The glory days…

                                          

 

 

I was twelve.  The same age as my Granddaughter Emma is now.

Gosh, things were so different back then.  Simpler times.  Kids weren’t hooked into every electronic device imaginable.  We listened to Rock n’Roll on a small transistor radio, usually when our parents weren’t around, or late at night, hiding under the bedcovers with an earpiece firmly implanted so no one could hear Dion & the Belmonts,  The Five Satins or The Everly Brothers.   At least that’s how it was in my life. 

                                                                                                      

If we got home quickly from school each day, he was waiting for us to turn on the television.  Most times we ran through the door well after three o’clock but were happy to spend even a little time with him.  He was someone you could depend on to play your favorite music and  have the personalities you secretly drooled over show up in his studio.   We yelled at the tv screen when they rated songs, sometimes in great disagreement and we identified with the wallflowers who sat on the bleachers, wishing that someone would ask them to dance.

                                                                      

 

Then…. there were the dancers on his show, couples who never missed a step and had you dreaming of dancing like they did.  Justine Carrelli and Bob Clayton, Arlene Sullivan and Kenny Rossi… perfect couples who made us wonder if they were boyfriend/girlfriend outside of the show.  How we wanted to dance like they did as we practiced in front of the tv with our imaginary partners.   We tried to dress like them when no one was looking, trying on our mother’s straight skirts and pullover cashmere sweaters.   Our hair was styled with waves and strategic dips when we were safely away from parental disapproval.

                                                                   

 

 

It was our time, spent with people we would never meet but regarded as friends and spoke about them as if they were classmates at school.  Yes, it was our foothold in the universe as we left childhood behind and stepped ran towards the teen-age years ahead.  

Music changed and we grew older but we still found time to say good-bye to passing years and welcome in the new ones with someone who was still a teen at heart.  A friend of mine summed it up perfectly earlier today when he said that our youth is officially over.  It truly is, for everyone, like me, who remembers the start of the magic back in 1957.

 

Thank you, Dick Clark. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Beyond repair…

Just what is it that makes families become all twisted and slowly disintegrate into warring factions?  What causes  severe breakdowns that leave permanent scars in familial relationships?  How many people deal with such issues?


So many questions, so few answers.

I grew up in a fractured home, extended family was just on my mother’s side and there was rarely a time when everyone came together as a cohesive unit.  Trust me, we coined the word… Dysfunction.  Arguments were constant between aunts and uncles, most based on foolish disagreements.  Holidays were never a shared experience for someone was always not speaking to one or more family members.  Prideful, judgmental and hurtful… the prevailing attitude as seen through the eyes of a child. 

My eyes.

An only child, I longed for happy gatherings and the wonderful memories that would be left behind.  I always promised myself that, someday, when I married, my life would run in that wonderful direction of togetherness.   How I imagined scenes of family seated around the table, eating and laughing at Thanksgiving, our doorbell ringing on Christmas Day with cousins running up the stairs to our tree and their gifts hiding underneath the drooping branches.

For a while, that dream almost came true when I married.  My new family was large with several sisters, one brother, and their children on my mother-in-laws side.  The running joke was that when they all got together, they didn’t need anyone else.  Maybe not but I so wanted to become part of them, to simply belong somewhere at last.

A year after our marriage, my husband’s only brother wed and the family drama began to unfold in the years that followed.   Sadly, in-laws soon became out-laws as a slew of vindictive dynamics took control.  I quickly came to witness, and be part of,  the painful, destructive behaviors that cause families to break apart.  My mother-in-law was a wonderful, generous, woman with one tiny flaw.  She played favorites behind the scenes which fostered jealousy and resentment between the adults and ultimately her grandchildren.  That small personality quirk would have tremendous repercussions that have affected our family to this very day.

So, what’s really behind this post, you might be wondering?

Well, yesterday, a friend on Facebook posted this comment for a few opinions…“Some things are better left unsaid, if I don’t talk to you it’s not because I don’t like you, it’s because I would rather not say something that I may regret!”

It made me feel tremendous guilt and it made me think…

… about the past sixteen years where my husband, his brother and seven cousins have become relative strangers.

… about my sister-in-law,  how she played an equal part in the separation of our two families, how she continues to hide behind her own guilt, how she has brainwashed programmed her children into following her misguided views on family life.

… back to a letter I wrote her a few years ago, asking to meet in the middle, to settle many foolish differences and leave more positive relationships for our children in the future

… how that olive branch I extended was met with disdain and ultimate refusal. 

It made me angry.

Now, I wonder if it is indeed time for a showdown.  Hell, I may even go down in flames, who knows but, nothing ventured, nothing gained.  Right?  Life is speeding by and it’s time to force years of ridiculous disagreements to a head, once and for all even though the damage may be so deep that it is far beyond repair.

I mean, can things possibly get any worse?


At least I can admit my guilt and…in the end, regret will fall where it truly belongs.

 

What do you think?



 

 

 


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Sweet memories…

Sweet and colorful, each one hides under blades of shiny grass, nestled inside a basket.

The flavors dance on little tongues, bringing smiles along with a search for more.

Red, green, orange.  One by one, they disappear.  The fun of finding them grows short.

Flicker of Inspiration Linkup and Prompt #45: Short and Sweet

Write something under 350 words to fit the theme “Short and Sweet” – do this by starting your piece with either the word “short” or the word “sweet” and ending it with the word you didn’t start with. For example, “Sweet Pea was short.” Alternatively, “Short bread is too sweet.”

Short and sweet Easter Blessings to everyone!

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