 27 – Your favourite place
Day 28 – Something that you miss
Day 29 – Your aspirations
Day 30 – One last moment
