We Swear We Will Never Be Them

    Foreshadowing.

My parents, my models, hated each-other at the time of their divorce.
And it stands to reason. Why on earth would a carefree, whimsical, French woman fall for a controlling, traditional, Greek man? 
Two polar opposites. Both in culture and in character.
When I ask them how it happened, how they ever got together in the first place, they both recount a similar tale:
At the beginning things were different. And each of them remember a more perfect mate. At the beginning, they were perfect together. 
From what they tell me, at the beginning they were in love.

All wrapped up in poetic love letters and picnics on sand dunes and Petosky stones collected off the shores of Lake Michigan.   
Blinded by the misty haze of spellbinding romance,  the two optimistic early day romantics only did what came naturally in those days.
They got married. And they had three little girls.  Both burdened and blessed by the stresses and pleasures of their familial bond--
Life changed dramatically.  But one thing remained certain. They were indeed opposite people. 
And the moment that misty haze of romance faded into cloudy trepidation--they did what came naturally in those days
and gave up.

"...your dad and I are not going to live together anymore...."

I was 5 back then and distinctly recall thinking:  Good. Now they'll be no more screaming and yelling.
Stephany, my older sister, had the opposite reaction. Her sobs came instantly. Hard, fast, and loud.
Confused, I imitated her cue and forced a few half hearted whimpers, squeezing out a few tears.
Still all the while questioning:  Am I supposed to act sad?
Because I wasn't. 
In fact, with the announcement of their split, I secretly felt the opposite.

At the beginning, when they were both different, I can see how it all made sense.
My father easily drawn into my mother's carefree glow
and she in turn reveled inside the warmth of his mediterranean embrace.
And at the beginning, the two fell hard and fast for their complimentary halves.
Both awestruck and charmed by the differences each other.
Spellbound by the sides of themselves they could never be
but perceived through the reflection of each-others loving gaze.

My mother slight and pale, with delicate blue eyes and French bones. Hair cropped Mia Farrow short--the ultimate pixie.   
She happily submitted to the Daughter's of Penelope gatherings at the Greek Orthodox church. Obliged to belong.
She played dollar poker with quarters alongside the ladies from the old country. She baked Spanikopeta and learned the appropriate Greek phrases:  "Theyes  cafe?" (Can I get you some coffee) and "Christos anesti" (Christ has risen).
She attended church on Sundays and sang in the choir. Lightly chanting hymns in ancient Greek and having no idea what they ment. 
Yes my mother played the role well. But indeed, it was only a role. 
And it wasn't long before that carefree mademoiselle became stifled beneath the confines of her Greek orthodox choir gown.
Naturally, she became itchy.

In marriage, my father didn't change so much. At least not in a cultural sense.
He was dark and handsome, with brooding eyes and warm olive skin. Dashing in his Marine dress blues, standing stern and proud.
He possessed  a quiet--yet undeniable charm.  An artist, a writer, a lover of the simple things and the beauty of their details. 
A dreamer and hopeless romantic that held strong to the ideals of family, religion and community.
Determined to be a good father and provider and willing to sacrifice his happiness for the future of his children.
He sold his soul to General Motors to do so. Pulling 60 hour weeks on the line and hating every minute of it.
In his mind there was no other option. My father, my hero, the ultimate martyr, believer in "doing what's right" spitefully stuck it out and became ultimately, miserable.   

It was no surprise his greek temper would easily escalate and turn our charming dollhouse on Darlington street into a den of volatility. Where my two sisters and I quietly tiptoed through eggshells praying not to set him off into a frenzy...
Trying our best to evade those wild screamfests we witnessed between he and my mother.
The ones that sent us running to our respective pastel bedrooms, doors slammed tight to muffle their screams. 
But the chaos between them seeped into us regardless.
And as young ladies we grew adept at silencing our pain. Masking anger with false smiles, repressing our pain.
We became experts at walking away from chaotic scenarios that evolve between two people who supposedly love each other.

But doesn't it always start this way? Two different people, in love with the characteristics in their partner that allow them to feel whole...
Yet in time, these once charming differences transform to annoying quirks that ultimately make us question what the hell we ever had in common in the first place.  We blame it on the other, that the other had changed.  In the end reason wins, and we hastily cut ourselves free.  We hang it up. Start anew. And repeat. And repeat again and again.
We forget how to appreciate one another. 
We forget to work and we forget that love, like anything in life, takes effort in order to survive. 

In retrospect we question how on earth we could fall in love with someone that so closely resembles our parents. 
Or worse yet, transforms us into them and everything we vowed we would never become.

Comments

['Victor']

Such is the circle of life that enivitably bites you in the ass. Again, beautifully depicted Christina :)

-Vic

[Jon]

There is a truism in literature. You always become what you hate.

So the question now becomes, at what point does a blogging 'enfant terrible' entertain publishing a collection of short stories?

[paisley]

christina,
you do write quite well.

[Pennsylvania]

ur a good writer

[oRen]

the pic is a nice piece of work... i like it! n ur writings.. damn! now, i hate mine..!

[Reta]

I feel it too. I'm glad my parents aren't bickering anymore but it saddens me now that I'm standing right in between them, in this endless tug-of-war.

[Clemente]

Certainly, a cliche. but its up to us. Yes indeed, we acquire our battle-wounds but in the end, we atone and become wiser.

[Marc]

wow

[Alokananda]

We have to take our life as it comes. Best wishes for a bright future. I hope and pray your capacity for reasoning stands you in good stead

[DecADence]

Hahaha. Your Back! This is amazing

[Tommy]

Hi,
Experienced the same scenerio. As youngster, learned how to keep my mouth shut! My eyes were wide open and ears were listening. Too young to get involved........up to this time I'am destroyed! I want PEACE!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Yna]

I can truly relate to what you have written. And, you're right. My relationship with him started with US being so in love with each other before deciding to march down the aisle. After almost two years of blissful marriage and two wonderful kids, he started having an affair with another woman. I, being a martyr, still didn't give up on him. I loved the man, the father of my children. Unfortunately, he doesn't feel that way for me now. So, am I. Yes, I am still with him till now. And that is, 13 years to be exact. I am still married to this man that I used to love. I DID MY BEST. But, my BEST wasn't good enough for him. You remember the song "Just Once? Yeah, right.

[-Klassik Bosan]

It's been sooo long since you blogged.

[Vaughn]

Two people, crossing a tightrope together, year after year after year. Two people with the cursed option of dropping into a safety net below. Good to see you're still around Christina.

--
Is there ever a time where a couple's aspirations, motivations and fears are "one"? Where living with the other is effortless; where you are not asked/put-in-a-position to violate your (ever changing) values? It is already hard enough handling your own conflicting values, let alone balancing yours with those of another.

Do we wait for that elusive effortless relationship, or do we accept that it is all a struggle so we shouldn't bother battling time searching to reduce that potential struggle?

Where are the days of arranged marriages?!

[Yoshitoshi]

So this elusive missus called love is a hoax after all? Or more of a ghost, right there in front of you, translucent, but quite out of reach. Ah these grand illusions and hallucinations that we retreat to in the past, that we chase into the future, and that make us feel hallow now, right now. It is the curse of the ego and the universal law of information assymetry. It is a bit of our thoughtlessness combined with our hastiness ... the pleasures of the flesh dissociated from the complexity of the mind. It doesn't matter in the end, this life is all quite meaningless. But it's so f&%king beautiful. What do I know ... not much. Glad to have nibbled on a piece of the escapeartist's mind.

cartesian.blogs.friendster.com

[John]

"CHRISTO'S ANESTI"