This will not be a happy ending post. This is truth as I have experienced it, as closely as I can recall it, in my experience.
We are all conditioned to feel absolute sympathy for Cinderella. After all, horrible mother figure, entitled and domineering siblings. And, since mother was a "step" mother, she wasn't even a real mom.
Horrible! every inch of the way. Agreed?!! Honestly! How could ANYONE allow such a thing to happen to another human being?
As I recall from the deeper depths of my aged memory, my then girlfriend, eventual wife, bearer of our three children, used this victim card from the very beginning.
Before she moved into my apartment, her stories of abuse received from her mother, were endless. Of course, being the naive, ignorant patsy I was, I drank it all in, and felt so sorry for the life of this fellow human being, that I NEEDED to do something to remedy the situation.
I have had many different jobs. Alot of them related to custodial duties (mopping floors, cleaning toilets, emptying trash cans, etc) My response, when I see a full trash can, dirty floors, even a dirty toilet ... is to resolve the issue. When at home ... my Spidey Sense goes off, and I must react. Empty that trash can, clean that toilet, wash those dishes, etc.
Life has taught me though, that, apparently, life experiences in such things, do NOT apply to Cinderella.
My now ex-wife, and our daughter, both share the same response.
If you see something that needs to be cleaned up? Call for the butler. If there is no butler? Then you are free to ignore the situation at hand.
Only God knows the heart of a person. So I tread carefully here, so as to NOT judge another. There is a saying that: Actions Speak Louder Than Words.
I am as much a failure in this regard, as any other.
However, if I am told that "I had to clean the entire house every Sunday" or some other strenuous duty, I accept that as fact.
The issue of disbelief comes about when, the "house" is very unkempt and the sink is full of dishes, and the laundry is piled high ... that Cinderella needs to be somewhere else, immediately, taxi'd there, ASAP.
This is Cinderella's justification ... this is where fantasy meets reality
She is justified in doing NOTHING! Because she was so mistreated under the conditions she was living under, that having her perform those same actions she was "forced" to perform unwillingly ... she should never have to perform them again.
So Cinderella is TOTALLY justified in doing absolutely NOTHING, when she sees dishes in the sink (which SHE was the creator of), laundry blocking the hallway (HER laundry) and a multiple spots of pet waste remnants everywhere (for her pet) ...
That we are to somehow bow and genuflect to Cinderella ... Questioning her back story? ... One can't help but question whether ... she has been lying to us, or playing the victim card so well ... that we honestly don't know the truth behind it all.
Sunday, May 7, 2017
Wednesday, December 28, 2016
Death (Why I Died)
She was (is) the most beautiful woman I had ever known. If I write "was", it would seem as if she is no more. But she still is
To write of a woman in regards to love, is most difficult. Each man has his own definition, his own portrait of perfection. His own avatar of the one that holds his heart in her hands forever
She
We met online in a video game in 2009. To write of this is not so difficult to understand, such occurrences are commonplace now. And were fairly so then.
But it was at once both common, and not so. The meeting was common. She, not so.
I could write 100,000 words just to describe her right hand. Those fingers, the nails, always perfect and painted. Colors to match these shoes or that eyeliner. The way she would wiggle them in just the right way, and her cat would come running to be scratched.
Her wit, her humor, her class. Well traveled, mature, intelligent. She taught me of so many things. Girl things. How to care for her. How to listen to her. Her patience with me was at times as Job .. and other times .. as a person can be, short and agonizing
She is all that I ever wanted, all I ever dreamed a woman would, and should, and could be. I adored her very presence in my life.
She was .538 of my age. Crazy right?, that such numbers would be used to describe such a one? Numbers are numbers and love is love. The problem with such numbers is that one had already raised 3 kids, and another sought (with every hormone in her body) to bear her own.
I love kids. Babies, toddlers, adolescents, teenagers. The most beautiful and amazing thing I have ever survived, was having three children. AND .. I wanted MORE! .. only this time, with the RIGHT woman. A good woman. A woman that wanted to be a mother. Not one that just used children as a means to a financial end.
For 3-1/2 years, as my mid 50's progressed, I knew we would be exactly as I dreamed we could be. After all, May-December romances were everywhere.
