rss feed
Why I No Longer Go Home For The Holidays
My brother was born with a large birthmark over his left eye that occurs in 0.005% of the population. Subsequent surgeries improved its appearance, though, in my brother’s own words, he has “long since given up on looking normal.”
Growing up together, I never really gave much thought to it or how he must have felt about it, in part, due to the beauty of childish obliviousness, but mostly because that wasn’t part of his identity to me. He was my brother and that’s how I thought of him first. The birthmark? I honestly have to remind myself that it’s there.
My mother doesn’t feel the same way.
From the start, it pained her that my brother endured ignorant and hurtful comments. It pained her when it pained him. She blamed herself. She blamed my dad. She blamed everyone and she blamed no one.
My mother was determined to do as much as she could to make up for the black spot my brother was born with.
And she was fantastic. She was loving and supportive and encouraging and constructive. But there wasn’t enough of that in her to go around. She was unhappy in her own marriage, drained by work and home duties, and so the small amount of optimism and positivity she procured, she gave it all to my brother.
And I became the unwitting figure to help her shoulder the rest.
I didn’t understand that as a child, though I do now. It used to confuse and frustrate me that my brother and I grew up in the same household but saw two very different people when we looked at our mom.
Back then, my mom had not yet learned how to have enough love in her own heart to be able to build my brother up without pushing me down in the process. Years and years later, I now think I see that lesson begin to take hold, though it is too late. Decades of old habits and old scars pollute the landscape of our relationship and crushing insults fly out of her mouth on their own accord, the easy path lubricated by twenty-seven years of routine.
She was my original heartbreak.
comment
Hal, you’re the best.
Definitely echoing Hal. We’re here for you.
Thanks Lola. Hearing (reading) supportive comments really helps. 
I definitely feel you. In a lot of ways I’m still struggling to make peace with my parents regarding my childhood and the way I was raised. I don’t know if I’d say they pushed me down while holding up my sister and cousins, but at times I felt as if they were taking out some of their personal frustrations on me and that I would never be able to live up to their expectations, at least not unless I changed who I was and embraced a life that deep down I knew wasn’t for me. I still don’t have a close-knit relationship with my parents, and wonder if that will ever change.
@Hal – I agree with Juli, you rock.
Hmm.. yea I do think it’s unfortunate that many first-gen parents hard press their ideas of what’s better for their kids to the point that it gets in the way of them really getting to know their kids. Also, culturally, I think that generation is just not used to communicating very much (or very well) with their family. Maybe you’ll be able to cultivate a closer (and maybe different?) kind of relationship with your parents now that you are grown?
What a beautiful and amazingly honest post.
Your last line totally and completely got me. In part because I completely relate and in part because I hope my daughter won’t ever feel the same way about me.
Sometimes, though, I think it’s inevitable. We move close and then away from our parents over and over.
I didn’t go home for holidays for years, but after Lila was born, everything changed. Somehow, seeing how they interact with her makes all the difference. I’m not sure it’s entirely rational either.
Thanks for this lovely post, Juliane. Really lovely.
Please Leave a Reply
TrackBack URL :
I’m sorry, Juli. Your Matador family will always be with you, though. Virtually, of course, but I guess that’s the only way we’re ever together.