08/07/2024
Let me preface this post by saying; it will be long. I’m going to talk about something very personal to me.
Right now, Tristan, my oldest Son is back in Japan. I’m hoping he is coming home on Monday, but honestly, he’s an adult now. So I honestly don’t know. He went back to visit about two weeks ago. He called on Saturday to ask if he could extend his stay, till October. I had reluctantly agreed. But yesterday I got an email from his online high school, stating he hadn’t completed any work since July 25th, and soon would be dropped from his classes if he didn’t sign in. They also mentioned he could not attend high school outside of the US, he would not be able to login. He uses a VPN, he can, but he hasn’t. Tristan did an exchange year in Japan last year from 03-23/03-24. He absolutely loved it in Japan. I’m pretty sure that’s where he would like to call “home” some day. And after visiting there last Sept, I don’t blame him. If the USA is dumb enough to vote a ra**st, racist, treasonous criminal back into office, it may be where we call “home”as well. I digress….
I realized last night when I was speaking to my Son, about his upcoming plans to come home or stay. My Son has “mommy issues…”. Imho
Let me elaborate; I am the person he lashes out at when things don’t go his way, I am the one he tells “your fat….” When I ask “how do I look????” I am the one he feels comfortable enough to tell me in a 7 page letter, what a crappy Mom I am, because of my own childhood trauma, and my own “Mommy issues…” Yet, I am also the one, he cannot tell the truth too, when asked a direct question, like, “…are you doing your schoolwork???” Schoolwork he did and completed while in Japan as a foreign exchange student, but for whatever reason has difficulty doing for his normal High School, here in the states. And just for context, I will define “mommy issues” this way; “"Mommy issues" is a colloquial term that refers to psychological problems or relationship difficulties that may stem from unhealthy relationships with a mother or other female figure during childhood. These issues can have a lasting impact into adulthood and can affect a person's mental health. “
Now, the problem I have with Tristan and this new revelation, is I don’t understand, why-he has such difficulty with me? I have done nothing his whole life, but love him. I still love him. I have always been supportive and stood by him, except once, and I regret it. He said when he was 10yrs old, “…I want to be a YouTuber….” I completely shot that down. Big mistake.
Have I made mistakes or used unkind words a time or two, or more. Yes, of course I have, I’m human after all. Do I wish I would have done some things differently, yes. For instance, Tristan recently told me; “….the years I spent running the animal rescue, were his formidable years, and we, his Dad and I, were NOT there for him….” Do you know how hurtful that was for me?
For almost a decade I founded, directed, and ran a successful animal rescue, saving over 6000 animals from euthanasia, doing something few are able to accomplish. I achieved so much in a short period of time. It was amazing. However, had I known I was going to scar my Son for life, I may have chosen to do some things differently. As I’ve admitted, I’m
Not perfect, far from it. I’ve never claimed to have all the answers, in spite of my God given gifts, of an above average intellect and a heart, few others have.
When I was a child, I used to tell my own Mother, “…I will live on love…”. Until I understood what that meant. Her response to me would be “…love will not pay the bills, love will not put a roof over your head, or clothes on your back…So good luck with that…” She often called me a “flower child”, and would speak down to me, telling me “…you’re so smart you’re stupid….” All things I’ve never done or would do to my own children. In truth my own Mother did lots of horrible things to me, from early on, always reminding me “…you already have two strikes against you, your white, referring to my albinism, and blind, why do you insist on getting a third….” Her cruelty didn’t only extend to me, in high school, she insisted every day, the day couldn’t start without making my Sister cry, for whatever reason. I never understood that. Why would you want to send your kids off to school on the wrong foot? So I’m pretty touchy to that kind of thing, with my own kids, still to this day. I don’t like tears before school for any reason.
I remember one time when we were in high school, and my Mom walked out in the morning in her bath robe. I remember being mortified, because often our boyfriend’s would come to pick us up. And later when we had a discussion about it, her response was something along the lines of “…this is my house and if I want to run around naked in my house, I will…” I got her message. I made a mental note, never run around the house half naked with your kids friends in the house. My husband today, won’t even leave our bedroom without a t shirt on. I think we’re both a bit conservative on this issue.