Then we met in real life & spent 16 days together. And it was! How I wanted it soooo! As did she. I proposed over Skype, but I knew the real thing would require a ring and a face to face proposal. So every ounce of me went into overdrive to make it happen. I was reborn. A second life awaited me 2,600 miles away.
She told me once, as we talked intimately, how love stories are all tragedies. I didn't comprehend at the time what this meant in truth. Romeo & Juliet. Tristan & Isolde. Sarah Conner & Kyle Reese.
Each day I walk this life, I see the attempts of couples, trying to "love" but mostly just recreating.
The relationship will break down. Anger and malice will flourish due to unrealized expectations on both sides. And the children will suffer. They will suffer the absence of dad, because mom will make it so.
They will suffer the moronic and idiotic rulings handed out by the family courts. Mom will hold all the power, and dad will be nothing more than a slave. His only purpose in the life of the children, to pour as much money into the "Clearinghouse" as it is humanly possible to do so.
Mom will spend years, mentally, emotionally (and occasionally, physically) abusing the children. Because she did not get from the man, what she wanted. SO .. she will make him PAY!! Pay with every cell in his body, enforced by said system.
My one true love and I talked once, about the weight I bore from this ill decided marriage.
She promised me she would never treat me as the previous did. And .. I believed her.
She was the one, most beautiful. And I knew what she said was true. I wanted my rebirth, my second chance. I wanted to be 30 again, to conceive and raise children, with a true love this time. As is often expressed, I was willing to sell my soul to be with her.
Sadly, as the truth of reality struck .. I wasn't 30. I wasn't 40. Even for others of my life span, I could barely pass for 50. The list of conditions I bore in this body was long. Many transmittable by genetics and DNA, and others caused by the poor decisions of my youth.
I could not allow our children to (potentially) suffer the effects of my DNA. And even more so, to be 70 years old, barely able to walk, to watch my children graduate from 6th grade (age 10) with all of his/her classmates asking: "is that your grandpa?" and them replying: "No, that's my daddy". The replay of a conversion I witnessed between my daughter and a classmate in 2005.
She was all there ever was, and could be, but I was the weakest link.
Friends from work cautioned me. A dad needs to be there for his kids. Whether it was throwing a football in the yard, cheering them on at the soccer game. Or carrying their dead tired, sleeping body, from the car to their bed as God's peace rested on their tiny frame.
These were the "dad" things I was barely capable of doing before conception. After birth, the kids would grow bigger and stronger, I would grow weaker. And at 53, by the time the kids graduated high school, I would most likely be wheel chair bound. A husk. A proud and happy husk, but a diminished shell that had minimal physical influence on my new family.
Shortly after graduation, the life insurance policy would help ensure they were all financially capable of maintaining forward momentum in life. But they would, for some time, fly the missing man formation at the dinner table.
This is no way for a family to be.
I didn't have the physicality of Mel Gibson, Chelsea Grammar, Steven Tyler ... et al
Making love is the easy part. Creating children is the wonderful part. Getting out of bed at 2:00 a.m. to hold and comfort a colicy child is the hard part. The part that is real, and daily, and unavoidable.
To this moment, I love her with all that I am. I weep often of the lost love. Past is past, she is gone.
There is comfort knowing that she has one that is closer to her age. Assuming that a different roll of the genetics dice should give her, and her offspring a chance at a better future.
Believing that she is better off without me.
To write of a woman in regards to love, is most difficult. Each man has his own definition, his own portrait of perfection. His own avatar of the one that holds his heart in her hands forever
She
We met online in a video game in 2009. To write of this is not so difficult to understand, such occurrences are commonplace now. And were fairly so then.
But it was at once both common, and not so. The meeting was common. She, not so.
I could write 100,000 words just to describe her right hand. Those fingers, the nails, always perfect and painted. Colors to match these shoes or that eyeliner. The way she would wiggle them in just the right way, and her cat would come running to be scratched.
Her wit, her humor, her class. Well traveled, mature, intelligent. She taught me of so many things. Girl things. How to care for her. How to listen to her. Her patience with me was at times as Job .. and other times .. as a person can be, short and agonizing
She is all that I ever wanted, all I ever dreamed a woman would, and should, and could be. I adored her very presence in my life.
