Wednesday, June 15, 2005
ANGER
I woke up angry this morning.
Angry that the guy I had over last night doesn’t really do anything for me and yet I remain in the game.
Angry that I had to get up at 5:30 AM to go to the gym.
Angry that my trainer thinks an inability to spend seven days a week at the gym has something to do with ‘will power’.
Angry about the ridiculously sexist song and video for Destiny’s Child’s latest song ‘Cater 2 You’ that sets the women’s movement back about 40 years.
Angry that in Gwen Stefani’s latest video I can see her ass beneath a tiny cheerleading skirt. I thought certainly she would never sell out to the trend of over sexualized female singer/songwriters. Would they try to stuff Bono’s package in shorty shorts and have him fulfilling school boy fantasy’s by high step marching with a troupe of Japanese back-up dancers?
I’m angry that last weekend my grandfather died and my parents only invited my little brothers to the memorial. We were welcome to come, but it “wasn’t really necessary”.
I’m angry that the majority of my youth was about “the boys”. Even with my Grandfather, my parents never really pushed a relationship with any of the girls in the family. It was always, “the boys are well”, “the boys are coming to visit”, “Would you like the boys to stop by”?
Grandpa heard more about “the boys” then any of the rest of us. We never had a chance of establishing a space in his 103 year old brain when the majority of repetitive speech referred to two twin boys.
I’m angry that my mother has even robbed me of my chance to say goodbye. That she planned the memorial around the schedule of “the boys”.
Don’t get me wrong. They ARE wonderful boys and brothers. Albeit spoiled with the kind of parental affections for which the remaining five siblings in the family could only have dreamt.
Let’s be painfully honest here… I didn’t actively pursue a relationship with my Grandfather and now I am upset that he is gone, the chance has passed, and I have very little to mourn.
My anger at all these others is really misplaced.
My Grandfather lived far away from my family and was isolated until my grandmother died a week before his 100th birthday. I was introduced to my grandfather for the fourth time in my life when he was already 101. I wanted an ideal relationship with my Grandfather, with hand holding and story telling and awkward brunches at the old folk’s home.
But I wasn’t able to put in the work to get it all. I didn’t write when I could have, I didn’t enjoy going to see him. He didn’t make sense and would mentally wander during our talks. He couldn’t really listen and towards the end he couldn’t really finish a story.
Ultimately, I couldn’t handle seeing him anymore. I could smell his age. I could sense his approaching death. It frightened me.
Is this what my father will smell like someday?
I let this fear keep me from having a relationship with my Grandfather and now I am sad that the chance is gone.
Sad and a little bit angry.
Angry at myself.
Angry that the guy I had over last night doesn’t really do anything for me and yet I remain in the game.
Angry that I had to get up at 5:30 AM to go to the gym.
Angry that my trainer thinks an inability to spend seven days a week at the gym has something to do with ‘will power’.
Angry about the ridiculously sexist song and video for Destiny’s Child’s latest song ‘Cater 2 You’ that sets the women’s movement back about 40 years.
Angry that in Gwen Stefani’s latest video I can see her ass beneath a tiny cheerleading skirt. I thought certainly she would never sell out to the trend of over sexualized female singer/songwriters. Would they try to stuff Bono’s package in shorty shorts and have him fulfilling school boy fantasy’s by high step marching with a troupe of Japanese back-up dancers?
I’m angry that last weekend my grandfather died and my parents only invited my little brothers to the memorial. We were welcome to come, but it “wasn’t really necessary”.
I’m angry that the majority of my youth was about “the boys”. Even with my Grandfather, my parents never really pushed a relationship with any of the girls in the family. It was always, “the boys are well”, “the boys are coming to visit”, “Would you like the boys to stop by”?
Grandpa heard more about “the boys” then any of the rest of us. We never had a chance of establishing a space in his 103 year old brain when the majority of repetitive speech referred to two twin boys.
I’m angry that my mother has even robbed me of my chance to say goodbye. That she planned the memorial around the schedule of “the boys”.
Don’t get me wrong. They ARE wonderful boys and brothers. Albeit spoiled with the kind of parental affections for which the remaining five siblings in the family could only have dreamt.
Let’s be painfully honest here… I didn’t actively pursue a relationship with my Grandfather and now I am upset that he is gone, the chance has passed, and I have very little to mourn.
My anger at all these others is really misplaced.
My Grandfather lived far away from my family and was isolated until my grandmother died a week before his 100th birthday. I was introduced to my grandfather for the fourth time in my life when he was already 101. I wanted an ideal relationship with my Grandfather, with hand holding and story telling and awkward brunches at the old folk’s home.
But I wasn’t able to put in the work to get it all. I didn’t write when I could have, I didn’t enjoy going to see him. He didn’t make sense and would mentally wander during our talks. He couldn’t really listen and towards the end he couldn’t really finish a story.
Ultimately, I couldn’t handle seeing him anymore. I could smell his age. I could sense his approaching death. It frightened me.
Is this what my father will smell like someday?
I let this fear keep me from having a relationship with my Grandfather and now I am sad that the chance is gone.
Sad and a little bit angry.
Angry at myself.
Labels: Pop Culture Casualty, Sober
