365 Days Of Me: January 1 -- Tupperware

While I wasn't raised in a strict household, I wouldn't say that it was unstructured either.  Looking back, I can't really say that there was ever a set of rules that we had to follow, each do and don't numbered on a plaque or in a book.  My mother was a single parent for a while, and even when she was remarried, she still was the main source of discipline in the house.

I knew several children growing up who were pretty much in the same position as I was.  One parent, odds against them, and so on.  A couple of those children ended up with no structure whatsoever, and they ended up in Juvenile Delinquency before they even turned 15.  A couple of children were raised in a very strict single parent household, and while they were definitely disciplined, their acts of rebellion were very disciplined as well, and not much better than their structureless counterparts.

The principal at the elementary school that I went to always used my mother as a good example that not all single parents raised bad children.  I remember her saying to my mother once that two parent households didn't guarantee anything if each parent would rely on the other to lay down the law.

When asked what my mother's secret was, she really couldn't explain, mostly because it wasn't a practice that she made up, nor did she put any effort to.  It's simplicity might be why it was so effective.

It wasn't a set of rules, but just a basic concept that was applied to every action and decision that we made.  Combine that with the deep respect we had for our mother, and the discipline really took care of itself.

The concept was:  Be good.

Many could say that a child can interperet that in many ways, and it brings up the old question of "Define good."  But, again, my mother's accidental subtlety comes into play here as well.  She lived by quiet example.

There was a woman my mother used to know that she hated with the passion of a million suns.  I don't know why she hated her, and knowing my mother it was probably something that only she understood.  The point is, this woman was all but dead to her, which is one step above the lowest in opinion my mother can have of anyone.  

When my mother would cross paths with this woman she hated so much, she would acknowledge, and even be perfunctorily cordial if the situation called for it, but that was all.  There were no pleasantries, nor was there any pretense on my mother's part.  

This went on for quite some time, and there was very little speculation about the discourse between the two women.

One Thursday after school, I came home to find my mother in the kitchen cooking dinner.  There was too much food being prepared for the just her, my self and my two younger siblings, so I asked if we were having company for dinner.

"No," she said and then preceded to tell me that someone she knew had a husband who was dying of cancer.  I asked who she was talking about, and it turns out it was the woman that she was at odds with.

"I thought you hated her." I said, trying to figure out what food was actually going to be our dinner.

Mom turned from the counter and looked me in the eyes as she said, "I don't hate her *that* much."

I truly didn't understand at all what she meant by that.  My day to day struggles taught me that when you hated someone, you didn't help them at all, simply because you hated them.  But here was my mother, making food for a woman she couldn't stand.

In my mother's world, the same world we were raised in, food didn't just nourish and sustain.  It comforted, complimented, and most of all, was a replacement for currency.  We didn't have a lot of money, but we always had food.  When it came time to donate time or money, Mom would take the time to make something nice, in lieu of money.  

The act of making food for this woman said a lot to me in that moment, even though it would take me a lot of time and life experience to sort it all out.  

While my brother, sister and I ate our meals that night, Mom continued to prepare enough food to last someone for at least 3 days.  It wasn't anything fancy, but it was hearty and easy to eat quickly.  It was even placed into my mother's good Tupperware, which was a big deal back in the 80s.  It was plastic and hideous looking, but it was the expensive kind.

After dinner, Mom put us in front of "The Great Babysitter" (otherwise known as the television), and told us she would be back in an hour or so.  I was placed in charge, but even then I had very little authority over my sister, who became independent very early on.

An hour later, she was back with a large paper sack and went directly to the kitchen.  When I checked on her a few minutes later, she was washing out her Tupperware.

"Did she not want the food?" I asked.

She jumped a bit, not realizing I had walked into the room, then said, "She has the food, but not my nice Tupperware."

With my mother, kindness only went so far.

The example that my mother set in that day was that regardless of how you feel about a person, there are some things that cancel out how you feel about them.  Even though she had no love for this woman, having a spouse that had terminal cancer was something that my mother could relate to all too well.  No matter what they were at odds about, it was nothing compared to the turmoil of a dying spouse.  For all I know, she maybe even talked to her for a bit while she emptied her Tupperware into the womans own storageware.

