Hmmm.... one of my coworkers just said to me: "Oh John you're always making me laugh, you should have your own blog."
Is that what this is supposed to be for? If it is, I'm admittedly doing a very poor job of being funny lately.
Incidentally, she overheard me say to no one in particular (with reference to a song we were playing on-air) "This song is sooooooooo shitty.... so shitty it sounds brown."
Whatta ya think? Does that make me worthy of writing my very own blog? (which I didn't tell her about) I don't think it was that funny.
I dunno, if I was being judged on it, I would've spruced it up... y'know... like "this song is so shitty... so shitty I can hear the kernels of corn begging for freedom." That's asking a lot of imagery of it's audience though, isn't it?
And no, it's not always about poo with me. It's just more amusing when it is.
In a topic totally unrelated to poo. This movie is REALLY, REALLY GREAT! "Rachel Getting Married" for those of you disinclined to clicky on m'a linky. It's one of those films that will have you feeling a) thankful for your own family or b) wondering how they managed to film your family without you knowing about it. DYSFUNCTION JUNCTION, what's your function? Loved it. But be forewarned, it's NOT a feel-good film whether or not you can identify with any of the mental-patient nuclear family hyjinx contained therein. I saw bits and pieces of my sisters and most certainly my mom in a great deal of the female lead characters, but certainly not to the extremes they were taken for the plot of this movie. The similarities were present though. No doubt about it.
In a topic not completely unrelated to dysfunctional families... today is my mom's birthday.
Oh... and before I forget, I just saw "Religulous" for the second time. (& LoVeD it even more the second time) If you haven't seen it, you should. "Required Viewing" for a very fucked-up world in my opinion.
Showing posts with label my mother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label my mother. Show all posts
Friday, March 13, 2009
Friday, July 06, 2007
Further on the Path
Lately I'm finding that I'm really troubled by philosophical, and existential trains of thought. And I guess a fair bit of it ties in with the fact that I haven't spoken to my mom (the root of all spirituality in my life you could say) since March. Sometimes when I'm out walking the dogs, I have entire conversations with myself about religion and my spiritual beliefs (or lack thereof) just because I truly can't believe that her bible-based convictions are more important to her than a relationship with her own child (or children, since my sisters are affected also by my mom's one-mindedness in other arenas). I'd like to say I'm at peace with where my family ties lay, but I guess I'm not, since it rears it's head every once in a while.
Trust me, I'm not looking for spiritual advice when I say this, but I feel like I have to talk about it anyhow.... It bothers me that I don't really believe in God anymore. That's not to say I don't entertain the notion that God might exist, but I think that's just an oppressive, fearful upbringing talking. To have faith, one must believe. And I simply cannot. There are too many inconsistencies when it comes to religion... imperfect rules written by imperfect beings. All of it conflicting with other faiths. Much of it leading to oppression, strife, wars, and segregation. To me it seems that religion was engineered to keep human beings from coexisting peacefully, and to keep commerce at the forefront of all societies.. the weak and the powerful based on status... when truly we are all the same. I was saying to Ted last night that we (gay people in general) are living proof that something is wrong with the bible. I'm not saying the entire thing is wrong, but I assure you it isn't a "chosen" lifestyle, as many god-fearing Christians put it. So where does that leave homosexuals in the scheme of all things biblical? It's rubbish. If the bible had declared on multiple occasions that people with red hair and freckles (or something equally genetic) were evil it would be just as wrong. But because varying sexual preferences are in the minority, you get a majority calling the shots when they don't understand (nor do they try, since they have some revered book to back them up) the very existence of that minority. How in the world is that balanced, and how could it ever be? I personally have never had a heterosexual thought. Not even the slightest desire for the opposite sex. I don't know how it feels to be heterosexual, and nor do I feel the slightest curiosity about it. But I obviously acknowledge that heterosexuality is the backbone of human existence and evolution. I can recognize and accept the difference without begrudging anyone their biology even without being straight myself. Why is it so hard to wrap one's head around the notion that human beings would have diverse sexuality to accompany all the other diversities that are so blatant??? I think about these things, when I think of my relationship with my mom. A lady who's lived her life the best way she knows how, according to the word of God. And on and on she's plodded, emotionally-crippled... judgemental... and incapable of independent thought... so much so that her own children's "sin" is more than she can cope with. I just shake my head and sigh. And then I stop and feel gratitude that my parents raised me with strong morals and the desire to "do right" and to be kind, and charitable. I'm also incredibly grateful that I am gay, because in retrospect I'd hate to have been straight and blindly following what I was taught to believe without ever stopping to think for myself. There's a lot of humility to be gained from existing as one of the very things you've been raised to believe was evil and wrong. And I do think I'm a better person for it.
