Library of Maternal Nagging

I want you to know that you won't have to hide your sweater vests from me.

Fri, 23 Mar 2012 10:00:00 -0500

So I just read this thing about how Mark Wahlberg is going to remove his tattoos because he doesn’t want his kids follow in his footsteps.

*snicker*

The best thing you can do to keep a kid from getting inked? Give them some parents with ink.

Your father and I, at first glance, seem like a nicely matched pair … we got a cute little alterna-rock-hip-hop thing going on. Both fairly liberal about life and tats and piercings and the like. We both occasionally sound like lost members of Public Enemy.

Fuck you, Monsanto.

Anyhow, what this means is that you’re going to grow up and be Alex P. Keaton.

Or not.

But either way, I’m not going to change this part of who I am.

I had to give up all my favorite curse words for you, because that is behaviour that you will copy. Because you are very small. But when you turn into a teenager, all you will want to do is add a little distance between the way I see life and the way you live yours.

But mostly, kids don’t just run out and copy their parents. And given all the tats and piercings that my generation has, the true act of rebellion will be NEVER doing it. And that’s okay. I will love the daylights out of your pure, untouched, uninked, unpunctured skin. And you may do vice versa.

On April 29th, I’m reading at Listen To Your Mother...

Thu, 22 Mar 2012 12:00:06 -0500

On April 29th, I’m reading at Listen To Your Mother Austin. I’m in an elite sorority. Here’s “Mother-F@%er” by Jenica Bergere.

On April 29th, I’m reading at Listen To Your Mother...

Wed, 21 Mar 2012 12:03:47 -0500

On April 29th, I’m reading at Listen To Your Mother Austin. I’m in an elite sorority. Here’s “Mother-F@%er” by Jenica Bergere from LTYM 2011.

I want you to know that I am going to freak your grandmother out.

Tue, 20 Mar 2012 10:00:05 -0500

I want you to know that I am going to freak your grandmother out.:

I’m reading a little bit my childhood in front of like 300 people. The bit where your Hey Lady taught me to fight.

Okay kid, I finally figured out what you can glean from the death of my absentee father who loved me.

Mon, 19 Mar 2012 10:00:00 -0500

I think I finally know what I want you to learn from my father’s death. Which is funny because I have made like, three billion posts but just NOW figured out what I have to say.

I’ve been putting together some pieces of my father.

Since my mother’s mother died, like 20 years ago, my mom and dad have been having these deep conversations. Far deeper than anything that they had had as teenagers.

It came from the fact that my dad started thinking about my mom’s mom. And how she was such a gentle person, that he suddenly realized that we were not holding daily Joe Joe bashing sessions. He said that he realized that we just weren’t that kind of people.

And since then, he has come around my mother’s family freely. Whenever I came to town, he would come over.

But the key part about my dad that I missed?

HE GAVE A FUCK WHAT PEOPLE SAID ABOUT HIM. Totally news to me. My father was my own personal Honey Badger, going about his life, not giving a shit what anybody says.

The thought of what somebody might have said was enough to send him scurrying away? Really?

And then I pull up a memory of my mom telling me that my father dropped out of high school, partially because the kids made fun of his clothes.

Hmm …

Then I talked to Nette. My father’s sister, Nette has a loving husband. They raised a wonderful daughter. My father was a little puzzled by how she managed to do this, this marriage that still ends phone calls with, “I love you.’ She told me that he asked her about that. How that happened. How she performed this magic trick?

I didn’t know about that until after he died. When he was alive, I’d only noticed that he’d begun to incorporate a little of that in his calls. He would tell me he loved me. Just tossed that in at the end of a call. I thought it was odd, but never really knew all the backstory.

My father also admitted to my mother that he thought that cheating was just what men did. They got married and had girlfriends and did what they pleased. That was all that he ever saw. And he now knew that this was wrong.

