At dinner on the night that our family's tired, old war horse limped home for her last hurrah, Dad explains that Big Red has suffered a sustainable stroke in that she'd simply dropped her transmission. Then our hard working, keeper of purse strings clarifies why he'd chosen to open his wallet and pump fresh blood into our old friend in hopes of reviving the old girl one last time: I'm really not ready to buy another new car, and sighing with relief, my husband digs into whatever I'd cooked up for dinner. Though my husband's relief feels contagious to me, I'm keenly aware of Barry's passive resistence to resuscitating Big Red.
If I'd been a quick-glance kind of parent, my son's facial expression might have appeared complacent; however my fascination with human nature zeros in on Barry's temples pulsing with angst, signaling his attitude of—bah humbug—youth's dreams foiled by adult practicality ... again!
If asked how soon Red's final collapse occurred after Dad had reluctantly pumped fresh cash into resuscitating her, my mind was too busy juggling our hectic family life to recall a detail as exacting as that. What I found unforgetable is this: As Red's demise occurred only days after she'd been revived, my husband—a master at the silent treatment when angered—lost his temper—Big time!
As I'd been raised in a house where anger turned passion into a loose cannon and since I'd sustained more than one reason for fearing unbridled passion, my development swerved off center toward a path bent on pleasing. The fact that pleasers rock no boats and opposites attract led to my husband's stony silence, reigning supreme during moments fraught with conflict—until experience gave the complacent nature of my 'good girl' subservience sound reason to question the limited nature of my mindset ... but I'm getting ahead of myself so ...
In hopes of creating a well balanced home, providing safe haven from fear for my sons, my sixth sense 'recognized' a need to monitor both sides of emotionality's extremes, which, in lieu of moderation might have scaled from ear-piercing yelling to being struck by the silent look of death. Though identifying need for emotional balance proves easy, the trick comes in modifying imprinted reactions that serve no good purpose to all concerned.
Luckily, my neighbor introduced me to the Family Education Association that day in the park when disillusionment was plainly seen on my face—story posted, some time back—when the agonies of toilet training were driving me out of my mind—so anyway, back in the kitchen, you can imagine my jaw dropping in shock while witnessing my husband's full blown tantrum in tandem with hearing that Red had had the nerve to drop dead, meaning that we'd thrown good money after bad.
As I'd played witness to my husband's limited emotional spectrum for years, you can see how his loss of control etched a tattoo into my memory ... as for Barry, well, his jack-in-the-box reaction proved memorable, as well, in that self contained, teen-aged angst burst, like a piñata, showering our kitchen with sweet delight. And though I don't know this for certain, I'm surmising that fifteen year old Steven felt relieved to rid his mind of any thought of his driving Big Red ... and having written that, I'm about to reveal a lapse in my memory, penned mistakenly in a previous post, which had stated that on the glorious day that Steven held his driver's license in hand, he and Barry had to figure out how to share Big Red.
In truth, I didn't come upon my lapse in memory on my own. While reminiscing with my adult son, last week, Steven reminded me that he'd not received his license till after Red had been replaced ... suggesting that along with misperceptions, misjudgments, misunderstandings and misinterpretations, memories can overlap and interweave, causing stories to twist out of shape until knots in the truth loosen and straighten out, over time.
As to youngest son, David, all he cared about was riding shot gun ... which of course he never got to do unless one of his teen aged brothers was not about to get into Big Red. No matter how often youngest brother shouted it out first, all older brothers had to do was share a laugh over his head, and without so much as a word of protest, youngest member of the clan climbed into the wagon's back seat ... providing further proof of the fact that the pecking order is a permanent fixture in family life.
Here is one memory that definitely remains crystal clear for this writer, who takes note of reasons why a family's emotional metronome swings from side to side—Annie mourned the end of her relationship with an old, trusted friend.
You see, even today, memory arises with great fondness of how much I'd coveted Red's strength of character as well as her shiny, all American beauty, because I'd fallen in love with her at first sight—so watching her fall on hard times—valued by no one in her old age after having served us so valiantly for so many years saddened my sensitivities ... until someone (can't remember who) piped up with information that turned parental frowns into smiles that matched the cheek splitting grin on the face of a teen, who'd falsely believed his dream of attaining a chick magnet driving machine was about to come true ...
Gosh—suddenly, while pounding this post into my keyboard, it dawns on me that my very first clunker—which made me contain my angst in much the same way that Barry had swallowed a bitter pill each time a new date slid into Red's passenger seat next to his—had once been another family's princess bride when my tired old nag had been spanking new. And this train of thought suggests that just as calendar pages turn, and seasons come and go, things of beauty are coveted until they grow old and are discarded—however when it comes to embracing extraordinary people, just watch me re-energize my think tank, time and again, in hopes of understanding underlying reasons as to why conflicts, which prove confoundingly disheartening to both sides—die hard. And in a story, not yet posted, you'll come to see why reasoning my way through conflict until clarity is mine proves paramount to freeing my spirit to thrive as seen by eying my sparkle beaming brightly when a loved one walks into the room :)
Anyway, much to my relief, we found that though Big Red had finally keeled over, dead as a door nail, my old friend proved to have redeeming value, after all, in the after life—and if that fact seems confusing—please stay tuned :)
If I'd been a quick-glance kind of parent, my son's facial expression might have appeared complacent; however my fascination with human nature zeros in on Barry's temples pulsing with angst, signaling his attitude of—bah humbug—youth's dreams foiled by adult practicality ... again!
