The material presented
here is not Al-Anon Conference Approved Literature. It is a method
to exchange
information, ideas, feelings, problems and solutions on a personal
level.
...gratitude came my way reluctantly... ...I was very, very stuck. Almost impossible.
Not everyone will do this, I am sure- attempt a life story, in about 10 minutes... but i tend to do this once a year.
I am 69 years old. Yesterday we spent the day with two grand-kids- and went to a fair day with horses, sheep shearing and line dancing. I find the kids to be reasonably challenging. As I reflected- I don't think this i because they are naughty kids- at all. It is because we spend a fair bit of time with them. And their kiddiness, therefore, is much more apparent.
Born, in 1951, to a war veteran; in a family of veterans. Mum wanted to get married- but dad, characteristically was not a decision maker. So mum, as she told me, forced that decision by having me.
She gave me a narrative, around this, when I was a kid. Not sure if this was appropriate- age appropriate, that is. Her mum and dad live in a remote area, with a manual telephone exchange. So there was a code arranged. Mum said that the old biddies would mark the calendar, when a couple got married- and see if the first baby arrived prior to nine months. Not sure if this was true- but is was on mum's mind.
Hmmm... this talk has stopped being a life story... and it has evolved... interesting... ...
Mum's nick-name was "Dreamy D."... She slept three to a bed with two sisters. And mum talked about this a lot. They took strict turns to sleep in the middle- which was deemed to be the prime spot.
Mum said that one day her mum went over the river to play the piano at the pub- and did not come back for a long time. Her oldest sister took over the running of the household.
This was a rich gold mining river- and grand-dad worked on a gold dredge at the time.
When I was very young- and the other kids much younger- she read us the story of Black Beauty. About the way animals were treated in the past. This awakened my liberal conscience. Mum was a great lover of animals and horses- which she enjoyed right through her life.
Mum's favourite song was "There's a Bridle Hanging On the Wall". it was sung on the banjo by her oldest brother, Ken. he went away to war and was killed in Italy...
...so, therefore I absorbed her world and her life.
And our dad too- but much more indirectly.
Mum's second brother went off to join the navy, at the age of 15. He came home on leave in 1940, and was presented with a wrist watch, by the community.
At this age- most of us were still at school.
Hmmm... yes this is not about me; but in many ways it really is!
I have two cousins on facebook. Daughters of the navy man. All four of their brothers were gay, and also worked in the sex trade. There is a lot of healing going on here- and really being facilitated by social media.
We share a lot- because our family always had holidays together- staying on our farm. Part of my own model of family... in much better times.
Our mokapuna [third generation] were living in a home ruled by meth. [two little boys] I had to intervene and go to welfare. And my decision, which was pivotal, I aired and ventilated here- on this group. And i went ahead and did it.
Our welfare system has improved markedly since i was young. When I was young kids would be bunged into an institution. Not so today. I had to trust that this would work out.
Being a part of this Miracles in Progress group has widened my recovery immensely. Beyond all imagination, really... ... ... ...
T H A N K S...
-- Edited by DavidG on Saturday 29th of February 2020 02:30:33 PM
In another group- I was told- what worked was that we [the group] were prepared to love this member- until they were prepared to love themselves.
This can only work- with the gift of good boundaries! ...
I wanted to skip 17 years, in my story. I might go back and colour in the intervening years- at some later date.
This event, more than anything, bought me into Alanon a few years later. It was a betrayal.
I sometimes felt less than- because i was not raped and beaten. No scars and bruises. But I have always stood with those who were. Very staunch, really.
My brother and I lived in shack across the yard. A sleep-out, really. It was dragged across the farm by the local veterans- to provide for us two oldest kids- as the family grew.
It had a small wood-burner in the corner to keep the place warm. it was anole time coal range, actually.
It was about 7.15 in the evening in the family home. A car came up the drive. The pub was a mile down the road from our place. Down by the river.
Mum and dad came into the house- and mum asked my sister, aged 13, why tea wasn't ready.
I spoke up for her, and said- that there was nothing in the cupboard for her to cook.
This may, or may not have been true.
Mum turned to dad and said the ominous words: That boy is getting too big for his boots. You had better sort him out.
Our dad would not say boo to a goose unless he had had a few beers. But later on. when my brother and I were over in our cabin, he came over and stood in the doorway. He said- "if you don't like it here, you can F*** off."
Something like a cutting knife to me. I had done a lot of voluntary work around the place- and and never even been thanked. In fact it had never ever been mentioned.
Once I had finished buy exams I got a job in a shearing gang- for a week- and raised a bit of cash.
The day after my school break-up I shouldered my pack, and moved on.
...gratitude came my way reluctantly... ...I was very, very stuck. Almost impossible.
...
...