Chapter 1

There are very few things children genuinely need to be happy.  Sure, every child likes fancy toys and other expensive things, but as long as a child, especially a small child, is sincerely loved and has food and shelter, they can be happy.  If they are fully and unconditionally loved, even if the other two are lacking, they have an amazing capacity to rebound from hardship.

I always had shelter, but did not always have food, and love, well, that was complicated.  It should not have been, but it was.  As I grew up, my parents constantly said that they loved me, and at the time I did believe them, but tangible, sincere demonstrations of that love, especially little demonstrations, were far less common, and usually delivered in obligatory settings.

Looking back, I think they believe they did love me, but it was not in the unconditional and undeniable way that children deserve from their parents.  Whether or not they intended it or realized it, their own problems, especially emotional problems, took front seat in their lives.  My brothers and I were often left on the sidelines to take whatever emotional scraps they could spare, when they felt like sparing them.  In fact, they demonstrated love so infrequently that in retrospect such occasions are swallowed in the far more numerous times their actions demonstrated selfish priorities.  Little daily and habitual gestures were usually selfish, rather than loving.

As an adult this left me feeling hollow and wondering if the times Mother and Father did demonstrate love were just more of their lies.  I could not help but wonder if those rare moments of affection were nothing more than love bombing performances, a form of grooming that they could later point to as Proof That They Cared when they needed to gaslight me into dismissing their habitually bad behaviors. Those occasions could also be used as examples to other adults, so they would know what Good Parents Mother and Father were.

I cannot help but believe that although they probably still believe they love me, loving me was never a priority.  Demonstrating love was usually either an afterthought or bestowed on special occasions which could be marked on a calendar, like birthdays and holidays.  On an average day, the only way my brothers and I could be assured of receiving attention was to be sick, and there was never a guarantee of affection.  Being sick had no real impact on Father’s behavior, but if we did not feel well Mother would usually set aside whatever she had going on and give us some of the caring we desired.  This trained all three of us to periodically whine and overexaggerate even the smallest injuries or illnesses when we actually needed love, because the reward for doing so was something basic that we were lacking and viscerally needed in our lives.

I spent so much of my life listening to my parent’s excuses and justifications and rebuttals when they were caught behaving badly, that as I write this I cannot help but hear a cacophony of words in their voices.  Whenever there was the slightest chance that their neglect might be noticed, they preemptively offered their excuses before any objection could be given.  That way if we did object to neglect, we, their children, were the heartless ones, the selfish ones, who were unwilling to have compassion for our parents’ plights.

I hear responses they would give, cries that I am unfair and judging too harshly, that “they did their best”.  They would surely declare that they “sacrificed so much” for their children.  They would surely insist that they “always put us first in their decision-making processes”.  The situation “was bad”.  They were “tired and stressed”.  Raising children is “unbelievably hard”.  It “wasn’t their fault”!

It was NEVER their fault.

Sadly, I agree that they probably did do their best.

Did I say sadly?  I meant tragically.

Mother and Father struggled with money and employment, sometimes to the point there was no food in the kitchen and they were late on rent, especially before my brothers and I were school age.  They were too young when they had children, and were not established enough to be able to provide the kinds of things they should have as Middle American Parents.  They did not get the support they wanted or needed from their own families and parents.  Their marriage was troubled at times.  The economy was bad.  Things were hard.  It was not their faults.  It was never their faults.

If you browse the internet and news outlets, you can find no shortage of inspiration porn about impoverished families who stick together through it all, of young people pulling themselves and their loving families out of poverty, of single moms struggling against all odds and still being there for their children.  The common threads?  Poverty and unquestionable love and devotion.

Poverty and hardship are not barriers to love.  Ever.  They can be barriers to being there as often as you want to be, but if the love is sincere and given without reservation, it can and will be demonstrated through little things at every available opportunity.  Out of that, you find your poverty inspiration porn, with families that are unwavering in their conviction, love, and devotion for each other, ripe for a nicely packaged feel-good moment demonstrating for the cameras that love can conquer all.

Of course, those nicely packaged stories are oversimplified, tend to leave out the really unpleasant details, and gloss over inevitable disagreements which happen from time to time in even the strongest and healthiest relationships.  But, without that core of genuine love, distilling down and simplifying their stories would leave little of inspiration to talk about.

Hearing a loved one tell you that they love you is important, but it is all those little sincere things that tangibly demonstrate love and emotional support, no matter how hard things are.  I look back over my childhood and I do not see those things.  I was constantly told that they loved me, and that is important too, but they did not follow through with small sincere demonstrations that would have proven their words.  It never flowed naturally.  It was always forced, scheduled, time away from Other Things, like an obligation rather than a pleasure.  Add to that the lifelong haze of lies that permeates my parents’ interactions with me and others, and the declarations of love fall flat, insincere, hollow…  worlds away from the undeniable love all children, and all humans, deserve.