Do you remember the post where I told you when I cannot be myself, I am Claire Huxtable? My father was going through a gigantic version of that, but he never believed that he could be Cliff. He didn’t have much to recreate that character from.

My father didn’t know what to do with this flock of women he made. I am convinced that Joe thought that he had at least a few more tomorrows with us. But he did not. He had a heart attack while he was getting dressed.

So. Here is what I have figured out:

Joe, in his way, has been trying to apologize to me for the past 20 years. It was glacial, but it was there.

That daily choreography I have talked about? Part of the reason it is a key part of love is because it forces you to find a way to talk to each other. To understand. To have some clue as to what might hurt this person’s feelings.

I am going to fail you, Boy-Boy. Some days I am not patient enough when you pop out of bed for the 78th time to say something COMPLETELY INSANE and I have a reaction that is way out of proportion. Like last night? When I threw a tantrum and then threatened to chop off my own finger if you wouldn’t QUIT TOUCHING ME WITH YOUR PEE PEE HANDS? Not my finest parenting moment. But you know what? I’m going to battle back as fast as I can..

And that failing won’t be your only memory of me. You are going to remember the times that I got on my horse and set the world aflame on your behalf. You will remember a time when I understood you when no one else did. You will know how to approach me with good and bad and difficult topics.

I don’t have any of that with Joe. We don’t understand each other.

Which is why I had no idea I was looking at a 20-year apology. He was trying to tell me, without the actual words, that he was sorry. But he didn’t know how to say that, nor did he know what to say after that.

He didn’t know that I needed him to say, “I sucked as a father, but I’m going to try. I cannot say that I will call exactly on your birthday, because I’m out of the habit. But I think of you often and I want things to be different.”

Not showing up when he said that he would was the thing that I always held up as proof that my father was, indeed, a bad father. I couldn’t see that he had been coming through for me, in his own way, for far longer that the years he had disappointed me. I couldn’t reset.

I couldn’t process the fact that he came to see me every time I came to Alabama. He showed up when he said he would. He brought my brother to my mother’s sister’s house when there was an emergency. He was a pallbearer at my grandmother’s funeral. And he bought you a toy truck.

And you know what? I love the shit out of that truck.

So what I want you to learn from this whole month of February? The ten days it took to bury my father? The calls between me and your aunts and uncles and my mom and my half-sisters?

I want you to learn recognize a 20-year apology when you see one.

But most of all, I want you to learn how important it is to try your damndest to NEVER have to give one.

"We can play with Thomas and Henry after-later."

Mon, 27 Feb 2012 00:03:54 -0600

““We can play with Thomas and Henry after-later.””

- You. You never say that something will occur later. It is always “after-later.” I love how you play with words.

I want you to know that I am figuring out what a 'we' looks like.

Tue, 21 Feb 2012 10:00:05 -0600

My sisters and brother and I are now this newly formed unit. WE. We are going to do things. Right after my father died, it was blowing my mind that WE could be called upon to do things together.

We.

Like all this time we had been one cohesive, nuclear family unit instead of a bunch of electrons.

Our first task was the funeral. To just be present. And we did it. For the first time EVER, all eight of us were in the same room together.

Even your aunt Shae who had had her first baby the day after Joe died. I have to tell you that this wouldn’t have been possible for me, as I had gone and sprained my vagina. I would have had to ichat the funeral. So I am in awe that she arrived, upright, with husband and baby in tow.

Our second task as brothers and sisters has been materializing slowly over the past few days.

The second task is to remember what ‘we’ used to look like. Then figure out what it could look like tomorrow.

What happens without our dad in the picture to hold us, however loosely, together?

I want you to know that you never know what the last conversation will sound like.

Fri, 17 Feb 2012 12:00:05 -0600

MY FATHER: (on the phone) What are you doing?

ME: Driving home.

MY FATHER: … you? You’re driving?

ME: Yah. I got my license when I was 30.

MY FATHER: (big, wheezy, man-giggle) I have never seen you drive. Ever.

