Not Our Parents

My first serious relationship was with a boy from a vastly different background than myself. He was older, polished, and born into the top 5% income threshold. He often expressed that his family was poor because compared to others in the top 5% and up, their money was a joke. But, he always had the newest technology, expensive name brand clothing, and the house and lifestyle his parents enjoyed whispered of money.

But me? I was a special kind of back woods poor. We were lucky to have AC in the summer and heat in the winter. There was a hole in the bathroom floor of our rotting house just sealed up with spray foam. We had a total of four pairs of shoes: tennis shoes, flip flops, dress shoes, and our well loved rubber boots. And the only reason those were not typically second hand was due to how large my feet were for my frame. We never went hungry or did without basic needs, but there was nothing too fancy in our lives, and almost everything we owned had been well loved by someone before us.

So, it was easy for anyone to see I was at a severe disadvantage when I met his mother. Add to it I was still in my tom boy faze, and it created a raging storm. I did not wear makeup, sported a fetching pixie cut, and avoided any clothing that was too feminine. Shoes are still optional to me just as they were then. I had manners though, perfectly crafted by my father. That and my intellect seemed to be the only appealing qualities to her. She would often lament to her son that I was a sweet girl, just not the right girl. Then she would complain about my appearance or upbringing.

Looking back, her son was most certainly not the right person for me. I would be hard pressed to even believe he is a good person. But, the things his mother listed as my faults were never such. She especially disliked my independent attitude that I used to empower others around me. Too outspoken. Too bold. Too much.

But, the real stickler to her was my father. I came from a disjointed family full of abuse and alcohol. It would never be suitable to her. More than once she expressed concerns to her son.

"What if she inherited it? What if she becomes like him?"

Never mind that abuse and alcoholism are not genteically inherited. We are not defined by the family we are born into. The blood that courses through our body is beyond our control. However, this did not stop her from acting like it was running through my veins, waiting to spring forth like a monster clothed in human flesh. She would say such hurtful things. What if I was a monster? What about my family? There would never be idealist family gatherings or holidays. These things came up often.

But, to my face it was all warmth and sympathetic smiles. After all, charity should be offered to the less fortunate, just not a seat at the table.

Over time I learned that she came from her own line of abuse and alcohol. That she was overbearing and controlling of her children and often lashed out in verbal and emotional attacks at them when they strayed from her control. Later one of her sons began beating his wife and they debated if they should help her complete her green card, least she run away with the kids once free. It was sickening.

Her hurtful words stayed with me for a while. It was something she brought up to her son repeatedly. And, others I met would harbor the same sentiment over my head. It seemed in their eyes I was destined either to become an abuser or the abused. If my father was a monster, what if I was too?

As I have become more confident in myself those words have lost all of their meaning. Now that I work in social services and help people escape their abusers, I wonder what would be said. Rather than be the monster she often proclaimed I would become, I am one of the knights sent out to vanquish evil and free the people. I grew into the kind and compassionate woman that I always intended to be. We all have every right to become a good person, and I did not miss my opportunity to. I hope that on her own journey she has found a way to leave behind the hurtful love she too was taught as a child.