She was .538 of my age. Crazy right?, that such numbers would be used to describe such a one? Numbers are numbers and love is love. The problem with such numbers is that one had already raised 3 kids, and another sought (with every hormone in her body) to bear her own.
I love kids. Babies, toddlers, adolescents, teenagers. The most beautiful and amazing thing I have ever survived, was having three children. AND .. I wanted MORE! .. only this time, with the RIGHT woman. A good woman. A woman that wanted to be a mother. Not one that just used children as a means to a financial end.
For 3-1/2 years, as my mid 50's progressed, I knew we would be exactly as I dreamed we could be. After all, May-December romances were everywhere.
Then we met in real life & spent 16 days together. And it was! How I wanted it soooo! As did she. I proposed over Skype, but I knew the real thing would require a ring and a face to face proposal. So every ounce of me went into overdrive to make it happen. I was reborn. A second life awaited me 2,600 miles away.
She told me once, as we talked intimately, how love stories are all tragedies. I didn't comprehend at the time what this meant in truth. Romeo & Juliet. Tristan & Isolde. Sarah Conner & Kyle Reese.
Each day I walk this life, I see the attempts of couples, trying to "love" but mostly just recreating.
The relationship will break down. Anger and malice will flourish due to unrealized expectations on both sides. And the children will suffer. They will suffer the absence of dad, because mom will make it so.
They will suffer the moronic and idiotic rulings handed out by the family courts. Mom will hold all the power, and dad will be nothing more than a slave. His only purpose in the life of the children, to pour as much money into the "Clearinghouse" as it is humanly possible to do so.
Mom will spend years, mentally, emotionally (and occasionally, physically) abusing the children. Because she did not get from the man, what she wanted. SO .. she will make him PAY!! Pay with every cell in his body, enforced by said system.
My one true love and I talked once, about the weight I bore from this ill decided marriage.
She promised me she would never treat me as the previous did. And .. I believed her.
She was the one, most beautiful. And I knew what she said was true. I wanted my rebirth, my second chance. I wanted to be 30 again, to conceive and raise children, with a true love this time. As is often expressed, I was willing to sell my soul to be with her.
Sadly, as the truth of reality struck .. I wasn't 30. I wasn't 40. Even for others of my life span, I could barely pass for 50. The list of conditions I bore in this body was long. Many transmittable by genetics and DNA, and others caused by the poor decisions of my youth.
I could not allow our children to (potentially) suffer the effects of my DNA. And even more so, to be 70 years old, barely able to walk, to watch my children graduate from 6th grade (age 10) with all of his/her classmates asking: "is that your grandpa?" and them replying: "No, that's my daddy". The replay of a conversion I witnessed between my daughter and a classmate in 2005.
She was all there ever was, and could be, but I was the weakest link.
Friends from work cautioned me. A dad needs to be there for his kids. Whether it was throwing a football in the yard, cheering them on at the soccer game. Or carrying their dead tired, sleeping body, from the car to their bed as God's peace rested on their tiny frame.
These were the "dad" things I was barely capable of doing before conception. After birth, the kids would grow bigger and stronger, I would grow weaker. And at 53, by the time the kids graduated high school, I would most likely be wheel chair bound. A husk. A proud and happy husk, but a diminished shell that had minimal physical influence on my new family.
Shortly after graduation, the life insurance policy would help ensure they were all financially capable of maintaining forward momentum in life. But they would, for some time, fly the missing man formation at the dinner table.
This is no way for a family to be.
I didn't have the physicality of Mel Gibson, Chelsea Grammar, Steven Tyler ... et al
Making love is the easy part. Creating children is the wonderful part. Getting out of bed at 2:00 a.m. to hold and comfort a colicy child is the hard part. The part that is real, and daily, and unavoidable.
To this moment, I love her with all that I am. I weep often of the lost love. Past is past, she is gone.
There is comfort knowing that she has one that is closer to her age. Assuming that a different roll of the genetics dice should give her, and her offspring a chance at a better future.
Believing that she is better off without me.
Thursday, September 29, 2016
Never think that you are unimportant, forgotten in the mind and heart of a certain one.
