March 6, 2013 Aunt Patrice to Job
Dear Job,
Yesterday was Crane’s thirty-third birthday. He has the same birthday as Mama. Your mom and I were plotting to throw him a surprise party, but my judgment prevailed realizing it would be excruciatingly painful for him. He’s so phobic the idea of having anybody except Archie and me in the house throws him into a tailspin. Chrissy and Joe, however, have made phenomenal progress, expanding his world one hundred percent; that is, going from two people he talks (Archie and me) to to four (your mom and dad).
Anyway, I decided to keep it low key and just get some boiled seafood. Boiled crawfish for his birthday has been a tradition since he was a little kid. I had asked Chrissy and Joe over, but Joe got called out suddenly to work three nights in a row, so they canceled. That was more than alright with Crane. He and I went to Christian Bros. and had shrimp po-boys and a couple beers. When we got back home, there was a gorgeous black and gold men’s bicycle on the screen porch! He cannot wrap his head around why Chrissy and Joe would do such a thing for him. He was actually somewhat perky—for Crane—the rest of the day.
Archie has been in Albuquerque for a week where she went to reconnect with colleagues in hope of reviving her stalled career. Plus, she informed me in blunt terms she needs a break from Crane and me. Yikes! There are two unopened letters from you waiting for her, so don’t expect a reply soon. Her return is open-ended.
Yesterday morning Jack came by while I was having my morning coffee. I’d asked him the night before to come by to help me understand the subtext to your sending me those Inmate Development Plan documents. I’d asked Molly and she thought you were trying to impress me. I didn’t buy that. Jack said you’re convinced I don’t believe the things you’re telling me. I don’t know how many ways to say this: I BELIEVE EVERY WORD. Diana and I have discussed you boys and we agreed that we were both as violent, rage-filled, and self-destructive and you were, that if we had had the physical capacity to put people in comas, we would have. Because we didn’t, we committed most of the violence against ourselves—just to make ourselves feel alive. In other words, we were self-medicating for depression and anxiety the way you were. I could go on and on and someday I may. For instance, in 1966—seven years before Roe v. Wade—I had a back alley abortion as a result of getting knocked up the first time I had sex. I hadn’t dated at all when I decided—mostly encouraged by a quack psychiatrist—that all that was needed to cure my depression and anxiety was to be rid of my burdensome cherry. It’s an ugly, harrowing tale that left me reeling for YEARS and unable to get my degree. Except for Diana and my kids, you and Jack are the only two in the family I’ve ever told about this.
Jack and I agree that it’s good for you to purge yourself of these memories, but it’s more important for you to reconnect with the beautiful, innocent child you were growing up in that toxic family and culture. You’re not young, dumb and full of come any more. You’re CORRECT. You have a lot to tell the world about the way it betrays its innocents
Anyhow, the blog broke 1000 hits the other day after only three weeks online. I’ve been stunned by the response.
Love,
Aunt Patrice
Yesterday was Crane’s thirty-third birthday. He has the same birthday as Mama. Your mom and I were plotting to throw him a surprise party, but my judgment prevailed realizing it would be excruciatingly painful for him. He’s so phobic the idea of having anybody except Archie and me in the house throws him into a tailspin. Chrissy and Joe, however, have made phenomenal progress, expanding his world one hundred percent; that is, going from two people he talks (Archie and me) to to four (your mom and dad).
Anyway, I decided to keep it low key and just get some boiled seafood. Boiled crawfish for his birthday has been a tradition since he was a little kid. I had asked Chrissy and Joe over, but Joe got called out suddenly to work three nights in a row, so they canceled. That was more than alright with Crane. He and I went to Christian Bros. and had shrimp po-boys and a couple beers. When we got back home, there was a gorgeous black and gold men’s bicycle on the screen porch! He cannot wrap his head around why Chrissy and Joe would do such a thing for him. He was actually somewhat perky—for Crane—the rest of the day.
Archie has been in Albuquerque for a week where she went to reconnect with colleagues in hope of reviving her stalled career. Plus, she informed me in blunt terms she needs a break from Crane and me. Yikes! There are two unopened letters from you waiting for her, so don’t expect a reply soon. Her return is open-ended.
Yesterday morning Jack came by while I was having my morning coffee. I’d asked him the night before to come by to help me understand the subtext to your sending me those Inmate Development Plan documents. I’d asked Molly and she thought you were trying to impress me. I didn’t buy that. Jack said you’re convinced I don’t believe the things you’re telling me. I don’t know how many ways to say this: I BELIEVE EVERY WORD. Diana and I have discussed you boys and we agreed that we were both as violent, rage-filled, and self-destructive and you were, that if we had had the physical capacity to put people in comas, we would have. Because we didn’t, we committed most of the violence against ourselves—just to make ourselves feel alive. In other words, we were self-medicating for depression and anxiety the way you were. I could go on and on and someday I may. For instance, in 1966—seven years before Roe v. Wade—I had a back alley abortion as a result of getting knocked up the first time I had sex. I hadn’t dated at all when I decided—mostly encouraged by a quack psychiatrist—that all that was needed to cure my depression and anxiety was to be rid of my burdensome cherry. It’s an ugly, harrowing tale that left me reeling for YEARS and unable to get my degree. Except for Diana and my kids, you and Jack are the only two in the family I’ve ever told about this.
Jack and I agree that it’s good for you to purge yourself of these memories, but it’s more important for you to reconnect with the beautiful, innocent child you were growing up in that toxic family and culture. You’re not young, dumb and full of come any more. You’re CORRECT. You have a lot to tell the world about the way it betrays its innocents
Anyhow, the blog broke 1000 hits the other day after only three weeks online. I’ve been stunned by the response.
Love,
Aunt Patrice
