I have often mulled over in my head what the word 'family' means to me. I have come to the conclusion that it means very little. To me it is a vague concept of what should be, not what was for me as I grew up.
I am the second youngest of 6 children. Four of us now survive, two brothers died early in life; in 1970 and one in 1999.
Not a family photo.....
I struggle when people talk of their 'family' like it is something scared, something that is sacrosanct and untouchable. I have never felt that way about 'family'. I suppose I feel that I never grew up in one. 'We', to me, seemed to be seven people living under the same roof with the same genes and the same Mother and Father but little else. My Mum was left a single parent in 1960 by the death of my Dad. I never really knew him. As a 4 year old I took him toast as he lay dying, that is my only memory.
This event shattered the family and I think shattered the feeling of being in, being part of, a family.
My Mum unsurprisingly retreated into depression and a social isolation; this impacted on us as children. I believe we became isolated within ourselves. I certainly did.
All 6 kids struggled through what effectively was a Victorian upbringing; we were polishing cutlery, scrubbing floors and tables; adhering to a work roster. When we weren't doing that we were painting, sawing, painting, plastering walls.....painting and by that I mean decorating one room or another.
I can never remember a family celebration, save for the hell that was Xmas; it was hell for me because my older brother, the bullying one, had his birthday on Boxing Day. He received more presents than anybody else because of this. He had smashed or broken most of mine by then. He now had new ammunition to taunt me with.
I lie about lack of celebrations we had my older sister's wedding: Once she met someone she was off; out of that hell house.
Nothing seemed to be longed for and looked forward to; birthdays, xmas or weddings. They seemed never to be mentioned; Christmas was only spoken of in anger, as time when money would have to be spent. I cannot account how others in the family saw it as we don't talk about such things. We never have.
My existing older brother is no longer part of the loosely termed family. He lives with a partner down south somewhere, I know where but couldn't care less where. He bullied me relentlessly as a child. I no longer want to know him and couldn't care less about his welfare.
I have no recollection of celebration for anything save for xmas and I know that no real celebrations of any sort happened for anything that did happen. For instance my older brother became a Boxing Champion, that was passed off with no joy, no celebration just a seeming 'shrug' by the family. He came home with a medal and little joy to greet him.
It was as if we were all repressed, fearful of expressing such things.
Mum had parties at the house, where 'aunties and uncles' people she knew from the pub would fill the house with songs and booze. This was her only outlet of 'joy'. We sat on the stairs and watched.
All of our Birthdays came and went with no fanfare, just an unremitting, blasé acceptance of such mundane, annual, events. Aunties and Uncles died: We were rarely, if ever, told of such events.We 'knew' something was wrong because Mum would be in a foul mood.
I still hold these values today. I don't get excited by birthdays or weddings. I hold myself in, joy is not to be expressed.
In later life I have been to too many funerals so they have become a family gathering point now; we share grief.
I know what I am trying to say in this piece of writing. I am struggling to describe what to some will be a foreign, unknown, concept: one of a family that isn't.
We went through great struggles as six people and a Mum that lived under one roof but there seemed little cohesion. There seemed no encouragement to become a unit, to become, to be a 'family'. A family, I believe, I have been told, is a group of people who stick together through thick and thin. They argue and make up and argue again and make up again. We argued and stayed isolated within ourselves.
Life was filled with awkwardness and seeming isolation amongst my brothers and sister. I cannot remember a house filled with laughter, in fact the total opposite. The house always seemed so cold and emotionally empty, devoid of a 'family' feel. This was apart from the physical coldness of the house. I longed to be part of the 'working class' families that were shown on Saturday morning pictures. These were the films where families gathered around to see off the rent man or to steal a leg of lamb for dinner. There, in our house; it seemed to me, never was that sense of unity, that sense of common purpose. We each existed in a 'Ready Brek' bubble: Remember those ads from the 70s where the kid goes to school with a ghostly light wrapped around him?
That is what if still feels like my family was and to a large extent still is. We rarely 'phone each other, rarely talk over social media and rarely get together. The same as it ever was.