For you are NOT!
Each of us dreams of the "ONE"
You are .. to me
From the first and even now
I know our paths will never cross again, as I had always believed they would, according to Bob Dylan's songs.
Reality prevails .. and the truth between us is held only in each other's hearts
I would have sold my soul to be with you every night, for the rest of my life
But ...
I could not ... because it was not going to be just you and I
Life threw a snowball directly at my face, woke me up, and demanded I understand .. that us being together would bring children
Oh how I love being a dad. Oh how I wanted to be a husband .. to a good woman .. a woman that wanted to be a mom. A mom that would truly love her children.
A woman .. that I knew you were. Strong of spirit, witty, smart, intelligent, resourceful, frugal, sexy, caring, and most of all .. beautiful of soul
But I was the weakest link in the chain. Genetics and heredity. The good .. and more importantly .. that bad that I would bring to the genetic table ...
If our children derived a greater part of genetics from me, and not from you ..
We would spend the rest of our lives together .. nursing .. caring for .. attending to .. and doing all we could to improve the chances of survival of our children.
A thousand fold more so than the effort put forth by a normal, caring parent
Still ,, it is all past now. You are with another and I have nothing but dreams and regret.
Never think that you will ever be forgotten
For you are NOT!
Each of us dreams of the "ONE"
You are .. to me
From the first and even now
I know our paths will never cross again, as I had always believed they would, according to Bob Dylan's songs.
Reality prevails .. and the truth between us is held only in each other's hearts
I would have sold my soul to be with you every night, for the rest of my life
But ...
I could not ... because it was not going to be just you and I
Life threw a snowball directly at my face, woke me up, and demanded I understand .. that us being together would bring children
Oh how I love being a dad. Oh how I wanted to be a husband .. to a good woman .. a woman that wanted to be a mom. A mom that would truly love her children.
A woman .. that I knew you were. Strong of spirit, witty, smart, intelligent, resourceful, frugal, sexy, caring, and most of all .. beautiful of soul
But I was the weakest link in the chain. Genetics and heredity. The good .. and more importantly .. that bad that I would bring to the genetic table ...
If our children derived a greater part of genetics from me, and not from you ..
We would spend the rest of our lives together .. nursing .. caring for .. attending to .. and doing all we could to improve the chances of survival of our children.
A thousand fold more so than the effort put forth by a normal, caring parent
Still ,, it is all past now. You are with another and I have nothing but dreams and regret.
Never think that you will ever be forgotten
Tuesday, July 5, 2016
Introductions
Old and new. Past and present. What was .. and what will be
For eight years (2004-2012) I blogged about this life that I am living. There were a total of 3 regular subscribers and occasional spikes of as many as 12 readers at any one time. That was in ancient times when blogspot.com was the place to be.
In 2012 there came .. an event .. which I did not anticipate .. or account for ...
When .. all that I was, and wanted to be .. my future ..
Died
Because in my blog I wrote of things that I loved ..and feared .. most
My Dichotomy
That blog, was to be, if nothing else, an historical accounting that my daughter might one day see.
And read, come to know, and hopefully understand ..
Who I am, who I was
Who she is .. who her family is ..
And hopefully, help her understand her place in history
Because her mother, so loving and nurturing, spent 80% of our daughter's life, and 10% of our son's lives, repeating the mantra that would forever affect all 5 of them.
Your father never loved you. Your brothers hate you. If they cared about you, why aren't they here? Your father didn't want a child that was disabled. Your brothers didn't want to have to take care of a disabled sister. That is why your dad and your brothers are not here. That is why your dad and brothers are not in your life.
And this wonderful, loving, nurturing woman, to this very moment .. repeats the same lines to her daughter, and to herself.
Of course, since the sons are now 27 and 25, and the daughter is now 16 ..
They see the truth.
There is no choice in the matter now. I hoped, that by deleting, cancelling, discarding, and erasing the things of that past, that they would be gone, and my children would be free.
Not so
My hours left on this world, are few. I want them to know .. the thoughts behind each and every action. In hope that they will be gracious .. when they judge me.
And those that I have known and loved along the way, would know the truth.
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