Oldies But Goodies

I was hunting through an old journal (10 years) looking for something, and realized that some of the entries are hysterical.  Here are a few excerpts:

December 31, 1999

Evening

          Obviously, a special night: the last night of the 1990s.  Also, according to most normal folks, it’s the last night of the decade, the century and the millennium.  Some extremely anal-retentive, technical people will insist to the last breath that the new decade/century/millennium doesn’t really start for another year.  But we normal people are ignoring them.  Judging from what they’re showing on TV, there are millions upon millions of normal people, and many of them are celebrating in crowded public areas. 

          I’m currently at the office, having volunteered to do “Y2K watch.”   The concern over massive computer glitches kind of mutated into concern over mass anarchy, terrorism, Armageddon, etc. etc.  Some people are behaving the way they did in the ’50s and ’60s, building bomb shelters and stocking up on staple supplies like water and canned goods. 

          Carl’s niece Terry just had a baby.  One of her mother’s co-workers “warned” his sister that if Terry’s baby wasn’t born before midnight on 12/31, “God will just take it back and it will dissolve back into nothing inside her.”  These are people who actually run around loose and operate machinery!!

Thursday, January 06, 2000

          Afternoon

          Things are looking up just the slightest bit.  Yesterday I got my pay stub and saw that it was $2 more than what I usually get.  First reaction:  “They made a mistake.”  Next reaction, “Oh, it’s more.”  Third reaction: “Oh, no, this is the new pay rate, my raise, and this is all I get??”

            I picked up Carl at work, and told him the good news/bad news.  Then awhile later, I showed him the pay stub.  He went over it, item by item, and asked me about my UNICEF donation of $25.  “Damn, baby, you send them $25 a month?”  I told him, no, it was just a one-time donation and……

          Then I realized that yes, it’s just a one-time donation, and it’s just for this pay period!  Which means my next check will be $25 more, $27 more than what I was getting in 1999, and $54 more per month.  Not a fortune, but not bad, either. 

           Wally went to school this morning in 30-degree weather, in shorts, multiple layers on top, and no hat.  I yelled at him and slammed doors and windows, waking Carl.  Then after Wally left the house, I went into his room and took all his shorts away.  He won’t be allowed to wear shorts unless the high temperature for the day is going to be at least 70 degrees, and it has to be at least 45 degrees in the morning when he leaves.  Enough is enough.  He stalls and delays as long as he can, so he knows I’ll be in a hurry to rush him out the door, and uses that tactic to wear clothes that I object to.  Jeez-Louise, we’ve been having this type of war since he was three!  I remember writing a journal entry where we argued about shorts (and woke up Doug…), back in 1994.  The little booger!

Friday, January 07, 2000

          A high-gear, frustrating sort of day.  The most recent example:  I was on the phone, dialing Brother Fax Machines, because our particular machine is malfunctioning.  I’ve been meaning to do this for days, but was delayed by other things.  The preparations for such a call include: making sure you’ve recently changed the toner, because they’ll accuse you of not doing that; getting the model & serial number written down; finding the sales receipt and warranty info; finding the correct, updated number to call; being ready to stay on hold interminably.  Well, I finally got all that in order, made the call, and wouldn’t you know it, some guy from HR calls with a request for some numbers, which I had.  I hung up from Brother, gave Mr. HR the information, and when I went to call Brother back, I got a busy signal, because their queues are full.  Shit.  It’s just that kind of day.  People are missing their paychecks, etc.

          

Later:  Der fax ist fixt.  The technician told me to put it on the table and whack it.  

Tuesday, March 07, 2000

          We just learned that Wally is:

§         Buying breakfast every day at school (even though I usually give him a pop tart or something for the bus)

§         Buying a full cafeteria lunch

§         Also buying ice cream

§         Eating the lunch I pack him (which includes lots of snacks because he says he’s “starving.”

§         Not bringing home the payment details from the cafeteria, so I now owe nearly $17 in back charges for my little eating machine, who swears up and down that he never eats the cafeteria lunch because he hates it.  The lunch lady read me an itemized list of everything he’s eaten lately:  corn dogs, hot dogs, pizza, chicken nuggets, chicken biscuits, sausage biscuits, cereal, waffles & french toast.  To quote her directly, "Honey, that child eats EVERYTHING."

