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The "family matter" that's set aside when I say that I'm "mostly happy" about this moment in my life is, not surprisingly, my grandson. Because I don't think that I'll ever be truly happy until I know that he's gotten his life on track and has a reasonable chance of negotiating the rest of this journey on his own.
To be quite honest, I don't know if that's ever gonna happen. Hence the need to qualify my personal happiness, to momentarily set aside certain things from consideration. In the interest of, you know, my own sanity.
I also feel compelled to add that, even when we're "being honest," there are still some things we set aside, leaving them unsaid because they plunge so deeply into the abyss of our collective dysfunction that what remains, of what we once thought of as "family," would surely implode. With consequences to others, already struggling, besides ourselves.
So we talk about our disappointment in a child's decision to quit on something that had anchored our lives, had helped maintain our connection to other people, other things, outside of ourselves.
And it's not that we don't understand that soccer is "just a game" that's being played by our kids while other people's kids are starving in, say, Africa. Because, guess what, they play soccer in Africa too. And kids are starving here, as well.
It's that "sanity thing" again, for us, for them, for all the things that make us the same, beneath the differences in our skin, our cultures, our locations on this planet.
It's me building target boxes and gun rests in my basement while kids, including my own grandchild, starve for things including, but not limited to food, and cops are shot at Home Depots in Dallas and people die while eating waffles in Tennessee.
So yes, it's crazy. The things we do to hold off the crazy in our own lives, for just another minute.
Because, in that minute, I may decide to cook a meal that I won't eat myself but will put in the freezer for a time when I get that call from my grandson that he's hungry and there's nothing in his mother's house to eat.
That tentative voice asking if I have something that I can bring to him, or if he and his little sister can come to my place for a meal. And I'll be able to say yes.
Because I've managed to hold off the crazy in my own life. For, you know, another minute...
LPK
Dreamwidth
4.25.2018
To be quite honest, I don't know if that's ever gonna happen. Hence the need to qualify my personal happiness, to momentarily set aside certain things from consideration. In the interest of, you know, my own sanity.
I also feel compelled to add that, even when we're "being honest," there are still some things we set aside, leaving them unsaid because they plunge so deeply into the abyss of our collective dysfunction that what remains, of what we once thought of as "family," would surely implode. With consequences to others, already struggling, besides ourselves.
So we talk about our disappointment in a child's decision to quit on something that had anchored our lives, had helped maintain our connection to other people, other things, outside of ourselves.
And it's not that we don't understand that soccer is "just a game" that's being played by our kids while other people's kids are starving in, say, Africa. Because, guess what, they play soccer in Africa too. And kids are starving here, as well.
It's that "sanity thing" again, for us, for them, for all the things that make us the same, beneath the differences in our skin, our cultures, our locations on this planet.
It's me building target boxes and gun rests in my basement while kids, including my own grandchild, starve for things including, but not limited to food, and cops are shot at Home Depots in Dallas and people die while eating waffles in Tennessee.
So yes, it's crazy. The things we do to hold off the crazy in our own lives, for just another minute.
Because, in that minute, I may decide to cook a meal that I won't eat myself but will put in the freezer for a time when I get that call from my grandson that he's hungry and there's nothing in his mother's house to eat.
That tentative voice asking if I have something that I can bring to him, or if he and his little sister can come to my place for a meal. And I'll be able to say yes.
Because I've managed to hold off the crazy in my own life. For, you know, another minute...
LPK
Dreamwidth
4.25.2018
