Inheritances....

Whenever I work with clients on discovering the important lessons from their past (typically childhood), I will often begin by asking them to share their memorable family stories.  I also mention that these stories may have been told to them by their parent(s) or other close "adult" relatives;  they may also reflect what my client actually experienced while growing up in his or her family of origin. 

Take Joe for example.  When we started on this journey, he said he didn't remember much and had no family stories he could think of.  This happens too.  What I did instead was begin to ask him about his grandparents and whether or not he remembered either of them.  That was all it took.   Joe spent the next hour telling me about his grandfather who behaved monstrously towards his male grandchildren.  Having been this field for several years, even I was shocked at the "stories" Joe shared about the physical abuse Joe's grandfather perpetrated on his grandsons (including Joe himself).  Joe told me about the time his grandfather, uncle, Joe, and his young male cousin were driving along a road in their grandfather's truck.  To make a long story short, Joe's uncle flung a heavy metal object out his window at the driver in the next car.  Joe watched the object make contact with that driver's head and then witnessed the driver's head hit the steering wheel as Joe's grandfather sped off.  This story is one of the "milder" ones Joe relayed to me. 

Now let me tell you a bit about Joe.  I could never figure out upon first meeting Joe why he was so "highly defended" generally speaking.  That's psycho-babble for being on the defensive.  I'm used to tattoos, so that didn't surprise me;  however, I have to say that Joe was sporting more than the average bear.  Head, neck, arms, legs---the only area where Joe had not been tattooed was his face.  Now if you are wondering how I am linking the mention of Joe's tattoos to my observation of his being highly defended, please allow me to clarify for you.  You see, when it comes to tattoos, it isn't the tattoo itself that's an issue.  It's the subject/object presented via the tattoo that we must pay attention to.  As a matter of fact, I plan on getting a tattoo myself next trip to Maui.  But unlike Joe, I won't be ordering up a rabid dog's head...or a demon/female/gargoyle (whatever in the hell it was!)...or the word "Murderer" either.  See what I mean?  Gotta pay attention! 

Which is the point of this post today about inheritances.  If I hadn't asked and listened to Joe about the "stories" he shared with me about his grandfather---I really wouldn't have any idea how Joe grew up to be such an angry and highly defended young man.  But now I know.  Of course, Joe's grandfather wasn't the only monster in Joe's family of origin;  his uncle died in prison.  His cousin is in prison now.  His mother wears the scars inflicted upon her by her father.  And oh by the way, Joe's mother is quite the pistol-packin' mama herself when irritated.  See what I mean about inheritances?  Just like eye color and body build...coping with stress through violence is just another example of what we can pass on through the gene pool with each passing generation.

Thankfully Joe is all about changing that.  I have every confidence he will be successful in breaking the cycle of violence that began within his family long before even his grandfather showed up.
 
Every October is Domestic Violence Awareness month.  If you or anyone you know is a victim of domestic violence, please call the Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE.  The hotline receives nearly 24,000 calls every month.  Stop the madness now.  It begins with just one call.

His Empire of Dirt...

My uncle Bobo is nearly 98 years old.  He's probably going to die soon as he has had several medical issues arise in recent months.  He's spent the past two months in a rehab facility;  instead of getting better, he's gotten worse.  Just today, my aunt told me that he will be returning to their apartment tomorrow after a failed attempt at transitioning him into his great nephew's home.  My aunt is upset that he is having to come back to their apartment;  I think his urinating on her couch pretty much sealed that deal before he went away to rehab.

You have to understand my aunt and uncle.  They have been married for nearly sixty years and were the quintessential "don't call us...we'll call you" kind of couple.  Except for the fact that they rarely called you unless they wanted something.  I can remember running away to their home from the local grocery store when I was about nine years old.  I begged them to let me move in with them as they didn't have any kids of their own and (I figured) had to be a damn sight better than my own parents to live with.  Unfortunately, what I remember most about that evening was my uncle pointing to their telephone and ordering my aunt to "Call them now."  Did I mention that Uncle Bobo is not my blood relation?  After my parents picked me up that night, all I remember was a lot of yelling, screaming, and discipline ala the "board of education" on my backside.

Needless to say, things didn't change much as the years progressed and I made my various attempts at "connecting" with Uncle Bobo.  Beyond the language barrier, he made it quite clear on numerous occassions that unless the subject being discussed centered around (1) his native homeland, (2) his family, and/or (3) himself...he wasn't having it.  Since my aunt was his willing servant in every way, shape, and form imaginable ("I can't talk to you now, I have to serve Uncle Bobo his coffee!"), they were two very hard nuts to crack.  Literally and figuratively.

Flash forward to the present day.  Uncle Bobo has been miserable.  Since becoming incontinent, immobile, and barely able to speak above a whisper---he is now a man out of control.  Without getting into too many gory details, he did a lot to try and ensure his quality of care in advance of his present circumstances.  Inotherwords, he made his plans and (as the old saying goes) God laughed.  I should also add that his attempts at greasing the palms of his preferred future caregivers resulted in no caregiving at all...and no financial stability on behalf of my aunt's own future. 

I don't know if my aunt will ever truly recognize the type of man she was "really" married to for these past several decades;  there is a big part of me that hopes she will be successfully deprogrammed once he has moved out of this world and into the next.  For you see, my uncle Bobo was an Emperor in his own mind.  Unfortunately the empire of dirt he created is crumbling fast in spite of my aunt's attempts to keep shoveling it back into place. 

When all is said and done, nobody learns how to comfortably serve others by becoming comfortable with being served by others.  Uncle Bobo happens to be one of those people who got way too comfortable---and who is only learning now how paybacks are a---well, you know what they are.  And so do I.

Until next time...