Page 120: Got Squabbles?

"Daddy, name something you really do not like," Kristin said.

"I don't like it when people don't get along," I instantly replied. Anyone who has worked with or for me knows that I insist that people get along. I especially dislike friend and family squabbles. I hate it when friends bicker or talk behind each other's backs. I don't do that. If you're my friend, I have your back; I don't talk behind it. Period.

Family squabbles. Maddening, but every family has them. It seems like the normal irritants are always (1) old sibling rivalries and (2) new sibling-in-law rivalries, where the spouse of a sibling isn't liked by some in the core family. In my own family, there is a ridiculous situation that has gone on for over 50 years where an aunt, my dad's youngest sister, does not like my mother. It started in the 1950's -- a comment my mother made when she was 16 or 17 and my aunt was 13 -- became a tiny old wound that never healed. It turned into a bigger and bigger wound, and then yielded deep scars that abscessed over the decades. Later, my aunt assembled and maintained a book documenting my mother's "transgressions" over the years. Obviously not a healthy thing, but to my aunt, a major life issue.

In my youth, this aunt and her husband were golden and special to me. I spent a great deal of time with them and we had many fun adventures. My uncle helped me run the concession stand for the men's baseball league. I took trips with them. They let me drive their car, a zesty 1973 Ford Maverick, all around the country backroads at the age of 12. I never intended to get involved in "the squabble."

My family situation is complex. There is the family I grew up with in the Central Texas ranchlands, and the other family I never knew up in Canton, Ohio. After finding the Ohio clan, there was a period of years where, for good reasons, I didn't want my parents to know. Oh, I planned to tell them, when the time was right. But some years later, this uncle took it upon himself to tell my parents about the Ohio family, and I am certain that his motives were not pure. He intended hurt and injury in the telling.

When I discovered this betrayal, I wasn't angry. I have never used this word in this forum nor will I ever likely again, but I will use it now, and I also invoked it when discussing my uncle with my parents shortly afterward. No, I wasn't angry. I was fucking furious. My uncle had no right to tell my parents anything, and to this day he probably doesn't know how lucky he was that I lived 1300 miles away in Philadelphia at the time. With steam billowing out of my ears, I called my parents to assure them that I loved them as much as always and just didn't want to hurt their feelings in regard to the Ohio family.

I've studied the teachings of Jesus, Zen, New Thought, and psychology far too long to carry around anger. It's destructive -- so, I dealt with the anger toward this uncle and let it go. But in the process, both this aunt and uncle died to me. Not physically, but to me, it was as if they were dead. I didn't feel any anger toward them. I felt nothing toward them, and I resolved in my mind that if I didn't see them again in this lifetime, that was fine with me. I should mention that their two sons, Rody & Cousin Ricky, are like brothers to me and we've never (and will never) speak a cross word. We didn't discuss this matter.

Ten years passed.

At Cousin Ricky's wedding reception a few weeks ago, this aunt and uncle were there. They looked very aged to me. I took a deep breath and spoke to both of them. Later that evening, I reflected on the many old memories of old good times and their kindness in my youth. The irony was not lost to me that even though they really do not like my parents, they still were always quite fantastic to me.

So I wasn't harboring anger, but the net effect was I got caught up in the whole thing as well. The thing I dislike the most: a squabble. Perhaps true forgiveness isn't a mechanical matter, and doesn't really happen until you are willing to be at a point where you were before the transgression.

As I write, my grandmother Mama is in the hospital with recurring blackouts, and I sent Cousin Ricky a message to let him know. We exchanged a few messages. "I think we should all go to Brownwood and be together for Christmas again," Ricky said. "For Mama. It's time."

Hmmm. A part of me is really quite fine never having a "Brownwood Big Family Christmas" ever again. It was my favorite time of year as a child, but now, seeing people gathered together with canyon sized wounds and bad opinions of each other, it seems to have lost its luster. But Ricky makes a great point. "For Mama." Perhaps the gift to an 88 year woman of her drifted factions together once again would be a very nice thing. Oh, everyone will be civil -- this is not a bunch that wears feelings on sleeves. Yes, Ricky, a bigger part of me knows that you are absolutely right. A gift for Mama. But could it be -- a gift for me as well?

Looks like it will be a white Christmas in Brownwood this year. And of course, I'll give my aunt and uncle a big hug and it will be good old times once again… and as in old times, when we pack up to leave and I throw out "Love You Guys!" as I've always done, once again, I'll mean it.