I thank my mother

  1. I thank my mother for having eight kids in nine years ...
  2. I thank my mother for never coming to school for parent functions ... it bred a sense of inferiority that became a inner motivating force greater than the driving force planted in peers by their supportive parents. John Maynard Keynes paradox of saving has a childhood timistic parallel. If everyone saves all their money, there is no spending to create demand for jobs so everyone becomes unemployed with nothing to save. Likewise, if parents do everything for their children so as to stifle and destroy the drive to be a problem-solver, humanity has no problem-solvers and the family has no future. Where is the golden mean between the extremes of depletion and depravity?
  3. I thank my mother for moving every two or three months because she never paid rent ... it bred a sense of insecurity that prompted me to seek not only financial safety but to question the meaning of life at an early age.
  4. I thank my mother for the club toes that I view every time I take a bath. My crooked roots are a reminder of my wearing shoes that were too small, deforming my toes like a chinese girl with her feet bent back by wrappings. More than one person has noted my "clumpy", swaying walking which comes from not having toes optimally functioning to balance. I'm surprised I did so well in springboard diving competition with those stubs. I am always amazed at people with long, limb-like toes that seemingly could play a Rachmanikoff composition on a piano.
  5. I thank my mother after I complained of no food for almost beating me to death when I was eight. I gave the wrong answer to her question of choosing either her house or reform school. The beating prompted me to get out of her house. If there was one reason why I was the only one to graduate from college it was this event that led to a more stable home with my great-grandmother.
  6. I thank my mother for seeking free time by farming her brats out to her new friends one of whom repeatedly stuffed and raped me at the age of seven.
  7. I thank my mother for providing me with many examples of what I did not want to be ... the things I dislike most in me are those that I disliked in my mother--particularly over-eating to become fat.
  8. I thank my mother for prompting me to seek beauty in life because she had made my life so ugly as a child.
  9. I thank my mother for my not having to watch my children and grandchildren suffer and die from the accelerating global dying. She made me think that childhood was horrible and that people with kids were mean and nasty. It must have been pretty bad that I had this attitude despite the evidence everywhere about me in the envy I had for the schoolmates who seemed to have everything that I wanted in life.
  10. I thank my mother for prompting me to be good because she was so bad, to not have others think of me as I found myself and siblings embarrassed by her appearance and actions.
  11. I thank my mother for the mental monster that troubled me for decades not only for its consistent re-occurrence but for the accompanying question of whether I was really insane on the precipice of committing a horrible crime. For almost half a century I could not be in a kitchen without the thought of getting a knife to kill the other person. Because I feared I might do it, I avoided making friends. One day, an epiphany: When my mother almost beat me to death at age eight in the kitchen, I had planned to knife her to death in that kitchen before realizing I needed to move, not kill. What a horrible decision to foster and force upon a child of eight! So horrible that it was a repressed memory that was so horrible it came "deja vu'd" each time I was in a kitchen. For years the monster came near the conscious surface but not sufficiently to recognize its origin. How horrible to be washing dishes for thousands of times standing next to the wife you love and wondering if you are going to suddenly stab her? Thanks, mom. When one day I realized the origin of this mental monster, it ceased to be a consistent companion in kitchen where one is supposed to get nurture not nightmares (see lucky me).
  12. I thank my mother for teaching me to not sweat the small shat because she made life so shatty ... my response to the existential meltdown of global dying is one of melocholic placid observation rather than mad abandonment.
  13. I thank my mother for never being home and never taking us places like other mothers ... my response was to repeatedly peruse the 20-volume World Book encyclopedia five times by the age of eight which gave me a basic knowledge of many topics far better than my peer ... reading was a refuse from an uncomfortable, often unbearable homelife.
  14. I thank my mother for ignoring me during my formulative years when I was learning to speak ... the result was a speech impediment which I foolishly refused to have corrected in 3rd grade. This speech impediment precluded an appointment to Annapolis which prompted me to enunciate at the age of 19. In the end, its polished offspring became an asset in people remembering me--see the voice.
  15. I thank my mother for memories of life so bad that I know when I will self-euthanize in the coming collapse and death of life on earth, for I never want to return to the hell on earth that I experienced in the first years of my life.
  16. I thank my mother for the lasting discomfort that I feel around people ... a statement that will surprise many who view me as an extrovert. From the early awareness of social inferiority and home insecurity, I realized that good grades were not going to get me accepted by others so I became the class clown acting up and acting out. The truth is that I had no friends not because of my being a reading nerd who got good grades but because of my mother moving too often to build friendships to weather the travails of the classroom. How often was I laughed with versus laughed at?

Some will think that this listing indicates a troubled soul. Quite to the contrary thanks to Socrates.

  1. Know thyself.
  2. The unquestioned life is not worth living.
  3. I am saner than most people because I know my insanities.

The latter is a paraphrase of "I know more than most people because I know what I don't know." As most know-it-alls know very little so are the saner-than-all quite insane. Academia is full of highly trained--not highly educated--petty minds who confuse degrees and tenure with moral sanity. As white people usually don't get it when it comes to value and humanity of black people, so the sheepskin-clad phidos don't get it on a larger, broader and higher existential plane.

I enjoy immensely the people who have deemed to judged me from their pot overflowing with dysfunctional relationships. I am entertained by those who say I don't deserve to be so happy, souls who have lived beyond their means trying to be something other than be an honest, happy human. Equally revealing of their own inner lives are the people who seek a higher moral ground by saying, "It must be nice to be perfect." Would be if there were not so many imperfect people seeking happiness by seeking to destroy the happiness of less imperfect problem-solvers. Memorable was the phido child psychologist who asked me, "Can you handle the truth when you wake up to it?", a woman who has mothered two human failures, a parasite hilton wannabee and a high school dropout druggie. The latter steals war medals from his grandfather and steals cash from relatives' billfolds.

Some say that I have no right to criticize others' failures because I have not walked a mile in their shoes. Wrong. I wisely chose not to go a mile in the wrong direction. I have a right to criticize parents who cannot financially, mentally or emotionally raise unhealthy kids. Been there, suffered that. I wisely chose not to be a prolitter in an overpopulated world. I have a right to criticize others who are walking their miles over my property rights to a safe, sane world as they live beyond their means by taking my means to survive. Leg-spreaders without means are mean people who make less meaningful their lives, the lives of their unplanned fetuses and the lives of wise meaningful bystanders.

If one can list one's insanities one becomes less insane. Insanity is basically living a lie about onesself or one's world. Once one realizes how one has lied to onesself, one can either learn the truth hidden by the lie or, if no harm is done, live the lie as a joke to be shared with one or all. Laughing at onesself is a catalyst to fewer harmful insanities but not necessarily humorous inanities.

Also see,

  1. Lucky I did not kill my mother.
  2. Mothers Beware

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