Just to give some more background. I am the oldest of 7, between both my biological parents. I am also Native Hawaiian. Hawaiian culture dictates the first born grandchild is raised by the grandparents. Well, that was me. My Mother before me was also raised by her grandparents, and she in turn has raised not only her first born granddaughter but also that granddaughter’s kids, she had twins at 20 yrs old. My mother and stepfather are now raising them as well. It’s partially why, I didn’t have Tristan till I was 31yrs old, because there was no way in hell, I was handing over any of my children to my Mother to raise. Anyway, it was not a tradition I chose to embrace. My grandparents did a fabulous job with me and I thank my lucky stares for them, everyday. I can only imagine the person I would be, if not for them.
However, many would think, I held ill feelings toward her for allowing me to be raised by my grandparents, and maybe as a child, I did, because I didn’t see my siblings as often as other siblings would. Or because as a child I wondered if she wanted me or didn’t like me??? I think at some point, as a child, I would think, I was too much for her, because I was blind and albino. Plus I challenged her all the time. I remember one time when I was at her house visiting for the weekend, before my 5th birthday. She told me to do something, and instesd, I corrected her, running up the stairs of the apartment she lived in, yelling at her, “…you didn’t enunciate that right….” She yelled back at me, from downstairs, “enunciate, do you even know what that word means???” I retorted back at her, “….enunciate, correct pronunciation….” I taught myself how to read, at 3yrs old, with the help of Sesame Street, Romper Room, Electric Company, Reading Rainbow, etc. all because my aunt and uncle, 8 and 10yrs older got tired of reading my coloring books to me. So between TV and World Book Encyclopedia, I took it upon myself to learn to read, this is where that God given intellect came into play. I think this happened shortly before they had me tested for school.
Which that was another experience that had a life long impact on me. Before kindergarten, because of my visual impairment and sun sensitivity, I had to undergo a battery of tests, no different than any other special needs kid. So I did. What the school determined, was that I was a genius. Newspaper worthy of mentioning, “genius.” I had a higher IQ than my Mother. They told my Mom “…your daughter has an exceptional intelligence, she is smart enough to graduate high school by 14, and college by 18……and btw; we cannot send her to kindergarten, she reads at a 3rd grade level and does math at a 1st grade level….” My Mother’s response was “….my daughter is white and blind, and now you want me to make her socially awkward too????” “NO, I won’t do that….” She had decided I would go to school like every other kid. The school reluctantly agreed, but I never had a normal school experience. I was either too far ahead, or bored out of my mind.
Kindergarten for me was all day, which didn’t happen in the 70’s. But for me, I had morning recess with my peers, but right after attendance happened, I was whisked off to a 3rd grade class to begin my reading lessons, and then when all the morning kindergarteners would go home, I would have lunch, and then head to a first grade class, where I would then tackle math for the remainder of the day. When I finally had a full day as a 1st grader, I would always be sent to a higher grade level class for rwading. I think I had completed all my Ginn levels by the time I got to 5th grade. And in California, elementary back then went to 6th grade. So I remember purposely playing stupid in 6th grade just so I could remain with or appear at the same level as my classmates.
Because I had learned to read long before formal education began, they never taught me braille. Which came to bite me in the backside later on. But instead in 3rd grade, they began teaching me how to type. So when most kids are taking typing in jr high school, I was already typing at 120words a minute or something like that. I skipped it, which also allowed me to be super proficient on a keyboard as well. The problem was testing my typing was difficult. Because I couldn’t read the paper, to copy it, in a time trial. So I actually, had to have someone read me the text, and type it, but finding someone to read at the right speed was difficult. It was either to slow or to fast. So while I could have probably of been a great court reporter, I’d never know, because getting someone to give dictation at the right speed was formidable. And when I tried to do it for jobs, it wasn’t very accurate than either because I’d ask for the written part to be enlarged so I could read it to type it, but even that proved to be discouraging because often it meant flipping pages in between typing. So I never could get an accurate speed count. I think in the end I typed anywhere from 120-160 words per minute. In Jr high, I was given different material to read, for instance, when my class was reading Romeo and Juliet, I read it and then was given Julius Cesar. When everyone was reading Great Expectations, I was also asked to read a Christmas Carol. I mean I came to find it a blessing. As having those extra works under my belt allowed me to have greater breath of knowledge for contrast and comparative essays I later had to write for AP classes and tests. So it payed off in the end.
