Getting My (Family) Bearings

Wow – interesting that this is hard to define.  I know that, when I was in high school, my younger brother and my mother fought – argued – a lot, basically about nothing much.  And it was really upsetting to me.  So I was I suppose the rescuer in some sense, the good daughter who didn’t cause the same kind of trouble as her brother (and, really, given the vast range of troubles a brother could potentially cause, this was minimal).  Though technically not the oldest, I was practically speaking the first-born, or at least the first-maturing (my older brother is developmentally disabled), and so in many ways I was the one my parents got to hone their parenting skills on.  Or, maybe not.  Maybe they honed their troubleshooting skills on David, and were mostly grateful I didn’t require a lot of attention.  And Brian, the younger brother, did require, or at least demand, a lot of attention.  That’s probably what the arguing was about.  And what was my role in all this?  I guess I see myself as a bearing – you know, a little round thing that makes the turning of this part work smoothly, keeps it from grinding away at that part as it moves.  It was well within my capabilities – I was smart enough to get on well at school, adept enough to keep out of trouble both at school and at home, and generally preferred less attention to more.  That, perhaps, is the key: I preferred less attention to more.

Or, did I just get used to that?

Blue Impala Sun

We were driving, driving, driving, across the country. The blue impala station wagon.  I don’t remember if we were on our way TO visit the uncle in Las Vegas, or on the FROM the visit.  But I do remember that it was hot.  It was incredibly hot.  I was in the back end of the station wagon, and I was so, so very hot.  The sun coming through the car windows.  There was a blanket, so we could sleep in the car.  Maybe I was lying down.  But it was so hot.  I don’t remember the thoughts, just the feeling, the feeling of lying down, of piercing heat, of not being able to get away from it, of being caught by it.  The desert.  Driving through the desert.  My first experience of the desert, in a blue Impala station wagon, just driving, driving through it, as though we could escape experiencing it if we just continued to drive – with the sun holding us.

A Family Memory in a Car

First always is the memory of being 14 or so, getting lost with my mom and brother.  What state were we in?  Where were we driving to?  Did we ever get there?  Those details are washed away by time, irrelevant to the memory.

What matters is that there we were, the three of us, a recently redefined family unit in the wake of my parents’ divorce, making our way through the world.

My mother was at the wheel, of course.  Now there was only one person with a driver’s license, one person in charge, one person carrying the load of this terrible wonderful weight that is a family.

And there I was, awkward in my quest for adulthood, feeling naked and betrayed by the changes, yet loyal and true, seeking a balance between rebellion and responsibility in my stumblings into maturity.

And my brother, quiet and serious, an integral part of things and yet fragile somehow, almost not there, the least of us in age, adrift as the only remaining male in a drama where empowerment of the female was the thread that had gotten us through.

There are two parts to this memory:  the tableau just described, all its tension, all its tenderness.  And the moment something broke through – some giving up?  some silly turn?  the relief when we had found our way?  Again, the details are muted, muddied, irrelevant.

But this comes through strong and clear:  the moment we began laughing.  Laughing and laughing and laughing, unraveling, releasing, laughing until we cried, crying through more laughter, stopping the car because nothing else could exist, certainly not driving, certainly not safely, with such laughter taking over all muscle control, all meaning.

Laughing until the world we had known had dissolved and there we were, still there, laughing, a family.  Driving somewhere.  Still a family with somewhere to go.

(More) Frozen on the Wheel of Fortune

The other day my TV was frozen on the Wheel of Fortune.  There were so many other things it could have been: The Price is Right, Who Wants to Be A Millionaire, The Dating Game even.  But instead, I got endless Vanna.

The remote was stuck on mute, too, the final result of too many sticky fingers fondling the buttons.  So, I guess I shouldn’t complain about the Wheel of Fortune – at least I could follow along.  Except following requires some modicum of attention, some investment in whether your guess is wrong or right, whether the prize could have been yours.

I confess to having neither attention nor investment.  I’m not even sure I had any brain cells active at that point.

The house was stupidly quiet without the kids.  Tracey had bundled up every last Barbie doll for her overnight with Stacey.  Watching Vanna move across the stage I wondered how her proportions compared to Barbie’s.  There couldn’t be too much difference there.  Fortunately, Tracey would never have that problem – which only meant, of course, that she’d have a million others.

Steven was on an overnight as well, probably having similar thoughts about the ways women’s bodies curve, extend, and protrude.  Or, rather, variations on the theme.  The geeky contestant who was leading the game reminded me of Steven, giving me hope.  Yes, there really are boys who survive their teenage years.

Barbara had been gone three years now.  She hardly ever called now, her life so full of whatever it is young women fill it with these days.  Different than my college days.  So different.

The guy running the show – was it Bob Barker?  I think all the game show hosts are Bob Barker -  I realized he reminded me of Don.  No one had reminded me of Don in a long time.  No one and everyone.  I tried not to think of him since he ran off with the raccoon lady.  But that Bob Barker smile, the one that says everything is grand and simple and either you’re on top of the world or else you’re dog meat – Don had that smile.

The girl who was losing – yeah, that one was me.  Bright smile pasted over expectations that once seemed so possible, and now just seemed foolish.  That “I can stick this out” clench to her jaw, the too pale caste to her skin.  The willingness to keep playing the game you’ve already lost just for the sake of the ratings.  Yup, that’s me.