I was at my Al-Anon meeting Sunday, and the topic on the dais was abandonment. Because of the anonymity factor that is subscribed to by the members, I can't divulge what anyone said. For once in our meetings, I didn't say anything. Not sure why. I'm normally kinda chatty [ Kathy. ]
One reason was I waited til everyone got through with their "sharing." That's what the members say when they want to say something. It goes like this:
"Hi. I'm Susie and I'd like to share."
"Hello, Susie," is what the rest of the group says. But so far I hasven't felt comfortable verbalizing the sharer's name. I just kinda grunt and nod my head.
But here's what I would have said. For those of you unfamiliar with Al-Anon, the sharer is supposed to talk for only 2 minutes. Me? I ramble on and on with coherent thoughts lacking. But anyway, here's what would have spilled out.
I know abandonment. My father left the household when I was three. My mom literally cried for two years. My sister, who was 9 at the time, can vouch for this because I was too young. And Mom would have taken him back, but it wasn't meant to be. They married young. He was from Philly; she grew up in Charleston. He was in the Navy during WW II, and I think he peeled potatoes on the ship. Must be why I have an aversion, er, attraction to the food biz.
Well, Spuds and Vonnie got married. Soon Olga came along. And then v.c. Olga is 61 years old and still carries the scars from our dad leaving. And our mom never let a chance go by where she didn't lambast him, saying he was the worst sob on the planet.
And when we did bad things, we were sometimes told:
"You want to go live with your daddy? He don't give a shit about you!"
I know abandonment from my employers. Piccadilly abandoned me after 30 years; PMSHost [ tip of the cap to Marty for that one ] abandoned me; and Cracker Barrel, ditto. Like I said before, it must be me, eh?
So, yeah, I know abandonment. And methinks my two minutes is up. v.c.
P.S. A perfect song for tonight's post, courtesy of Winston O'Boogie.
2 comments:
Dear Cat,
I was wondering if you did get a sheep skin from Truck U? When the big Lubinski showed me the door I kinda laid around for a while then decided to go to graduate school.. Borrowed the money, borrowing for graduate school allows you to factor in living expenses. Not at all like undergrad where they say this is all you get. Bombed the GRE and entered on probation. Was on one semester and got off. Got a Master's in Couseling. That'
what i do today. Think about it. Rock on Luby's
rockhead
Hey Rock, I was talking to Hoots the other day, and he said you are a counselor. I'm in need of one, that's for sure. I did get a sheepskin in....Journalism of all things-who'd a'thunk it. Actually it was Radio-TV-Film. But I had writing courses, and one of my profs actually read my story to the class. Was I thinking I was some kind of big shot-yeah, it was a good feeling. My tale was an actual story where I got some bad service at a pizza restaurant. I interspersed it with the Braves game which was playing on the radio, while I was trying to order.
The prof also read my roommate's story, who was a Vietnam Vet. He had long hair and a moustache which drove the chicks wild. Plus, he had the Saigon mystique going for him.
He scored with so many dames, it was pathetic. Our rooms ajoined each others, and I would hear the bed bouncing up and down. And he always played the Moody Blues, "Every Boy Deserves Favor." Well, he was definitely favored. Me, I had to settle for my right hand.
Even tho once, Jenny, a hippie-dippie broad, came into my room au natural-she had already had carnal knowledge with Tom, the V.N. vet and my other roommate Steve. So I would have gotten sloppy thirds if I had indulged. But because I wanted to remain faithful to my girl friend, I passed. Pissed Jenny off, too. Rejection and all that. And my girl friend wrote me a "dear john" letter a few months later. So the moral of the story is "get it whilst you can."
So, I'm a closet journalist. That's why I fantasize that G.P. is my daily column.
Alas, due to too many drugs, I ended up in the food biz.
I really liked film. Me and my group made an awesome movie about a damsel who was going to kill herself, because her boyfriend was leaving her. I even got to play the lead as the boyfriend. We had some great shots-we used wide angle lens for a lot of them. There was one memorable dream-sequence scene whee she's hanging herself. We had the noose around her neck-she was hanging from a pull-up bar in the playground- and I held her underneath the radar screen, so it looked like she was really hanging herself. Great effects, and it was yers trulys idea. We also had the obligatory scene where she's on one end of the screen and I'm on the other. We're running towards each other in slow motion, whilst the dream sequence is interspersed between our coming together.
The music was from Bread's "Come Again," an obscure song from them, but our director liked it, and it's a great tune. Anyway at the end of the 16 mm masterpiece, she's in her bed. She's contemplating the 44 magnum on the dresser. And because we were kids, we let her do herself in. Ah, what romantics we were.
But, yeah, I got ye olde sheepskin. Perhaps I could get a job as a reporter, a cub one at that allah Jimmy Olsen.
You can write me here or at HarryO1951@comcast.net or the old standby, vietnamcatfish@aol.com
Rock steady allah Harold Stinson, my departed member of the class of '69.
P.S. We made an "A" on our film, our finals project. And I made an "A" in the class. Great fun!
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