If asked how soon Red's final collapse occurred after Dad had reluctantly pumped fresh cash into resuscitating her, my mind was too busy juggling our hectic family life to recall a detail as exacting as that. What I found unforgetable is this: As Red's demise occurred only days after she'd been revived, my husband—a master at the silent treatment when angered—lost his temper—Big time!
As I'd been raised in a house where anger turned passion into a loose cannon and since I'd sustained more than one reason for fearing unbridled passion, my development swerved off center toward a path bent on pleasing. The fact that pleasers rock no boats and opposites attract led to my husband's stony silence, reigning supreme during moments fraught with conflict—until experience gave the complacent nature of my 'good girl' subservience sound reason to question the limited nature of my mindset ... but I'm getting ahead of myself so ...
In hopes of creating a well balanced home, providing safe haven from fear for my sons, my sixth sense 'recognized' a need to monitor both sides of emotionality's extremes, which, in lieu of moderation might have scaled from ear-piercing yelling to being struck by the silent look of death. Though identifying need for emotional balance proves easy, the trick comes in modifying imprinted reactions that serve no good purpose to all concerned.
Luckily, my neighbor introduced me to the Family Education Association that day in the park when disillusionment was plainly seen on my face—story posted, some time back—when the agonies of toilet training were driving me out of my mind—so anyway, back in the kitchen, you can imagine my jaw dropping in shock while witnessing my husband's full blown tantrum in tandem with hearing that Red had had the nerve to drop dead, meaning that we'd thrown good money after bad.
As I'd played witness to my husband's limited emotional spectrum for years, you can see how his loss of control etched a tattoo into my memory ... as for Barry, well, his jack-in-the-box reaction proved memorable, as well, in that self contained, teen-aged angst burst, like a piñata, showering our kitchen with sweet delight. And though I don't know this for certain, I'm surmising that fifteen year old Steven felt relieved to rid his mind of any thought of his driving Big Red ... and having written that, I'm about to reveal a lapse in my memory, penned mistakenly in a previous post, which had stated that on the glorious day that Steven held his driver's license in hand, he and Barry had to figure out how to share Big Red.
In truth, I didn't come upon my lapse in memory on my own. While reminiscing with my adult son, last week, Steven reminded me that he'd not received his license till after Red had been replaced ... suggesting that along with misperceptions, misjudgments, misunderstandings and misinterpretations, memories can overlap and interweave, causing stories to twist out of shape until knots in the truth loosen and straighten out, over time.
As to youngest son, David, all he cared about was riding shot gun ... which of course he never got to do unless one of his teen aged brothers was not about to get into Big Red. No matter how often youngest brother shouted it out first, all older brothers had to do was share a laugh over his head, and without so much as a word of protest, youngest member of the clan climbed into the wagon's back seat ... providing further proof of the fact that the pecking order is a permanent fixture in family life.
Here is one memory that definitely remains crystal clear for this writer, who takes note of reasons why a family's emotional metronome swings from side to side—Annie mourned the end of her relationship with an old, trusted friend.
You see, even today, memory arises with great fondness of how much I'd coveted Red's strength of character as well as her shiny, all American beauty, because I'd fallen in love with her at first sight—so watching her fall on hard times—valued by no one in her old age after having served us so valiantly for so many years saddened my sensitivities ... until someone (can't remember who) piped up with information that turned parental frowns into smiles that matched the cheek splitting grin on the face of a teen, who'd falsely believed his dream of attaining a chick magnet driving machine was about to come true ...
Gosh—suddenly, while pounding this post into my keyboard, it dawns on me that my very first clunker—which made me contain my angst in much the same way that Barry had swallowed a bitter pill each time a new date slid into Red's passenger seat next to his—had once been another family's princess bride when my tired old nag had been spanking new. And this train of thought suggests that just as calendar pages turn, and seasons come and go, things of beauty are coveted until they grow old and are discarded—however when it comes to embracing extraordinary people, just watch me re-energize my think tank, time and again, in hopes of understanding underlying reasons as to why conflicts, which prove confoundingly disheartening to both sides—die hard. And in a story, not yet posted, you'll come to see why reasoning my way through conflict until clarity is mine proves paramount to freeing my spirit to thrive as seen by eying my sparkle beaming brightly when a loved one walks into the room :)
Anyway, much to my relief, we found that though Big Red had finally keeled over, dead as a door nail, my old friend proved to have redeeming value, after all, in the after life—and if that fact seems confusing—please stay tuned :)
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