Milliblogging!

Think again.

One thing that’s always pissed me off, that I can’t seem to shake my rage at, is driving under the influence of alcohol/impairing substances/excess fatigue, or otherwise being fucking reckless, misanthropic, and irresponsible in favour of our supposed rights to the comfort, convenience, and status provided by our precious automobiles. The following comment posted to CBC.ca this morning in response to coverage of the Berner case, in which a 4-year-old was killed by a reckless and probably drunk driver, is far more compassionate towards offenders than I’m capable of being:

“What a disgusting loss of life.

Parent Win

Having been born 3 months before he should have been under life-threatening circumstances that were very likely to leave him with permanent developmental problems, our son has been monitored by the local Infant Development Program at the Developmental Disabilities Association since he came home from the hospital in Jan 2008. Statistically he’s at elevated risk for autism, cerebral palsy, all kinds of things.

Well, here we are celebrating his third birthday, and with it came his final IDP assessment. We are a very lucky family: he is doing just fine, solidly normal in all areas.

Except for one thing.

The social development section of the assessment noted that our wee monkey does not know if he is a boy or girl, and doesn’t know how to tell the difference. At 3, he’s still pretty much gender ignorant. He knows there is a penis in his diaper, and he knows that Daddy has one too but Mama has something else. But he has no idea that these different body parts have any social significance.

Many (even most) folks may disagree (that’s not an invitation to pipe up - I know you’re out there and you think I’m a freak and a terrible parent, and I don’t give a shit, so don’t waste your time), but in my books that’s a major win.

Yes, he will eventually be subjected to society’s stupid gender bullshit whether we like it or not, but at least he hasn’t been steeped in it since the womb. My hope is that he’ll have a sense of self and some capability for critical thought before then.

Mortality, grief, family, yadda yadda

[I don’t think anyone in my family knows about this blog, which, indeed, I haven’t really told anyone about. If you have personal knowledge of the stuff I’m talking about and have stumbled on this post somehow, I apologize for any discomfort; the forgoing is a nearly uneditted stream of consciousness type of thing, and I hope there’s nothing in it that is read as hurtful - I certainly don’t mean any ill will in writing it; just … processing.]

So my dad’s been very sick for a while now, and I’ve been getting increasingly bad news from back east accordingly.  Now I hear that he’s not doing so well, and has probably not much time left.

I don’t think I’m dealing with this in any expected way, although I think under the circumstances my feelings and actions are pretty normal (if dysfunctional).

First of all, being at the other side of the country it is too easy to put my head in the sand, generally fall down on filial responsibility, and simply not face it. Which makes me a bad daughter, yes, I know. I don’t know *how* to face it because being so far away from the rest of my family I don’t get much in the way of reliable information (certainly not from Dad himself), so I don’t know how accurate the doom-and-gloom reports I get from some factions (yes, that is an appropriate word actually!) are.

It is tough, at times, to be at the other side of the country from one’s entire family - especially when one is as avoidant and generally bad at communication as I am.

I also feel like I don’t have the right to whine or be upset because I *am* at a distance both geographically and emotionally - my relationship with my dad has not been a good close one since I was very small, due to a series of unfortunate events.

I feel like in order to have any right to be distressed or affected at all I have to go into full chest-beating-and-wailing mode; that my ambivalence is a copout and not a legitimate emotional standpoint, not deserving of any respect or tolerance, that I shouldn’t bother anyone with any difficulty I’m feeling with the situation.

Hey, is that A Thing about grieving? Is it because we are not emotionally sophisticated enough to accept the complexity of our feelings - including, often, some ambivalence - that we feel the need to idealize and lionize the lost? Lest, if we don’t, our grief is illegitimized (“Well if he wasn’t so great why are you so upset? Shut up and pull yourself together!”)

My dad is not a bad man, but not wise, and certainly an unfortunate one. I can’t honestly say that he was an excellent father once I got past about 7 years old. But he did teach me trigonometry, electronics, and the use of hand tools when I was a very small child - I could solder at a ridiculously young age thanks to him - and I know there’s more to him as a person than I ever saw as an alienated daughter.

And so, ambivalent - I don’t know how I feel, and I’m pretty sure no matter what my feelings are they are somehow “wrong”.