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Wallyology

I haven't blogged about my son in awhile. He finished his freshman year but may not get to be a sophomore anytime soon. If I thought a "smack upside the head" would make a difference, he'd have gotten one long ago from either his father or me. But he's locked into a pattern of making dumb, impulsive decisions and then lying when the decision starts to go wrong. As a result, he will soon lose his car and basically be disowned by his father, who says Wally has "worn out his welcome."

I think the only thing that will set him straight is being forced to be entirely on his own. No favors, no gifts, no safety net, no second chances, no benefit-of-the-doubt. He tells me a decent-paying job seems to be a sure thing, and I certainly hope he's right about that. He will need one. I'm a long way from giving up hope that he will start behaving in a mature manner. He has the foundation - he just needs a more immediate sense of the consequences when he hatches one of his hare-brained ideas. It can be said that both his father and I made decisions through the last 15 years that have contributed to Wally's mindset...but there is no way to turn back the clock. Even abject apologies from both of us would make little difference. I've used Carl (my husband, Wally's stepfather) as an example of things Wally shouldn't do -- quit school, start smoking, lock himself into a dead-end job and/or "up and move" when things get stressful. I think he understands the truth of this.

He has a girlfriend he seems to be fairly nuts over -- this is the first one he's really gone on about. But I'm uneasy that he may grab onto her as a life raft. I hope her parents are strict and protective, because if they're not, she could be vulnerable to the urge to rescue and take care of Wally as he bumbles his way along to stability. Click Here to Read More..

A Done Deal. And Now We Wait.

Well, the loan has been approved (which means the people at Equifax are doing some serious chemicals), and I am now on the hook for about $22K.

And Wally still firmly believes that Doug is going to pay it back and that I won't have to. He won't even entertain the notion that my suspicions and distrust could be justified. He cut me off as I tried to express my misgivings -- he was downright rude. Well, all righty then. I still think Doug is a slug; that he still wants to try to ruin me financially, and that this is his twisted way of keeping a connection between us.

Yes, I suppose Doug may have told himself at some juncture that he has behaved badly during the last several years and needs to let it go and start acting like a human being again, which would mean that he intends to keep his word...

...just as there may be li'l piggies with wings out there that I've simply never had the opportunity to meet.

It will be interesting to see what happens in March of next year when the first payment is due. We will see if Wally is singing the same tune. And I guarantee, however callous it may sound, that if my prediction trumps his, he WILL hear about it. In detail. He will also be informed that any and all future monetary requests to me will be refused, for as long as it takes for ME to repay this loan. The rest of his undergraduate experience, grad school if applicable, wedding, birth(s) of child(ren), and most especially, any "inconveniences" such as speeding tickets or other similar misadventures. He gets his medical costs paid for by me, and that's it.

Of course, if those flyin' piggies happen to show up, I'll gladly go back to being his mother again. Click Here to Read More..

Turning a Corner? Stepping Off a Cliff?

I had a long conversation with Doug regarding Wally's education.

Doug, Wally and I have gone back and forth and all around for many months regarding how Wally's college is to be paid for. To be sure, I've barely a penny to spare right now. I have Wally on my health insurance, which is quite good, and send him small checks when I can. But if I were the sole source of funding, Wally could kiss college goodbye. Fortunately, Doug put money aside some time ago for Wally. The downside of this is that in applying for financial aid, Doug's finances can't be considered or Wally will get none. The application used Carl and me as parent sources because we show up as poor (which we are). Beyond the small grant that Wally got, the rest has to come from direct payments or loans. Doug decided to go the loan route, since it slows down the rate at which he has to shell out money. This I understand. However, the loan application also has to be in my name. If it goes under Doug's name, he has to forfeit the small grant.

The plan is for Doug to write the loan payment checks. However, it's my name on this loan. So that if Doug becomes unable or unwilling to continue writing checks, guess who gets hit with a loan default?