Although, a bit of a funny story, in 8th grade. I worked on the school newspaper, and the yearbook. The same teacher also taught English, Reading and Social Studies. I aced journalism and yearbook. But at the end of the year, I had failed English, history and reading, because I refused to do the homework. I was bored silly. It had become busy work for me. So my teacher called my Mom in right before school was out for a conference. Sat her down and explained, “….your daughter is exceptional, exceptionally failing, all her core subjects….” My Mother was flabbergasted. I think she was embarrassed too. Here, she had this kid, she barely saw, but had been said to be “wicked smart” yet her teacher was telling her “she’s failing…”. In that moment, she probably hated me. If I could have seen her eyes, visual impairment doesn’t allow me to see those kinds of things, it would have probably of been one of those, “looks could kill, looks…” back then, I swear my Mom hated me. She probably didn’t, she was probably just disappointed, but as a kid, from my perspective, given our limited relationship, I viewed it as , she hated me…
He went on to say, “….. however, your daughter is also a contributing writer for our school newspaper and worked on this years yearbook. She knows how to do the work being asked of her, but she’s bored….All of this is far too easy for her. Under normal circumstances I would not be allowing a student with her grades to go in to high school, but unfortunately, that’s not the case with her daughter. She can do the work, she’s choosing not too…”. Amazingly, I lived to see another day. I can only imagine how mortified my Mom after sitting through that parent teacher conference was.
So my punishment moving forward was I would be sent to the opposite high school of where most my friends were going. I hated it and that didn’t work out so well. It was the high school in my grandparents district as opposed to the other cross town high school, where I would have preferred to attend, where my Mom’s home was located. So I took the short bus to school everyday from my grandparents house. Which of course I got teased for. I was bullied mercilessly, a senior would tell me, I was Charlie Manson’s daughter. I guess the joke was on him, he was a senior in a freshman algebra class. The band kids would steal my money out of my bag, and the last straw was when someone stole my flute. A flute my Aunt had used when she went to school. I begged and pleaded after that, to please go to the other high school, where I actually had friends. After much back and forth discussion with all adults, my Mom, stepdad, and grandparents. I was allowed to go to the other high school. My grandma would take and pick me up every day. Things got better for a little while, until my Mom and stepdad bought a house in Shafowridge, than things changed again.
I feel as if my entire childhood, my Mother made decisions about me, not based on my best interest, but rather on what best served her interest. Which brings me back to Tristan, because that is my perspective about my own growing up. I had vowed, to myself that when I became a Mother, I would NOT do that to my child. So I have always tried to approach things with Tristan, from the perspective, of “….what’s best for him?” I’ve not made it about me. So now, I sit here, asking “why? Why does my Son have Mommy issues????” From my point of view, it’s as if I’ve done everything my own Mom didn’t do. I always put him first. So again, I’m left pondering “where did I go so wrong????”
My children are my world. The love I have for my children, knows NO bounds, all of them. There is NO hill I wouldn’t climb, NO valley, I wouldn’t cross, and NO opponent I wouldn’t face, for them. But, now, I find myself at a crossroads and I don’t know how to help my Son. Because of my own issues. I am unable at the moment to see how I could have gone so wrong that he has “mommy issues” like me, given such a different life I provided for him, verses what was given to me.
I know I’m really putting this out there. It’s very raw. I truly hope someone will be able to give some insight or guidance. Thank you for reading this far. Be kind people. Blessed be.