She wasn't about to leave her expensive dishes at this woman's house.  You know, because she couldn't stand the bitch.

---

I was living with my boyfriend, and about 7 other people.  I had jumped from the comfort of my mother's care into this mess of a living situation, and I was completely unaware of how fucked up it really was.  

I don't think it is possible for that many people to live under one roof without the house becoming a complete sty.  I know there are people with huge families, but when you are all related, it's a different situation.  Each child plays into the workforce, and that role becomes more and more vital as more and more children come out of their mother.

But when you are all near strangers, and you all share the same house, things get out of hand, and it becomes the status quo.

While I was still living with my mother, I didn't have a lot of responsibilities as far as chores were concerned.  I moved out on impulse when my boyfriend asked me to, and I was completely unprepared for what lay ahead.  My mother hadn't done much preparation for my inevitable departure either, but she put up very little resistance  

I was very young, and my boyfriend was much older, so I became more like his responsibility rather than an equal resident in the house.  Because of the lax attitude about chores, I just went day by day without much of a care, happy to finally be out in the real world.

One evening, I had the house to myself, with my boyfriend at work, and the other roommates out and about doing their own thing.  I was in our bedroom (the house was run down, but large enough for seven if you put 2 or 3 to a room), and I was just about to crawl into bed for the night when I heard the front door open and close.  I got up to peek and saw a woman I didn't know in the front doorway looking around.  

It wasn't uncommon for strange people to enter and exit the house, but something about this woman's expression told me that she had no right being in the house.  

Part of me panicked, and just wanted to hide, but curiosity go the better at me aided by the kind, but pained look the woman had.  I stepped out of the room, and after discarding opening lines like "Who are you?" and "Why are you here?", I finally just settled with a simple hello.

"Do you know Sandra?" the woman asked.

I didn't recognize the name at first, then I said, "San?"

"No," the woman said sternly, "SanDRA."

San was a young woman in genitalia only.  She dressed, acted, and lived as a boy.  He was around 20 years old, but you could easily mistake him for 16 or so.  When I first met San, I really did think he was a young man until my boyfriend explained it to me.  

"Uh...well..." I stuttered, hating the confrontational tone in the woman's voice, "Sandra isn't here, Sandra is with friends."

I felt stupid using San's real name all the time, but it was safer than arguing about pronouns.

I thought the woman was going to bark at me again, but instead, she just looked at me helplessly.  There was awkward silence, and the woman just looked around.  

"Would you like to wait for...uh...Sandra?  I don't know when they will be back, but Sandra has to be up early in the morning for work so..."

She turned to me and said, "She has a job?  Well, that's good at least.  Do they make her dress properly?"

"Uh...Sandra works at a restaurant by the library.  I don't know how they dress there." I said, hoping I wasn't coming off as as smartass, not that her tone didn't deserve it.  I left out that the restaurant was gay owned and operated, because the sooner I was out of this situation the better.  I thought that the conversation would be brief.  I couldn't have been more wrong.

"Is she working now?" the woman asked.

I thought for a second, and said, "Well, no, but I think Sandra is there anyway with....." I almost mentioned San's girlfriend, but thought better of it.

"Take me there." the woman said.  This command caused me to look the woman over.  She was dressed conservatively, as if she worked in an office.  She dressed as a woman would in the early nineties, with an empty nest and very little to do.  This caused me to deem her as harmless, and I considered going with her to find San.  I still was nervous, however, because what little I have learned of this woman gave me very little to believe that this evening would end quietly.

"I don't think I should since...." I started to say.

She pulled her purse out and said, "I'll give you 10 dollars if you just take me to her." then she looked into my eyes, and there was a desperation that was so pure I felt my eyes prickle, threatening to shed a tear or two.

I sighed, and said, "Keep your money.  Let me put on shoes."