ME: Huh … I never drive when I come to Alabama. I’ll have to drive you somewhere next time I come. NOW CALM DOWN AND STOP YELLING AT PEOPLE AND WORKING ON HOUSES OR I’M GOING TO TELL YOUR SISTER ON YOU.

That was the last conversation I had with your grandfather.

If I am not careful, my conversations with you could be an unbroken stream of maternal horror and directives. “OH MY GOD! GET OUT OF YOUR NOSE! NO! NO! NO! SIT OWN! STAND UP! PUT THAT DOWN! DO. NOT. HIT. THAT. BUTTON. DON’T THROW THAT OUT THE WINDOW! WASH YOUR HANDS! LAWD HAVE MERCY JESUS I DO NOT NEED HELP TAKING A BATH.”

I always make sure to calm down and tip the day’s conversation ratio toward the positive. I have turned into your own personal Oprah. I ask what you’re doing. How you feel? I tell you things that you did so very well today. I ask if you remember things. I ask what you want to do tomorrow. We make plans. I tell you jokes. You tell me jokes. We read. I ask your opinion.

Because with you, I am hyper aware. No matter how right I am, I would hate for our last conversation to to be “DO NOT PEE ON THE PLUNGER. IT IS NOT THE URINE BEACON.”

But you never know when that last conversation will be.

My last talk with my dad was pretty good.

Your Great Aunt ‘Nette told me later that your grandfather thought it was the funniest thing ever, that I was going to “tell” on him.

I was going to tell on him, too. When your grandfather got too worked up, ‘Nette would send their other sister, your Great Aunt Pat over to his house to pray over him ALL DAY.

Your grandfather used to complain that if Pat ran out of annointing oil, she would use up all his Crisco. So he would simmer down and behave.

I know that my heart was light afterwards, because I had decided that the next time I came to Alabama I was going to rent a Mercedes and go drive him around.

Just so he could see me drive.

I want you to know that I wrote this right after my father died and I ended up drawing the delicate fatherly lines.

Thu, 16 Feb 2012 12:48:39 -0600

I was driving somewhere and I was thinking that I would rather not die anytime soon. Especially not on the way to his funeral. Because the first motherfucker that starts to draw delicate little fatherly lines between me and him … the first motherfucker that says Now they’re together in heaven … that motherfucker? I’m going to make my cremated ashes fill that motherfucker’s mouth and CHOKE HIM TO DEATH.

And now, two weeks later? I’m that motherfucker.

I want you to know that I was wrong, and I was right.

Thu, 16 Feb 2012 10:58:00 -0600

I was wrong. My father dying is not at all like if Spike Lee died.

The world is a different place when someone that loves you dies. This is crazy to me: Next time I land in Alabama, my father will not come to see me.

There was a comfort in the fact that my father was out in the world, doing the things that he does. All my life, I knew he was out there, somewhere, laughing. He was out there working on a house. He was turning a curse word into taffy, sheeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. He was assuming that I was okay but not actually checking. He was at Krystal’s with his morning crew. He was somewhere, out there, not calling on my birthday.

And now he is not out there. He is not anywhere.

I have told you about all the times he stood me up as a kid. But he has never, ever failed to see me for the past 20 years.

He ALWAYS came to see you, with a toy in his hand that he was really hoping that you would love.

I am left wondering what is the worst that could have happened if I had let go of my private punishment? If I’d ambushed him with the daughter that I wanted to be, would that have made him the father that I wanted?

Maybe. Or I could have been disappointed again. Is that the worst thing in the world? Or is this?

But I’m okay with my decisions regarding your grandfather. I did the best I could with what I felt. My instinct was to protect myself from further damage and that is what I did. Making a fist meant that no one could hurt me, but no one could take my hand, either.

What I was right about, was mourning the daughter that I could have been. But I didn’t realize how sad I would be to see her go.

Your grandfather, Joe Steele is still a contact in my phone.