Yeah, I could go on. But I won't. I know my blog has become very "gay" as of late, but "Hey"... you write what you know right?
Here's a great quote instead of a song today... Talk to you soon!
I have learned silence from the talkative, toleration from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet strange, I am ungrateful to these teachers.
-Kahlil Gibran
Trust me, I'm not looking for spiritual advice when I say this, but I feel like I have to talk about it anyhow.... It bothers me that I don't really believe in God anymore. That's not to say I don't entertain the notion that God might exist, but I think that's just an oppressive, fearful upbringing talking. To have faith, one must believe. And I simply cannot. There are too many inconsistencies when it comes to religion... imperfect rules written by imperfect beings. All of it conflicting with other faiths. Much of it leading to oppression, strife, wars, and segregation. To me it seems that religion was engineered to keep human beings from coexisting peacefully, and to keep commerce at the forefront of all societies.. the weak and the powerful based on status... when truly we are all the same. I was saying to Ted last night that we (gay people in general) are living proof that something is wrong with the bible. I'm not saying the entire thing is wrong, but I assure you it isn't a "chosen" lifestyle, as many god-fearing Christians put it. So where does that leave homosexuals in the scheme of all things biblical? It's rubbish. If the bible had declared on multiple occasions that people with red hair and freckles (or something equally genetic) were evil it would be just as wrong. But because varying sexual preferences are in the minority, you get a majority calling the shots when they don't understand (nor do they try, since they have some revered book to back them up) the very existence of that minority. How in the world is that balanced, and how could it ever be? I personally have never had a heterosexual thought. Not even the slightest desire for the opposite sex. I don't know how it feels to be heterosexual, and nor do I feel the slightest curiosity about it. But I obviously acknowledge that heterosexuality is the backbone of human existence and evolution. I can recognize and accept the difference without begrudging anyone their biology even without being straight myself. Why is it so hard to wrap one's head around the notion that human beings would have diverse sexuality to accompany all the other diversities that are so blatant??? I think about these things, when I think of my relationship with my mom. A lady who's lived her life the best way she knows how, according to the word of God. And on and on she's plodded, emotionally-crippled... judgemental... and incapable of independent thought... so much so that her own children's "sin" is more than she can cope with. I just shake my head and sigh. And then I stop and feel gratitude that my parents raised me with strong morals and the desire to "do right" and to be kind, and charitable. I'm also incredibly grateful that I am gay, because in retrospect I'd hate to have been straight and blindly following what I was taught to believe without ever stopping to think for myself. There's a lot of humility to be gained from existing as one of the very things you've been raised to believe was evil and wrong. And I do think I'm a better person for it.
Yeah, I could go on. But I won't. I know my blog has become very "gay" as of late, but "Hey"... you write what you know right?
Here's a great quote instead of a song today... Talk to you soon!
I have learned silence from the talkative, toleration from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet strange, I am ungrateful to these teachers.
-Kahlil Gibran
Sunday, December 03, 2006
On the Way to Where I'm Going
I was going to make a post today about all the hurdles in my life that I feel I need to clear, but I think the thing weighing heaviest on my mind is my mother. And maybe if I ramble on a bit about her, I can find some clarity. Whether or not that's "Blog Worthy" I'm not certain, but seeing as how I have only about 3 or 4 faithful readers, it doesn't seem to matter as long as I trust those who are reading, with some of my deepest personal thoughts, which I do.
Anybody who knows me, knows that I do not have a good and healthy relationship with my mother. Even my father once referred to her as a "dogmatic zealot" and that's about as good a place to start describing her as any.
I love my mother. I really do. She has a good and generous heart and rarely ever, does someone meet her and not immediately think she's a sweet lady. She loves her children with a ferocious, and all-consuming concern for their spirituality and the ultimate destination of their souls in the afterlife. It's what goes on in "this" life that my mom isn't so good at handling.
