The first Monday in October marks the anniversary of my father’s death, over 17 years ago. The end was hard for him, and for my whole family. I know without a doubt he is in a better place. Time has healed the rawness of the wounds and the surface scabs of a daughter’s heart, but anyone who has lost someone close, knows the gaping hole that is left below the surface.
My father was a “doing” and a “fix-it” kind of father. We didn’t often relate on an extremely personal level, but he made sure my oil was changed in my car, that my tires weren’t dangerous, and would help take care of things around the house when they were broke. When I was a teenager, he would make sure my boyfriends left the house early enough, and when my mother worked 2nd shift, he tried to be the best “mother” he could, taking me to the mall, and back and forth to school functions. He could make a really wonderful breakfast, “gravy” eggs , country ham and red eye gravy, and a sweet, creamy rice that was nothing like the papery stuff I make in my rice- steamer.
In the months after his death, I remember “losing it” with my artsy, intellectual husband. Something had broken in my closet, a rod or a shelf, and I fell apart, so upset that he couldn’t “fix-it”. It didn’t take long for me to see that the problem wasn’t really the lack of my husband’s carpentry skills; I was missing my dad to do this for me. At 30 years old, it was the beginning of my seeing that ‘fixing it ’ was something I would have to do for myself.
I visit dad’s grave on occasion, though not as much as I should. I take out his memorabilia from WWII and wish I could ask him questions about it. I look no farther than my own body, to see his short feet and shapely calves at the end of my own legs. Yes, dad is still with me.
The absence of a father in my life leaves a soft spot there for old men. I collect them like dust balls. Their tales about the war, growing up in the depression, living alone… it is a kind of balm to my soul. One of my elderly friends is of Lebanese descent. He gave me a copy of a family cookbook years ago. I have learned to make a mean hummous, kibbie and taboulli. He brings me gifts of olive oil and pine nuts. Recently, I had a business lunch with a 90 year old, who still (somehow) runs his own business. His talks were mostly self-serving; he was always the hero, and always came out well in his tales. Over a mushroom pizza, I mostly sat and listened. Then, there is my former teacher at the old folks home. Talking is difficult, but he plays a mean game of checkers. Despite his affliction with Parkinson’s Disease, I never throw the game.
I am grateful for all my surrogate family. Surrogate relationships are sometimes easier and more rewarding than being the wife-daughter-mother to those of whom we are blood-related. They fill the voids left in the absence of the real thing.
They are my friends, and that is what friends, of all ages, are for.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
Dangerous Confessions of a "Do-It-Yourselfer"
Are you a “do-it-yourselfer” or a “do-it-for me” type of person? Forget Myers-Briggs…a lot can be learned about a person based on their approach to accomplishing the task at hand.“Do-it yourselfers” are not required to have the skills to install a laminate floor, change a flat tire, or make their own pasta, although these skills are advantageous and a bit sexy… No, “do-it- yourselfism ” is part attitude, part strategy, but definitely NOT a life skill that you can learn during a weekend workshop at Lowe's.
The yin and yang of “do-it-yourselfism” contains elements of both light and dark, that reciprocal relationship in a perpetual state of unbalance. The yang of the DIY is prevalent. Today’s “do-it-yourselfer” is independent, confident and self-reliant. They tend to “do- it- themselves” because of either physical necessity or ego (they believe they have the “better way ” ie. wiser, cheaper, faster, more efficient of doing a task.) The “do- it yourselfer” is a widely heralded hero, especially here in the US where the ghosts of our hardy pioneer ancestors still roam, leaving the spirit of independence and freedom in their wagon trails … The Feminist proudly continues along the path of self-reliance with a baby in one hand, a briefcase in the other, and a dust rag clenched between her teeth.
So, where is the yin in DIY? And how ironic is it, that “yin” is defined as “negative, dark, passive, cold, wet, and feminine?” Yuck! Who wants any of that? Move aside the propaganda. The yin is there, whether it is acknowledged it or not. Here is the flip side of a self-proclaimed “do-it-yourselfer”, my personal confession. This is where things get complicated.