I am still in his, I’m sure. Not in the highfalutin’ HTC I bought him. He couldn’t figure out how to work it, even after consulting with Laptop.

Laptop is my father’s friend, not an actual laptop, by the way.

When Laptop couldn’t fix it, your grandfather demanded that your Uncle Eric bring him his ancient Cingular flip phone piece of crap and that is what he used.

The last time I saw that phone, was in his bedroom on his dresser. I am supposed to call the phone company and turn it off. But I haven’t.

I can still make it ring.

Photo

Wed, 15 Feb 2012 16:25:58 -0600

I want you to know what happened during the ten days it took to bury my father.

Mon, 13 Feb 2012 12:00:00 -0600

So.

I did the thing that I said that I would never do. I was daughterly to my father.

I called every major phone company. I threatened and begged and renegotiated my father’s cell phone bill. I figured out a mystery charge on his bill. I got him a free new phone with a bright screen. I made it so he could receive photo and video missives from his grandson’s fan club. His bill would be thirty dollars cheaper. I paid the bill he owed.

This is a daughterly thing. Daughterly things, in my mind were reserved for my mother. My mother does motherly things. My father did not do fatherly things. And my lack of daughterly responsibility for him was my little revenge.

But this January, I did this rare, daughterly thing for him. It felt good. I tested it many times and found it sound. Not too much. No major cost to me. No regret.

And in a plot twist worthy of a Lifetime movie, my father died on February 1.

I have this amazing ability to detach from my body. Anything too big or too sad or even too happy, sends me immediately into a chapter of John Berger’s Ways Of Seeing. I am impartially piloting myself across the room, watching myself from afar. Pain, impact, scratches to this body are all inconsequential.

It’s a very useful tool for keeping my head when others lose their shit.

I have tried, in several situations to climb back inside and feel. It doesn’t work. Then I think about me thinking about pain and the echo effect dampens the whole thing until it is clinical. Not emotional.

“We’re going to all get together tonight and talk about what we’re going to do,” said my sister. I repeated that to myself over and over again. It was a little obsessive. I used different inflections. I picked through each word.

“We’re going to all get together tonight and talk about what we’re going to do.”

“We’re going to all get together tonight and talk about what we’re going to do?”

“WE are going to get together … what we’re going to do.”

The idea of the eight of us ever doing anything together was blowing my mind a little bit. All eight of us have never been in the same room together. A few of us have launched minor initiatives to annoy our father. Hide all his guns. Critique the state of his underwear. Nothing major. And now WE are going to plan and execute our father’s funeral and burial.

“We’re going to all get together tonight and talk about what we’re going to do.”

The concept of it made me get stuck with one foot inside and one foot out of my body. The only emotion I was mustering up was confusion. But a huge, hiccuping confusion that kept sending me into this odd repetitive loop.

“We’re going to all get together tonight and talk about what we’re going to do.”

Are we? Should we? How would that happen? WE? As in all of us? What would you want me to do. Is this something that I could send the Senior Vice President version of me in to do? Should I? That version is, perhaps, not very likeable in certain situations. It takes a while for a team to gel.

WE would have to do this. We? Should we be doing this? Do we have to? Do I want to? Is this a daughterly thing? I think I need time to decide if I want to do this one. Aren’t his sisters and brothers more qualified? Does he talk about what he would want done with y’all? WE? TALK? TONIGHT?

I spoke to my aunt, my dad’s sister, who was already moving into position to do what must be done. For breaking me out of my programming glitch, I will be forever thankful.

After that, I felt free to retreat and watch how this was going to go down. How was I going to take the death of my mostly absentee father who loved me? I was just as curious as everyone else.

This story is going to have to be broken into several posts. I’m writing this on Sunday. The funeral is Saturday. And I’m going to be a coward and not post anything until after that. But I’m also not going to change any of the content either.

Also? I have NO IDEA what lesson I want you to get from this whole thing.

Be a good father or your daughter will blog about you?