There was this concern, and also Wally's odd behavior. I'd almost be willing to bet that he's been up to something. He's asked me for my social security number a couple of times; he's gone on the school's website with me on the phone. Every time I go onto the website, I end up with a dead end. So he goes on the website, using my information, and somehow gets through. Then he tells me, OK, a 'promissory note' is going to come to you in the mail or via e-mail; just sign it and we'll be good to go. After several days he tells me "I'm not sure what I did, but I got a note from the school saying you had to sign it, not me, so you're gonna have to go on the website and do this." Sounds to me like he's been trying to make an end-run around me, get this thing signed under my name and get it going without my direct participation. This would be because of the questions and objections I've raised, making it clear that I don't trust Doug any farther than I could fling a Steinway. Wally, of course, feels like he's stuck in the middle, and I think this is how he's attempted to resolve it. However, it didn't work for him. So now it's back to me.

Coincidentally (not), Doug calls me, ostensibly to wish me a happy birthday and invites me to call him if I "want to talk about anything." So I called him; we talked; I expressed my very valid concerns about this loan thing.

Here's where we ended up: Yes, it's true that Doug could screw me over royally if he decided to stop writing checks. However, here's the nugget I got from this. Wally getting a college degree is a very high priority for Doug. Perhaps the highest. So, he says, he's willing to do whatever it takes to achieve that.

If he stops writing checks, yeah, it would put me in default of the loan. But it could also put an end to Wally's education. I think he's sincere about this, and I think I'm probably not completely helpless in this thing. If he tried to back out of paying this, I believe I would have some recourse. I may not be able to go after him directly, but I could put some interested parties on his trail.

More than anything, I sense that Wally is under a huge amount of strain regarding the hostility between Doug and me.

Doug said "Wally needs to get a degree." I answered "He needs to get a job." A moment later, I played the tape back to myself and decided I was voicing a lower-class mentality, and it echoed some of what I internalized -- the idea that being employed is more important than being educated. It was this mindset that led to me dropping out of college to enter the workforce because it made me feel more like an adult. During the years since our divorce, I've become aware of a class gulf of sorts between Doug and me. He's done much better money-wise and class-wise than I have. I had been fairly upwardly mobile during the time we were married, but at some point, I retreated back to my blue-collar roots (becoming an evangelical Christian was part of that). Meanwhile, I've filed Chapter 7, maxed out credit cards, and basically descended several rungs down the social ladder.

I hate to admit it more than anything, but Doug is right about that, at least. Getting the college degree is more important for Wally in the long term than being a schlub chasing a paycheck. I have been so hostile toward Doug for so long (probably going back to the days before we even moved in together), that I've adopted a "whatever Doug is in favor of, I'm completely against!" type of stance. I've long known that my relationship with Doug was like a 15-year extension on my childhood -- I moved out of my parents' house and into his, and simply continued my stubborn, short-sighted patterns. In fact, I even replicated what my parents had: Dad was into order and success. Mom was into chaos and self-sabotage.

It's one thing for me to opt for a life that's just a few millimeters above trailer-trash, but I shouldn't drag Wally down into that as well.

Long & short of it: I'll sign the goddamn promissory note and hope Doug doesn't decide to get greedy or ugly and leave me holding the bag.
---
Nothing beyond this point... Click Here to Read More..

Wow, I Actually Heard From My Son

For those of you who don't know, don't care, or don't remember, my son Wally and I have been more or less estranged for the past month and a half. This (in my view) due to him allowing himself to be drawn into the soap opera that plays in an endless loop in his father's head.

All contact has been extremely brief, mostly in the form of text messages. Well, he called me out of the blue this evening. Because I was right in the middle of a meeting, it was hard to talk, and it wasn't really a social call anyway. He wanted to (I guess) remind me that college would be starting soon and there are certain administrative tasks that have been assigned to me in this regard. I acknowledged the message and called him back after the meeting was done. I was trying to think up conversation starters on the fly; he answered a few questions and then told me had to go.

Needless to say, this situation is painful, but I'm trying to be philosophical. Wally is the same emotional & social age at nearly 19 that I was at about 24, and I remember clearly how much I wanted to distance myself from my parents. They've been gone almost 20 years and I miss them and appreciate them more than I ever expected to ... but I have to ask myself quite honestly whether these feelings would be here if they were still alive. I don't know if it's the loss or the natural development of maturity that causes us to appreciate our parents more. Most likely it's a combination of both, and it's not the same for everybody.

So I try to see the relationship with Wally through his eyes, and content myself with knowing that one day he will be in a very different place than he is now. He'll have a solid career, good earning potential, be in control of his own life, not dependent upon Doug or me, and able to see the humor and irony in some of the events of his still-young life.