---

I thought the ride to the restaurant would be quiet, but San's mother was full of questions about how San.

"How long has she worked at this restaurant?" San's Mom asked.

"About a month." I said.

No sooner had one answer left my lips, she was firing another one at me, "Is she drinking?"

I wasn't sure how to respond to that since I really didn't know.  I knew that San would be turning 21 in six months only because he was already planning on getting completely soused and was counting down the days.  Other than that, I didn't know San's drinking habits outside of a love for Mountain Dew.

We arrived at the restaurant, and I felt awkward and trapped.  I could have walked back to the house if I needed to, but I would have to go through some pretty bad neighborhoods to get there.  Unless someone else was there that I knew, this San's mother was my ticket back to the house.

San's mother parked the car, and we both got out and went to the door of the restaurant.  She took one look at a piece of paper that was taped to the glass door and scoffed. She went in, and I looked at the paper, which was an advertisement for a drag pageant that was happening the next weekend.

San wasn't very difficult to find.  The dining room of the restaurant was an open setting diner style and San was sitting at a table, girlfriend in his lap, and three friends surrounding him, two of my gay roommates (who had sex together, but could hardly be called friends), and a straight woman everyone called "Mother" for some strange reason.

San started to call me over until he saw who I was with, and his face went completely ashen.  His eyes, which had the same passion as his mother's, locked with mine, and I was instantly labeled a traitor.  That much was clear.  

San tapped his girlfriend of his lap, and stood up. He raced over and whispered, "What are you doing here?"  He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and looked just like a tough, 16 year old boy with a buzz cut and a handsome face.

San's mother whispered back, "Three months. I was worried."

I walked over to the table where everyone was sitting, deciding that a little bit of privacy was in order for the mother and her child.  

No one at the table knew much about San, his past, or his family, so there was a *lot* of whispering.  I glanced over to see San try to get his mother out of the restaurant, but I heard the woman say, "No, I brought him with me, and I should make sure he gets home safely."

"I'll make sure he..." San started to say.

His mother just held up a hand and said, "It's only fair.  I dragged him into this."

San finally gave up trying to take this conversation somewhere else, so they picked a booth and finally got a little bit of privacy.

They talked for a little over an hour, and the restaurant was preparing to close for the evening.  Everyone at my table kept speculating what San and his mother were talking about, but in the end, the truth revealed itself.  San stood up and came to the table.  San gave me a glare that almost made me wither and I stood up and walked away, feeling very unwelcome all of the sudden.

San's mother stood up from the booth, her eyes red and slightly puffy.  She looked at me and said, "I'm taking you home."

---

The ride back was very quiet.  In a way I was glad for it, but the silence was still very uncomfortable.  As we turned onto the street that I lived on, the silence was finally broken by San's mother, in a tirade that took me a second before I started to comprehend what she was saying.

"...and you should be ashamed of yourselves!  You all cram yourselves into that house doing god knows what, and I'm surprised you all haven't given each other diseases either from the food or the sodomy.  I hope your mother is dead, because after what I have seen tonight, I wish I was."

We pulled up to the house, and she told me to get out.  I surprised myself because I started to cry, feeling confused and a bit disoriented being judged so suddenly unfairly.  

San's mother didn't say another word as I closed the door and drove off.  Through my tears, I found an unreasonable amount of hatred for the woman, and for a brief moment, I fantasized as she went through that four way stop at the intersection by my house, she would get t-boned by a semi.  Then the tears I held back finally fell at the shame of that thought.

---

2 weeks went by, and living in that house suddenly became intolerable.  There were many squabbles about chores and various trespasses from clogged toilets to someone drinking up someone else's milk.

San never discussed the night at the restaurant, especially with me, who he now considered an enemy.  My boyfriend took my side, of course, which only added to the drama within the house.  

In that two weeks, however, San's behavior went from lashing out at me, to lashing out at everyone.  Eventually, everyone got sick of it, and San was thrown out.  While he was gathering up his clothes, putting them into trash bags, he stopped to call his girlfriend to see if he could stay with her.  His girlfriend couldn't have picked a worse time to break up with him.