My mother was born (in 1938) during the final phase of the great depression and raised in a family that for all my observation was completely emotionally crippled. My grandfather was an old school man, who worked the railway, deeply and hatefully prejudiced and was of the firm belief that you should never throw any belonging away, boys didn't cry, meat wasn't edible until it was burned to cinders, and you should never leave your house unattended because all the neighbours are thieves. My grandmother was always very sweet to me as a child, but to this day I'm not certain what her relationship was like with her own kids (my mother, aunts and uncle). My mom loved her very much and was with her when she died, but I know my mom also had issues with her that she never spoke about.
That's almost all the history I know about my mom's life aside from a few childhood stories, the most recounted of all being: how she found Jesus in a one-room school-house/church when she was 13 years old. And that was the love-story of her life.
I've always admired her faith and I still do to a degree (of course much more so when I was a child). My dad was not the love of her life, and although I think they did love one another in a co-dependent kind of way, there was more resentment and manipulation to my parents marriage than what I've come to know as a nurturing and respectful love. That's not to say I'm an expert on love, but growing up around behaviour I thought was perfectly normal as a kid, that turns out to be just plain sad when you see it beside the loving relationships that were the backbone of other families, helps you to see what you grew up lacking.
My mom and dad engaged in premarital sex (cue the shocked and appalled audience) when they were in their teens, my mom got pregnant, they were married (in 1954) at 18 and 16 years of age, and my mom miscarried the baby thereafter. So, as sad a summary as that is, it's more tragic to know that with the death of that unborn child the primary reason for their marriage was suddenly gone. It goes without saying that they stayed together of course. After two more miscarriages, my sister Cheryl was born in 1957, and my sister Darlene followed in 1960. (I didn't come along until 1973 when my mom was 35, my dad was 37, and my sisters were 16 and 13 respectively)
Every kid with an evenly remotely loving mother thinks the world of her, and I did. I thought my mom hung the moon for a great portion of my childhood. She was always there for me to take care of every cut and scrape, every school bake sale, every illness I ever had, every bedtime bible story, and every trip to church and Sunday School. In my mind, my mom was the best, and I still think of her fondly when I remember all those things. If there was ever a thing that my mom tried to instill in me it was spirituality and faith in the bible. It was all I knew and being an angelically good (there's not even a hint of sarcasm in that - I was a GOOD child), attentive and smart kid, I followed in her footsteps. And I don't think it was until after my dad's first heart attack that I ever wavered in my good behaviour (not that that event had anything to do with my behaviour - just a benchmark in my own time line). My dad's first heart-attack was in.... (God this post has involved a lot of math) 1981 and I was in Grade 3.
(interruptus grandiosus) I'm in the midst of doing housework and various other tasks today... so I'm going to have to continue this post at another time. Hmmph... and I didn't even get around to my horrible relationship with my mom... imagine that. Well, every story has to start somewhere, and it wouldn't be fair to not talk about her goodness as well, so this is "to be continued". Likely well-after this week is over and done with since there are a few personal deadlines coming up so I'm not likely to be doing much blogging for a bit. Just like me to start something I can't finish.
Song of the day goes with my melancholy mood. "So Unsexy" by Alanis Morissette.
Oh these little rejections
how they add up quickly
One small sideways look and I
feel so ungood
Somewhere along the way I think
I gave you the power to make
Me feel the way I thought only
my father could
Oh these little rejections
how they seem so real to me
One forgotten birthday I'm all but cooked
How these little abandonments
seem to sting so easily
I'm 13 again
am I 13 for good?
I can feel so unsexy for someone so beautiful
So unloved for someone so fine
I can feel so boring for someone so interesting
So ignorant for someone of sound mind
Oh these little protections
how they fail to serve me
One forgotten phone call and I'm deflated
Oh these little defenses
how they fail to comfort me
Your hand pulling away and I'm
devastated
When will I stop leaving baby?
When will I stop deserting baby?
When will I start staying with myself?
Oh these little projections
how they keep springing from me
I jump my ship as I take it personally
Oh these little rejections
how they disappear quickly
The moment I decide not to
abandon me
Anybody who knows me, knows that I do not have a good and healthy relationship with my mother. Even my father once referred to her as a "dogmatic zealot" and that's about as good a place to start describing her as any.