I hope he will get to understand the truth -- about his father, about me, about Carl, about life in general.

And I accept that it may take a very long time. Click Here to Read More..

Heavy Stuff, Part 1

Okay, after more than 2 years of toodly-doodling my way through this blog, I am ready to sit down and unburden myself about the main problem in my life. People on MySpace and LJ know who I am, but I don't think anyone here does, so it feels more anonymous and safe.

It's my son. "Wally" is 18, and I can't get over the incredible contrast between his life and mine when I was that age. We're roughly 31 years apart in age. Whereas, I lived with my parents (in the same house, mainly with the same furniture!) for nearly 23 years, he has bounced between his father and me; he's lived in 4 states, 4 different places in one state, and is currently homeless in another.

He hasn't finished high school yet. He is on his own, trying to finish and get to college. My heart just aches for him, but I can't think of anything really concrete that I can do for him, other than just be there when he calls; listen, and try to come up with some ideas for him.

Here's a rough chronology.

He was the most wonderful, fantastic baby who ever lived. Okay, I'm his mom and I'm biased, but he really, truly was incredible. He was lovely to look at, he smiled and laughed and just brought a lot of joy to my life, his father's, his grandmother's, and pretty much anyone who met him. I was in awe of him.

Problems? For his first 2 months or so, he had pretty bad colic, but I had to have surgery not long after he was born, necessitating a switch from nursing to bottle-feeding. The more dense formula seemed to satisfy his hunger better -- he was a big baby, over 9 lbs. -- and definitely calmed him down.

We always worried about him, as parents do. He didn't get his first tooth until he was more than a year old. He started trying to walk close to a year, but didn't really "take off" until he was 15 months old. I was a slow walker too -- 18 months -- but then, I was a preemie. I think he was average for toilet training -- 2 years, 9 months -- but there were some odd glitches, which I'll get to later.

I think his father and I put a lot of pressure on him in the preschool years. His father had this odd notion that school was really just for socialization, and that academic skills needed to be taught by parents. So if he couldn't read by age 4, it was the end of the world. I'm sure he sensed this pressure.

He used "w" for "r" and "l" for a long time, but, as was very typical of him, he somehow just figured out the right way to pronounce things on his own, in his own time.

Last of all, he sucked his thumb until he was almost 11. This one especially gave his father fits. He tried wrapping gauze and adhesive tape around Wally's thumb to break him of the habit, but Wally was in preschool and we got some veiled threats from the caregivers that they might report this as abuse if we didn't ease off. So Wally kept sucking that thumb for years ... and then one day he simply stopped.

Right up until he left home at age 17 (and who knows, possibly still), Wally had encopresis. He would hold it in for days sometimes, until he "had an accident." I remember spending a lot of time washing his underwear in hot water with bleach. Then he'd decide to "go" at odd times. He'd wait until we were visiting a neighbor, then go into their bathroom, lock himself in, and stay there for the better part of an hour. Inevitably, he'd clog up the toilet, to my tremendous embarrassment. Sometimes he'd clog our toilet too. The last episode was a few months before he left home. I got a call at work -- "Hey mom, both toilets are clogged. I've been using the plunger but nothing works." That time, the plumber cost me 80 bucks.

All of these things were happening while his father and I were still together. We didn't fight in any kind of loud way (like my parents), and there really wasn't too much tension, at least until Wally was around 4. Then things started changing; there was a lot of stress. But the thumb-sucking and encopresis were already present. For these things, I cannot blame the divorce.

Wally went through something of a bad patch when he was about 4 or 5. His father and I split when he was 5 and a half. The break came boiling up, seemingly out of nowhere. I gave in on a lot of things, mainly because I wanted to keep the atmosphere calm for Wally and not frighten him. But by that time, Wally was demonstrating traits that he'd carry with him right into young adulthood.