He left, raging as he did, and for a few days everyone got along having someone else to focus their anger on, the newly departed San.  

---

It went from fall to winter rather quickly in the next few weeks, and the bitter cold seemed to be amplified by the concrete that sounded you when you were walking around downtown.  I was walking home from the job that I had acquired a week before, and it was the first time I didn't have a ride.

The path home wasn't long, but it seemed so as the wind seemed to take the frigid air and push it through every layer of my clothing.  I turned a corner, hoping that the wind would be cut by the building, when I stopped dead in my tracks.  There, on the corner, was San, digging through the trash.

I called out his name, and when he looked up and saw who had said his name, he said, "You stay the fuck away from me!"  He walked off, crossing the street as he did so, and I knew that going after him was not going to do any good.

The cold hit me again and I kept moving.  I couldn't believe what I had just seen, but my brain wouldn't allow me to ponder it too long as it was busy trying to keep my muscles moving and my blood pumping to keep me warm enough just to get home.

---

When I got there, my boyfriend was preoccupied with one of my roommates, so I had some time to think.  I could hear the bed squeaking away, and in a way I was grateful that at least *they* were getting along.  I gave the situation with San a lot of thought, and by the time my boyfriend was done I had made a decision.  

While my boyfriend was in the shower, I asked him if he had found San's old ID card that he had passed around to prove that he was, in fact, born a female.  When it was passed around, San said to my boyfriend, "Go ahead and throw that away.  I don't need it anymore."

"Get into the shower with me and I"ll tell you." he said.  For the next 20 minutes or so, all thoughts of San left my mind.

Afterwards, I asked the question again as I was helping my boyfriend to dry off.  He said that he couldn't remember if he still had it or not, but he said he would look for it.  He asked me why, but I didn't tell him, thinking that this was something I alone had to do, although I can't tell you now why I felt that way.

A while later, he found the card in a stack of papers on the table that served as a desk in our bedroom.  It took some detective work, but luckily San's address on the ID card was listed, and it wasn't too long before I heard a vaguely familiar woman's voice say "Hello" into my ear.

I didn't say hello back, I just blurted it out.  "I saw San digging through the trash near the homeless shelter.  I'm really sorry.  I think he really needs you."

The phone clicked in my ear and I hung up, hoping what I did was enough.  A sudden image flashed in my mind of San, sleeping on the sidewalk, or at least appeared to be sleeping as the life slowly ebbed from him in the merciless, bitter cold.

---

I had just accepted the fact that I was never going to find out what happened to San, when he appeared at the house to visit.  A couple of the instigators that lived there had moved out, and a couple more had moved in, and I guess that was enough to make San think it was cool to come back.  The way that everyone greeted him, it seemed to be.

San didn't even acknowledge my existence, however, which was fine with me.  If my boyfriend had been there, there would have been words, but luckily he was at work, so I dealt with the insult quietly.

I did eavesdrop, however, and discovered that San was living back home with his mother.  His mother still insisted on treating him like a girl, but it was "better than freezing your balls off on the sidewalk."  Everyone, including myself, laughed at the little joke.

---

As I get older, I find that the concept of Amnesty During a Crisis is being hindered by the bitterness that creeps into everyone as the days go by.  It is said that the human brain stores every piece of information it collects, and even though you may not always be able to recall, it's in there somewhere.  I think this is the reason why that bitterness seems to creep in with such subtlety, like gradual weight gain or loss. 

Forgiveness doesn't come as easy for me, but as time goes on, I find that while forgiveness should be a two way street, it is often only one side of the street that gets all of the traffic.

One of my resolutions for the next year is to be more forgiving, and to let go of what people have done to me in the past.  I'm resolving to allow everyone a clean start, and go on with the hope that the mistakes that were made would be lessons in disguise.

I hope to take my mother's lesson, and take it a step further.  I hope to leave the Tupperware with them, and trust that they will bring it back, so to speak. 

 

Posted via email from Random and Absurd: The American Way