Author Topic: Perfect Families  (Read 2363 times)

Karin

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Perfect Families
« on: June 04, 2004, 10:12:31 PM »
I wrote this last year; it's all true, but the names have been changed...

Thursday
He tells our two daughters that he wants to be ‘fair’. He’s still ‘fond’ of me and hopes that we will be friends in the future once the divorce is over. He’s squeaky clean. Just like the perfect Dad on ‘My Three Sons’. Nice, moral, honest, loving.
“I know it’s been a difficult time for us all…” he spouts. They’ve heard it all before. He takes them out to a restaurant and gives them the presents he brought for them. But they won’t be bought off any more. They know he’s been whoring around Asia. The T-shirt he gives Lisa has a long strand of someone else’s black hair on it. She points it out and he laughs, “I’m single now.” He doesn’t acknowledge the look on her face.

Friday
Jessica tells him on the phone that she no longer wants to have anything to do with him. It felt good she said. It’s been coming for a long time. He had told her that her moral standards were too high. She feels guilty that he might be crushed now that she’s cut her ties with him. He sends her an email to say how much he loves her and that he is hurt that they are not on good terms. Oh, and could she drive him to the airport on Monday night?
   
He was ecstatic when Lisa was born. He took a week off from work to celebrate being a new Dad and to help out when we came home from the hospital. He had the perfect little family. Only her infant cries would wake him up in the night. He said that his mother had told him that babies would get spoiled if their mothers went to them too often and I should just let her cry. That way, he said, she would learn not to cry. I always went to her.
His father was a strong man who was boastful of his rough hands that he had gained from years working in the forest felling trees. He would leave before dawn with a cooked breakfast in his belly and enough packed food to last the day. He said that he only talked about things that he knew about. So he wasn’t particularly interested in what others said. He was the Head of the Household and refused to eat anything unless his wife cooked it. Plain simple food he wanted, not covered in sauces and muck. He wouldn’t eat coleslaw or frozen peas or a stew if it was called a casserole. His wife would cook things just how he liked it and she was perfect.
“I would kill myself if I ever lost her,” he would say. She would run around him and ensure that nobody ever upset him.
“Don’t upset your father, he’s a good provider,” she would warn protectively if there was any threat to his authority.
They lived in the best house on the hill. He said it was. A huge house with a tennis court overlooking the harbour. They could see everything. He built another house on the tennis court so that they would have a better view. And then he built another level to get an even better view. Perfect.
My husband was the second of their four children. His mother said he was a happy little boy. The children were not allowed to hang pictures on their bedroom walls because the wallpaper would get damaged. She would wash their mouths out with soap and water if they ever said a naughty word. They were always clean and neat. Her daily wash would be pegged out early in the morning long before the neighbours hung theirs out.
“She won’t have her washing put away by lunchtime,” she would casually remark.
His mother was a small, chatty woman, always frantically busy dusting, cooking, knitting, cleaning. His father’s cigarette smoke had permanently damaged her lungs so she took medication to help her to breath.
“I always want to be doing something,” she would pant, trying to catch her breath. She would sweep the kitchen floor and hide the dirt under the kitchen mat until it could be sucked up later with her vacuum cleaner. Her pantry shelves were lined with preserves and the cake tins always filled. A cup of tea after every meal, one in the morning, one in the afternoon and one for supper. A cup of tea was always perfect. It meant she could sit down for a minute.
She kept a diary so she could remember. She knows how much she spent on Christmas presents in 1982. She remembers that a case of peaches cost $10 in 1973, which was the year that her sister had her knee operation and she sent her that crocheted rug that had been given to her when the old neighbours had moved into their new house that they had built. Remember? She remembers every birthday. She tucked a handkerchief into the card she sent for my husband’s 40th birthday. Just a little something. Just to show that she cared.
I said a handkerchief is a lousy way to show your son how much he means to you. His face is sad.
“At least she remembered,” he says defensively as he pathetically clutches onto the crumb that she had cast out to him and quickly patches the flaw in her image.
The perfect illusion remains intact. She’s still nice, moral, honest and loving. Untouchable qualities that conveniently mask the imperfections of reality.