I guess Wally can best be described as passive-aggressive. His shortcomings will sneak up on people, and I suspect there's a strong element of self-sabotage in him. His personality is impeccable. He has a ready smile, gorgeous eyes, a very adult-like demeanor (he's always had that -- people were remarking on it when he was only a toddler), and a lot of very obvious intelligence. But just when everyone's relaxing, feeling confident in Wally, he will "pull something." People will then look twice at him, with that unmistakable glint of doubt in their eyes. When he was 5 or 6, he decided one of his friends wasn't "cool" enough for him, and drove her away in tears. I'm surprised the girl's mother wanted to speak to me after that. It was inevitable that people would start out giving Wally an A+ in terms of personality, and gradually, it would go down to a C or a D. Once we went to a store and he smiled at the cashier. She smiled back, and then Wally decided to put on a mean face. The cashier actually looked frightened. Other times, Wally would start repeating words at random. We were in a restaurant, seated near an old couple, and he started chanting "Mee-maw." It was in the south, and that's what grandmothers are often called. It wasn't something he ever called his own grandmother -- he just seemed to pick the right set of syllables out of the air that would be the most disruptive at that moment. 95 percent of the time, though, he was very well behaved in public. That's why episodes like that were so disturbing. You could never plan for them, or figure out where they came from.

No question, he had a turbulent childhood. After the divorce, I tried to keep things light, and for awhile it worked, mostly. We moved into an apartment complex and made friends pretty quickly. It was right at the beginning of the summer, and we had a pool to swim in and new places to explore. The apartment was small, but our house had been huge, and Wally often lost me in it. I felt good that he could always walk around the corner and find me in the next room.

But around the time he turned 6, just starting kindergarten, his closest friend DJ's parents also split. That one was traumatic: a cheating husband, a murderously jealous wife, threats, hostility, open warfare. Everything I'd tried to shield him from, was getting thrown right into his face with no warning. Suddenly, he was "grown up" enough to understand everything that was going on and it hit him hard. His father was getting his life together and wasn't even sure he wouldn't move out of state, so he put a deliberate distance between him and Wally, only seeing him for occasional visits. And very soon after that, he met the new Mrs. Wally liked her just fine, which was a relief. She was a pretty nice person with her own son, a few years older than Wally. Things were reasonably peaceful. Wally adapted to all the changes -- new kindergarten, new after-school, Mom's new job, and soon, a new and bigger home when I bought a condo.

At this point, Wally was in first and second grade. Once we went to the school grounds a week or two before it opened so he could ride his bike around the paths and check the place out. When he was out of my sight for about 5 minutes I went looking for him and discovered he had joined up with two boys who were busy throwing rocks at the cafeteria windows!

From the age of 2 or so, Wally was a nut for clothes. He was very particular about which shoes he wore, and would refuse to wear a pair he didn't like, even if I'd spent a lot of money on them. After the divorce, we found ourselves living always in a poor part of town, but sending Wally to school in a neighborhood full of affluent people. Later in the school year, when it became obvious that I didn't make enough money to buy him all the cool clothes the other kids wore, Wally began using the Lost & Found as his own personal thrift shop. When one kid challenged him that he was wearing a stolen jacket, I found out what he was doing and put a stop to it. But quite often, classmates would invite him out, and if I gave Wally ten dollars, he would end up needing 20 to keep up with the other kids, and invariably someone else's parents would end up paying for it. Even at an early age, Wally would keep this from me. When I found out and tried to pay the parents back, they would tactfully refuse, saying it was worth it to have Wally's company. When Wally wanted to make a good impression on someone, he could do so very easily.

Things went on reasonably well until just before Wally's 8th birthday, when I happened to meet a man who lived in our condo complex. The attraction was immediate and mutual. We got engaged less than 3 weeks after we met, and were married 5 months later.

"Carl" and I are still happily married, 10 years later, but when it came to Wally, it was a rough go. Those were the years when Dr. Laura was at her peak of fame, and you know I suffered with guilt for having brought the complications of a step-parent into Wally's life. Especially when it became obvious that the two of them really couldn't stand each other.

Carl was light-years away from Wally's father, and that's always been one of the things I liked best about him. Wally's father, "Doug," liked to live in the intellectual sphere. He had a "small-market" mentality. Anything that was popular or known by more than 10 people was "common." I had been with Doug since my early 20s and had moved out of my parents' house and directly into his, so in many ways, he was just another parent to me. It took a long time to work my way out from under Doug's psychological influence. Doug always made me feel stupid and incompetent.

Carl had limited education and limited income potential, though he was always steadily employed. Unlike Doug, whose parents had a stable, upwardly mobile marriage, Carl came from a single parent family, with loads of siblings and half-siblings, and had grown up in abject poverty. When he looked at me, he must have thought I had a lot of advantages. And for my part, being with Carl helped me feel like a "leader" in our relationship, rather than just a subject.

