I once again apologize for not posting in awhile. I’ve had so much I intended to share, but none of it feels quite right today.  

So, instead, I’m going off track (but I promise I’ll get back to the fun bits next time around): For whatever reason, I feel the need to share glimpses of the people who raised me.  All three of my parents were children in Europe during WW2.  My biological parents were in different parts of Germany — my mother from the north, my father from the south (neither of them Jewish, which provided them with a privilege too many were denied).  My stepfather, who legally adopted me (and whose name is still part of my own), lived in the Italian alps.  They all witnessed and experienced things young me could never understand, but that didn’t stop them from sharing stories about bodies in rivers, soldiers on meat hooks, or a phobia of lightning because it brought back the blitzkriegs.   Their formative years were malnourished. They grew to be adults in the aftermath of war under the suffocating tarp of guilt and blame. All three of them had their own reasons for immigrating to America: their common denominator was the American dream. Like our founding fathers, they escaped their past to build their version of a better future.

Unfortunately, since they never truly acknowledged or processed their trauma, they did not fully grow past it. They brought with them the hurt, the blame, and a skewed sense of what was right and what was wrong. They not only denied some ugly truths, but they also embraced them as normal.

All three of them drank too much. My biological father also loved the drugs, and quite frankly he loved to hate. All three philandered (how hungry they were for love and how inept they were at knowing what it truly was).  They had this driving force to succeed, equating it with things and accolades, not really knowing what they truly needed to feel successful.  They lived loudly — in laughter and insults. Our home was always so full of food and noise — fun and fights.

They continually reminded we children of how lucky we were — and of how spoiled and ungrateful we were (and, yeah, that bit was true).  They bought us so much, all the new that the 70s and 80s provided, and then, I think, they’d be overwhelmed at how truly blessed we were to be born into this childhood. It brought out petty behaviors I didn’t understand and a distrust for us, as if we were the enemy.  I sometimes hoped for a war, so that I could prove to my parents that I had what it took to get through it — and I would not be as angry or unfair or whatever it was that I didn’t like as them.  I’d come through it with a hero’s halo because I’d be the light that saved my loved ones.

What a weird thing for little me to imagine —  and I now wonder if little them had hoped to do the same.

My fathers have passed, and my mother has moved on to her new phase in life.  She’s found Jesus and is focused on the goings on of her church.  The last time we spoke (which has been a long while ago), her view of tolerance and forgiveness was not quite what I envision those words to mean, but perhaps she is on the path that will bring more peace and love into her life. I truly do wish that for her.

I share these bits of sepia because in some ways I’m finding them metaphorical for my country. 

We are most certainly at a time where mistakes of the past are quickly molding what our tomorrow might be. Our present reminds me of my parents fighting over things that were excuses or lies that shielded truths they chose to ignore. Sure they found their way through businesses, homes, nice things, but oh my goodness there was also a lot of damage along the way. Their children, with mixed results, are long past childhood carving their way through adulthood. Two of us have debilitating mental health issues while three of us lead seemingly normal lives (not to say there is no fuckupedness). There are more of us, but we’ve led separate lives since birth (philandering comes at a cost).

There is also much to admire about my parents. They dared to take risks and go beyond what was expected of them. They explored. They questioned. They hoped. They persevered. And, in their war-torn way, they loved. They did not want to wound their children, nor is that all that they passed on to us. Our strengths are also a continuation of theirs.

My stepfather, who gave up his citizenship to become American, demanded that my siblings and I do the work, that we learn all sides of an issue, that we know our history and our constitution. He abandoned his country for ours because he believed our government was designed to protect its people — especially from its own people (his native country, by anti example, taught him the value of that). He was not the most open-minded or accepting person, but I cannot imagine him supporting the way our country is going. He respected our institutions and expected them to abide by our laws and doctrine (not because he trusted people, but because he trusted our checks and balances). He believed that our foundation was built to protect us from ourselves.

I agree with my parents that I was incredibly lucky to be born into the life they made for us (despite all that I did not understand). I’ve been given, and earned, so much worth treasuring. I most certainly no longer wish for war to prove my worth (why do we attribute battling violence to heroics?). The beauty in my childhood was never in the fight; it was always around the table when we ate amazing meals and laughed because of our wit.

We are such an odd society that bans and pulls together, that marvels and laughs, but then turns on itself. It’s like we just can’t allow ourselves to truly enjoy what we were born into. Will history show that we, as a nation, chose to ignore truths to cling to our blame? Or, do we figure it out and attempt to mold a future that frees our children from the turmoil we’ve normalized with our untruths?

That’s a lot for me to dump on you in a post that promised love. But, I do share these bits with love and hope, which is a result of the best gift my parents passed on to me: the ability to find light beyond the dark. Others have taught me that is love and to never stop shining it. No wars or heroics or halos needed. (now let’s get to work, hold ourselves accountable, and chisel away at that blame/deflect/destroy thing)