Perhaps I am over egging this. However I don't think so.
I am the second youngest of 6 children. Four of us now survive, two brothers died early in life; in 1970 and one in 1999.
I struggle when people talk of their 'family' like it is something scared, something that is sacrosanct and untouchable. I have never felt that way about 'family'. I suppose I feel that I never grew up in one. 'We', to me, seemed to be seven people living under the same roof with the same genes and the same Mother and Father but little else. My Mum was left a single parent in 1960 by the death of my Dad. I never really knew him. As a 4 year old I took him toast as he lay dying, that is my only memory.
This event shattered the family and I think shattered the feeling of being in, being part of, a family.
My Mum unsurprisingly retreated into depression and a social isolation; this impacted on us as children. I believe we became isolated within ourselves. I certainly did.
All 6 kids struggled through what effectively was a Victorian upbringing; we were polishing cutlery, scrubbing floors and tables; adhering to a work roster. When we weren't doing that we were painting, sawing, painting, plastering walls.....painting and by that I mean decorating one room or another.
I can never remember a family celebration, save for the hell that was Xmas; it was hell for me because my older brother, the bullying one, had his birthday on Boxing Day. He received more presents than anybody else because of this. He had smashed or broken most of mine by then. He now had new ammunition to taunt me with.
I lie about lack of celebrations we had my older sister's wedding: Once she met someone she was off; out of that hell house.
Nothing seemed to be longed for and looked forward to; birthdays, xmas or weddings. They seemed never to be mentioned; Christmas was only spoken of in anger, as time when money would have to be spent. I cannot account how others in the family saw it as we don't talk about such things. We never have.
My existing older brother is no longer part of the loosely termed family. He lives with a partner down south somewhere, I know where but couldn't care less where. He bullied me relentlessly as a child. I no longer want to know him and couldn't care less about his welfare.
I have no recollection of celebration for anything save for xmas and I know that no real celebrations of any sort happened for anything that did happen. For instance my older brother became a Boxing Champion, that was passed off with no joy, no celebration just a seeming 'shrug' by the family. He came home with a medal and little joy to greet him.
It was as if we were all repressed, fearful of expressing such things.
Mum had parties at the house, where 'aunties and uncles' people she knew from the pub would fill the house with songs and booze. This was her only outlet of 'joy'. We sat on the stairs and watched.
All of our Birthdays came and went with no fanfare, just an unremitting, blasé acceptance of such mundane, annual, events. Aunties and Uncles died: We were rarely, if ever, told of such events.We 'knew' something was wrong because Mum would be in a foul mood.
I still hold these values today. I don't get excited by birthdays or weddings. I hold myself in, joy is not to be expressed.
In later life I have been to too many funerals so they have become a family gathering point now; we share grief.
I know what I am trying to say in this piece of writing. I am struggling to describe what to some will be a foreign, unknown, concept: one of a family that isn't.
We went through great struggles as six people and a Mum that lived under one roof but there seemed little cohesion. There seemed no encouragement to become a unit, to become, to be a 'family'. A family, I believe, I have been told, is a group of people who stick together through thick and thin. They argue and make up and argue again and make up again. We argued and stayed isolated within ourselves.
Life was filled with awkwardness and seeming isolation amongst my brothers and sister. I cannot remember a house filled with laughter, in fact the total opposite. The house always seemed so cold and emotionally empty, devoid of a 'family' feel. This was apart from the physical coldness of the house. I longed to be part of the 'working class' families that were shown on Saturday morning pictures. These were the films where families gathered around to see off the rent man or to steal a leg of lamb for dinner. There, in our house; it seemed to me, never was that sense of unity, that sense of common purpose. We each existed in a 'Ready Brek' bubble: Remember those ads from the 70s where the kid goes to school with a ghostly light wrapped around him?
That is what if still feels like my family was and to a large extent still is. We rarely 'phone each other, rarely talk over social media and rarely get together. The same as it ever was.
Perhaps I am over egging this. However I don't think so.
Very very interesting read!
ReplyDeleteMade me a little sad thought.
Sending a hug your way :)
Sam