Thursday 2 November 2000

Pic of the day: The long road home. (The buildings in the background, which you may or may not recognize as buildings, belong to this farm. The waterfalls belong to the two rivers that merge here.)

Unusual uncles

I was looking out through the window, and there I saw a small boy in heavy rain gear, trudging toward the house. And suddenly time seemed to shift, and I saw another small boy, 35 years ago, coming the same way.

"The spring before I started school" I told my nephew last night, "I knew that it was my last free time. Once school began, I would have to go there in the days. And when I was out of school, I would have to work. And all this came to pass: I finished school and at once started to work 5 days a week." "Why do you have to work?" "To buy food and pay for a place to live. Nobody buys food and clothes for you when you are grown up."

My 5 years old nephew gracefully offered to build me a house here, so I don't need to earn money for that. "I almost never hit my thumb with the hammer" he informed me: "At most once a year." But I had to decline, even though he estimated that he could do it within the 3 days before I have to go back to work.

I remember at a similar age, I told my mother that I would sometime create a machine where people could go in sick and come out healthy. She could sure use it now. But it seems that she has otherwise been quite satisfied with the career I chose instead. Not that I choose my work, my friends or my faith to satisfy my parents. If I did, they would have failed their work with me. But they did not.

***

I think it would have been disconcerting, if not outright emotionally painful, if my parents had strongly disapproved of the direction my life has taken. I'm happy to say that they have kept their hands off, and if anything they seem supportive. Of course this is a continuation of the policy they followed at least in my late childhood, when they left more to my own choices than parents often do. For most of my life I have suspected that this is why I don't feel that my parents have in any way blocked my development. Because they simply didn't. Not because I somehow conformed to their expectations - because they did not have any, or at least only the barest basics.

In the large, overfilled bookshelves here I found a book that was translated from German. The English translation would presumably have been "Always problems with the parents". And true to the title, the author broadly claimed that she had never met someone who didn't feel that their parents had at some time been a roadblock for them. My immediate thought was to pity her, because this is certainly possible. My later reaction was more cynical but probably more realistic: The book was not only originally in German, it was also about Germans.

I know you may feel that I'm bashing Germans a bit here, but let us face facts. The generation she wrote about had, overall, grandparents who actively participated in genocide and invasive wars. Parents who were raised to cry "Sieg Heil!" from kindergarten, and scarred by a horrible war and the shock and disgust of a whole world while their entire worldview was pulled out from under them. Thank the Light that the next generation did not quite feel on the wavelength.

So, no. I don't think that all people have problems with their parents. But I'm sure it is common. Perhaps even the rule. Because most people are in thrall to their projections. That is, unable to distinguish between the real people and their own daydreams about them. This holds for parents as well as children, and of course siblings, spouses, lovers and presidents.

***

Another thought-provoking discovery was a small children's book, nicely illustrated in black and white drawings. It was named "to og to" (two and two) and detailed the life onboard a large steamship version of Noahs Ark, where the animals were two and two. Except for the marsupial nose bear (don't ask me for its English name, rather tell me if you know). The nose bear was all alone and not very happy. You can probably guess how it all turned out: There was of course a female marsupial nose bear stowed away onboard, and so all were happy in the end.

I don't think "subtle" is exactly the first word that comes to mind. Then again, our culture is not exactly subtle on this issue. And my three brothers (who admittedly are not marsupials) all have ended up with great wives and children. I'd say the wives have great husbands too, but then again I just might be biased. It is known to happen to humans, and I seem to be growing steadily more human these days.

But "there has to be limits!" as my nephew said when told to cut his own pudding.

***

A small boy was trudging towards the house, and as he lifted his head I shrank back from the window. I remembered that other little boy, decades ago, looking up, and seeing a face in a window. The face of his uncle. And I remembered the terror that ran through me at that moment, and that continued to haunt me well into my adult life.

My uncle was unable to speak - an autist, we would probably say today, but at that time the diagnosis would be "idiot". He was kept indoors in a separate room, well away from us children and any possible visitors. (He was probably less a threat to us than we to him, but I didn't know.) A secret that was not quite secret. But secret enough that until a few years ago I always thought of my birth family as consisting of 8 persons, not 9. Not counting him. The uncle who was there and yet wasn't there. Forgotten, except for that terrifying face in the window. Fear of windows and mirrors haunted me for decades. I'm mostly feeling OK now, only sometimes late at night I still shudder at the thought of seeing my own face in a darkened window. Afraid of seeing the face of the uncle that wasn't quite there.