Maybe I want you to know me better? Or to understand that family can be complicated?

I don’t have a neat bow for this yet. But whatever this is, I suspect that it is a gift. And it is mostly just important that I give it to you.

I want you to know that you’re on childrenwithswag, thanks...

Mon, 06 Feb 2012 12:00:06 -0600

I want you to know that you’re on childrenwithswag, thanks to DJ I WANNA BE HER.

Son, you’ve got style. The Internet says so.

I want you to do this for me, if necessary.

Wed, 25 Jan 2012 12:00:06 -0600

I want you to do this for me, if necessary.:

These boys lost their mom in an accident eight years ago. She got a flat tire, her Ford Explorer rolled over and killed her. They made a video to raise awareness and the footage of their mom playing with them as toddlers KILLS me. She’s beautiful, the boys are adorable and she is so free with her love, feeling that she has at least eighty more years to give and get. And she didn’t.

The other day I watched X-men: First Class and I tweeted that I would feel okay with you putting a quarter DEAD THROUGH somebody’s head to avenge my death. I have changed my mind. Find a way to save other moms.

And if necessary, put a quarter dead through somebody’s head.

Could you provide us with a list of your stories..? Ad you're my source of virtual mama too (: I love your blog

Sat, 21 Jan 2012 20:42:00 -0600

Thank you so much. My mother needs more grandchildren. One is not enough. She will totally take virtual ones. And I don’t know why I never thought to do this for Amsden.

But here’s a few short stories from The Chicago Reader … BANG and POW!

I want you to know that you are SO my kid.

Wed, 18 Jan 2012 10:00:05 -0600

ME: Did you just poot?
YOU: Nooooo. I TOOTED!
Laughter from your father and I.
YOU: I want some Old McDonald's (that's what you call McDonald's) and some SOCKS!

I want you to know how to make quantum leaps.

Tue, 17 Jan 2012 10:00:05 -0600

My mother used to have these deep conversations with me, because she didn’t know what else to talk about. I remember long talks on topics like transcendental meditation, and abortion. Thus, I have no skills at small talk.

COCKTAIL PARTY GOER: So … nice weather here in Austin.

ME: What? You’ll never get my gun unless you pry it out of my hot little Marc Jacobs clutch. Also, Palestine. Discuss.

She would always talk about what her next plans were for our lives together. Every now and then, she would talk about making a quantum leap. A quantum leap is a really giant step forward.

When I came to live with her when I was 12, she worked as a cab dispatcher in Detroit. By the time I left, five years later, she was in charge of the Charlotte, North Carolina site of the largest financial printer in the country.

Quantum leaps are made by figuring out where you want to go, and then figuring out how to skip some steps to get there.

There is a certain order that is suggested in life. College. Then little, entry level job Then a little bigger. Then, if you are deemed worthy? A small increase in title. Maybe a little more money.

I kinda have to say, Fuck that.

Figure out how you can make big steps.

My boy, quantum leaps are on my mind all the time right now. I asked the universe to help me. To give me ideas. To give me energy to carry out some plans. And the universe is answering.

Hang on tight, little one. I knew since I smelled you, that you would be my rocket fuel.

Go here and vote for Library Of Maternal Nagging, pleeeeeease?

Mon, 16 Jan 2012 12:01:06 -0600

Go here and vote for Library Of Maternal Nagging, pleeeeeease?

I want you to know how much fun I have traveling with you and...

Wed, 11 Jan 2012 12:00:05 -0600

I want you to know how much fun I have traveling with you and daddy.

I want you to know that you gave me the most amazing compliment I ever got.

Wed, 11 Jan 2012 10:00:05 -0600

YOU: Mama. You look wonna-full. Just wonna-full.

ME: Did he just say that I look wonderful?

DERRICK: Mama does look cute.

YOU: NO. Wonna-full.

ME: Thank you, baby. Do you want to drive mommy's car to Toys R Us?