Tuesday
He’s gone back to work in Singapore. It’s like a hurricane hits every time he comes back for his break. Wild winds, flooding and then we mop up once he’s gone again. I wonder how long it will be before Lisa has also had enough. Jess says she doesn’t feel guilty anymore. She remembered how he went white in the face with rage when he found out that she had spent the night at her boyfriend’s parent’s house. Hypocrite.

write

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Perfect Families
« Reply #1 on: June 05, 2004, 12:23:57 AM »
Sorry for all your family pain, but so glad you wrote it out: great writing Karin, you have a talent there.

Jaded911

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Perfect Families
« Reply #2 on: June 05, 2004, 02:12:18 AM »
Hi Karin,

You know it took me along time to remember the saying "stand by your man" did not mean let your man stand on you.  Once you let someone take your identity by knocking you down emotionally, you become nothing but an empty shell.  

Standing by your man means you have to have a man to stand by.  Sounds to me that you realize that you are standing alone.  Take care of yourself.  

Thanks for sharing this with everyone.
Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice, shame on me!

Jaded

Karin

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Perfect Families
« Reply #3 on: June 05, 2004, 08:42:57 PM »
Thanks write for the compliment; it means a lot to me coming from you.
Thanks also Jaded. The man I thought I was standing next to turned out to be a little boy.
It's great to know that even as I stand alone, I know that you folk are out there. It's a nice feeling.

Less

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Perfect Families
« Reply #4 on: June 06, 2004, 11:19:36 AM »
Karin - I hope your pain is easing as you move into your new life.  Also hope you are pursuing your writing.  "...and quickly patches the flaw in her image."  That's just a brilliant way to say it.  - We try for so long to maintain these Waltonesque fantasies.  The phrase also applies so well to N's themselves - ever at the ready with putty and concrete to trowel over any little flaws that might appear.
Less

lynn

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« Reply #5 on: June 06, 2004, 11:21:03 AM »
Karin,

thanks for sharing your story.  Your wisdom and experiences are an inspiration to me.  You are a gifted writer and communicator.

Quote from: Karin
He tells our two daughters that he wants to be ‘fair’. He’s still ‘fond’ of me and hopes that we will be friends in the future once the divorce is over. He’s squeaky clean. Just like the perfect Dad on ‘My Three Sons’. Nice, moral, honest, loving.


It is extraordinary the life, the "story," that your xNH lives.  What energy it must take to constantly shift reality to meet your ideal life story.  How "fortunate" for him that he is a "perfect" person!!  :lol:

And more importantly, what energy it took you and your kids when you were trying to shift to fit in with his fantasy.  "Perfect" is not all it's cracked up to be.

  I am proud of you for putting your feet on true ground.  For supporting the emotional needs of your kids.  For having the strength to hang in there for a very long time.  I am proud of you for saying "no" to the tapes that must play in your head.... you can't be married for that many years and not continue to hear his voice in some way....  

You are an inspiration and a friend to me.  Thank you for sharing your challenges and your successes.  You give me hope that one can be entangled with an N for many years.... and come out free.  With abilities.  Opinions.  A voice.

Warmly,

lynn

Anonymous

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Perfect Families
« Reply #6 on: June 07, 2004, 10:10:59 AM »
Thanks Less, the pain has eased a lot since I wrote that. I enjoy writing but it's been a bit of a love/hate struggle because my N mother is/was a writer and of-course, I could never, ever be as good as her!

Hi Lynn, thanks for your lovely words. I often think of you and hope you're OK. I remember feeling like I just wanted to be alone, curled up somewhere for quite a while and that's what I allowed myself to do. I hope you're doing what you need to do for yourself.
You should be proud of yourself too, you did no less than what I did and that was to take back your own life, for yourself and your kids.

Karin

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Perfect Families
« Reply #7 on: June 07, 2004, 10:14:04 AM »
That was me there above, got booted off!
Karin