I love my mother. I really do. She has a good and generous heart and rarely ever, does someone meet her and not immediately think she's a sweet lady. She loves her children with a ferocious, and all-consuming concern for their spirituality and the ultimate destination of their souls in the afterlife. It's what goes on in "this" life that my mom isn't so good at handling.
My mother was born (in 1938) during the final phase of the great depression and raised in a family that for all my observation was completely emotionally crippled. My grandfather was an old school man, who worked the railway, deeply and hatefully prejudiced and was of the firm belief that you should never throw any belonging away, boys didn't cry, meat wasn't edible until it was burned to cinders, and you should never leave your house unattended because all the neighbours are thieves. My grandmother was always very sweet to me as a child, but to this day I'm not certain what her relationship was like with her own kids (my mother, aunts and uncle). My mom loved her very much and was with her when she died, but I know my mom also had issues with her that she never spoke about.
That's almost all the history I know about my mom's life aside from a few childhood stories, the most recounted of all being: how she found Jesus in a one-room school-house/church when she was 13 years old. And that was the love-story of her life.
I've always admired her faith and I still do to a degree (of course much more so when I was a child). My dad was not the love of her life, and although I think they did love one another in a co-dependent kind of way, there was more resentment and manipulation to my parents marriage than what I've come to know as a nurturing and respectful love. That's not to say I'm an expert on love, but growing up around behaviour I thought was perfectly normal as a kid, that turns out to be just plain sad when you see it beside the loving relationships that were the backbone of other families, helps you to see what you grew up lacking.
My mom and dad engaged in premarital sex (cue the shocked and appalled audience) when they were in their teens, my mom got pregnant, they were married (in 1954) at 18 and 16 years of age, and my mom miscarried the baby thereafter. So, as sad a summary as that is, it's more tragic to know that with the death of that unborn child the primary reason for their marriage was suddenly gone. It goes without saying that they stayed together of course. After two more miscarriages, my sister Cheryl was born in 1957, and my sister Darlene followed in 1960. (I didn't come along until 1973 when my mom was 35, my dad was 37, and my sisters were 16 and 13 respectively)
Every kid with an evenly remotely loving mother thinks the world of her, and I did. I thought my mom hung the moon for a great portion of my childhood. She was always there for me to take care of every cut and scrape, every school bake sale, every illness I ever had, every bedtime bible story, and every trip to church and Sunday School. In my mind, my mom was the best, and I still think of her fondly when I remember all those things. If there was ever a thing that my mom tried to instill in me it was spirituality and faith in the bible. It was all I knew and being an angelically good (there's not even a hint of sarcasm in that - I was a GOOD child), attentive and smart kid, I followed in her footsteps. And I don't think it was until after my dad's first heart attack that I ever wavered in my good behaviour (not that that event had anything to do with my behaviour - just a benchmark in my own time line). My dad's first heart-attack was in.... (God this post has involved a lot of math) 1981 and I was in Grade 3.
(interruptus grandiosus) I'm in the midst of doing housework and various other tasks today... so I'm going to have to continue this post at another time. Hmmph... and I didn't even get around to my horrible relationship with my mom... imagine that. Well, every story has to start somewhere, and it wouldn't be fair to not talk about her goodness as well, so this is "to be continued". Likely well-after this week is over and done with since there are a few personal deadlines coming up so I'm not likely to be doing much blogging for a bit. Just like me to start something I can't finish.
Song of the day goes with my melancholy mood. "So Unsexy" by Alanis Morissette.
Oh these little rejections
how they add up quickly
One small sideways look and I
feel so ungood
Somewhere along the way I think
I gave you the power to make
Me feel the way I thought only
my father could
Oh these little rejections
how they seem so real to me
One forgotten birthday I'm all but cooked
How these little abandonments
seem to sting so easily
I'm 13 again
am I 13 for good?
I can feel so unsexy for someone so beautiful
So unloved for someone so fine
I can feel so boring for someone so interesting
So ignorant for someone of sound mind
Oh these little protections
how they fail to serve me
One forgotten phone call and I'm deflated
Oh these little defenses
how they fail to comfort me
Your hand pulling away and I'm
devastated
When will I stop leaving baby?
When will I stop deserting baby?
When will I start staying with myself?
Oh these little projections
how they keep springing from me
I jump my ship as I take it personally
Oh these little rejections
how they disappear quickly
The moment I decide not to
abandon me
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