Carl treated me great, but somehow, when he was anywhere near Wally, all his childhood feelings of sibling rivalry and deprivation came flooding in. He could not see Wally as a kid, while he was an adult. It became constant competition. They even fought over the last slices of bread in the loaf, or a plate of brownies I'd brought home from work.

Carl was not physically abusive toward Wally -- he never touched Wally, and if he had, I'd have shown him the door. But there were numerous times in our marriage that I entertained thoughts of another divorce. There was hardly ever a moment's peace between them. When Carl would start complaining and finding fault, Wally would retreat into a sullen silence. I've done a lot of second-guessing over the years. When I ask myself if I'd "do it all over" with Carl, knowing then what I know now, the answer is no. I would not. I love Carl. We have a good relationship as a couple. But Wally suffered for it; there's no question. I kept hoping things would work out. They didn't. Wally became more and more angry and cynical, but as always, it was kept under wraps. Wally was always able to control the outward expression of his feelings, but had mastered the passive-aggression. Wally never did anything overtly scary -- he just dropped little hints that were supposed to be scary. Carl was the one who would snoop around in Wally's dresser and find things to show me. Like a cigarette lighter, or a racy magazine. Then Wally would lie and say he was "holding it" for a friend.

Carl, Wally and I moved twice out of state. One place was Wally's favorite, but we were only there for a year because the job situation didn't pan out. We moved back to "home base," and Wally became even more discouraged. By this time, he was ready for middle school. Before our move, I had asked his father if he thought he might want to take Wally, since Wally was now old enough to be needing more of a male influence (someone he didn't hate, like Carl). Doug said no, he didn't feel ready for that kind of responsibility, and that was why Wally ended up moving twice in the space of a year with us. After we moved back, Wally spent one more unhappy school year with Carl and me. Things were much worse now, because the move had eaten up a lot of money and my job situation was not stable. I'm sure Wally got tired of feeling like he was poor. During that time, Doug and his wife moved several hundred miles away, and Doug informed Wally that once they were settled, Wally could join them. Wally was, of course, thrilled. His dad and his wife were making a lot of money at that point; they lived in an affluent area and Wally would be going to one of the best public schools.

And so, a few months shy of age 13, Wally left my home. I missed him, but also felt relief that someone else was in charge of the complicated needs of an adolescent. I could work longer hours and relax a bit.

Things were reasonably good for the next 3 years or so. Looking back, I can't believe how quickly they went by. I saw Wally a few times a year when he came to visit. Once, he got off the plane and had grown so much (his hair included) that it took longer than usual to recognize him.

I was happy that Wally had a chance at the type of lifestyle he always seemed to have craved. But there were problems. I never got the whole story from his father, but bits and pieces came across, and I knew the situation was far from rosy.

Wally had been "acting out" in strange ways, and most of them were the usual passive-aggressive stuff. He kept his room a pigsty, despite the new furniture and huge walk-in closet. He continually "forgot" to do the chores he'd agreed to. He tried to keep his school progress a secret. He continued the habits he'd formed while with me -- letting his friends' parents pay his way when they went out, rather than asking his father for money.

Less than a year after he went to live there, he was in serious trouble. He'd begun pilfering things that belonged to classmates. There were always suspicions, but he managed to deflect them, until his father searched his room and found someone's wallet. Wally came very close to Juvenile Detention. From what I heard (mostly from Wally), he got counseling, wrote an apology to the offended party, and had the incident expunged from his record.

But the worries lingered. He came down for a visit and I brought him to the office where I was putting in some overtime during the holidays. We only spent a few hours there, but while I was working at my desk, I suddenly smelled the distinctive odor of a match being lit. I raced through the office (no one was there except Wally and me) and asked him if he'd lit a match. He said he hadn't; I knew (and still know) that he had, and as proof, he continually asked me throughout the rest of the day if I'd ever figured out where "that match smell" had come from. Wally was not a good liar.

My contact with Wally was sporadic over the next couple of years. Whatever problems he was coping with were mostly kept from me. Either it was a matter of no one wanting to worry me, no one wanting my input, or simple pride on Doug's part of wanting to handle all of this himself.

Continues... Click Here to Read More..