DIY’s are uncomfortable being catered to and waited on, for a plethora of reasons. They are often perfectionists. When someone serves you, the outcome is out of your control and does not guarantee success or perfection. In personal relationships, grace makes it possible for someone to serve you, and vice-versa. When the Bible tells us of Jesus washing the disciple’s feet, it had to be an awkward moment, predominately for the one with the calluses and dust on their toes. When people are not allowed to serve you and learn by improving their own life skills, it undermines their growth and confidence. People learn best, by their mistakes, and often at other’s expense. Allowing people to do things for you can sew the seeds for their feeling “needed”. That is a very different feeling from the broad category of being "loved”, which is easier to do, at best, and probably easier to fake, at its worst.
I am a DIY…. I am a feminist, a strong independent woman in my home, work and family life. I am low-maintenance and don’t require a lot of sustenance beyond my middle class existence, except for an occasional out of body experience, the companionship of two dogs and a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookie dough every month or two. 25 years ago, I promised to love, honor and cherish , but I don’t recall that “need” was a part of the deal. Don’t get me wrong... I married a great guy whom I love and we have a great partnership. When I got home last night at 9:30 PM, he had washed 5 loads of laundry and taken care of dinner. He is always there for me. It is self-evident that my DIY struggles are mostly in my own mind. "Doing-it-myself" is definitely a badge of honor I wear pinned to my lapel, proudly exhibited for everyone to see. (Don't tell him, but yea, I kinda need him. And he definitely makes life a lot more FUN.)
Personally, it has always seemed risky to me, to be a “do-it-for-me” type. The “damsel in distress” thing HAS never and COULD never work for me. I think, deep in my soul, I am afraid that if I depend too much on others, I won’t be able to accept the disappointments in them when they let me down. And they will. It is inevitable. It’s hard enough to accept myself when I miss the mark, much less someone else.
The yin and yang of “do-it-yourselfism” contains elements of both light and dark, that reciprocal relationship in a perpetual state of unbalance. The yang of the DIY is prevalent. Today’s “do-it-yourselfer” is independent, confident and self-reliant. They tend to “do- it- themselves” because of either physical necessity or ego (they believe they have the “better way ” ie. wiser, cheaper, faster, more efficient of doing a task.) The “do- it yourselfer” is a widely heralded hero, especially here in the US where the ghosts of our hardy pioneer ancestors still roam, leaving the spirit of independence and freedom in their wagon trails … The Feminist proudly continues along the path of self-reliance with a baby in one hand, a briefcase in the other, and a dust rag clenched between her teeth.
So, where is the yin in DIY? And how ironic is it, that “yin” is defined as “negative, dark, passive, cold, wet, and feminine?” Yuck! Who wants any of that? Move aside the propaganda. The yin is there, whether it is acknowledged it or not. Here is the flip side of a self-proclaimed “do-it-yourselfer”, my personal confession. This is where things get complicated.
DIY’s are uncomfortable being catered to and waited on, for a plethora of reasons. They are often perfectionists. When someone serves you, the outcome is out of your control and does not guarantee success or perfection. In personal relationships, grace makes it possible for someone to serve you, and vice-versa. When the Bible tells us of Jesus washing the disciple’s feet, it had to be an awkward moment, predominately for the one with the calluses and dust on their toes. When people are not allowed to serve you and learn by improving their own life skills, it undermines their growth and confidence. People learn best, by their mistakes, and often at other’s expense. Allowing people to do things for you can sew the seeds for their feeling “needed”. That is a very different feeling from the broad category of being "loved”, which is easier to do, at best, and probably easier to fake, at its worst.
I am a DIY…. I am a feminist, a strong independent woman in my home, work and family life. I am low-maintenance and don’t require a lot of sustenance beyond my middle class existence, except for an occasional out of body experience, the companionship of two dogs and a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookie dough every month or two. 25 years ago, I promised to love, honor and cherish , but I don’t recall that “need” was a part of the deal. Don’t get me wrong... I married a great guy whom I love and we have a great partnership. When I got home last night at 9:30 PM, he had washed 5 loads of laundry and taken care of dinner. He is always there for me. It is self-evident that my DIY struggles are mostly in my own mind. "Doing-it-myself" is definitely a badge of honor I wear pinned to my lapel, proudly exhibited for everyone to see. (Don't tell him, but yea, I kinda need him. And he definitely makes life a lot more FUN.)
Personally, it has always seemed risky to me, to be a “do-it-for-me” type. The “damsel in distress” thing HAS never and COULD never work for me. I think, deep in my soul, I am afraid that if I depend too much on others, I won’t be able to accept the disappointments in them when they let me down. And they will. It is inevitable. It’s hard enough to accept myself when I miss the mark, much less someone else.
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