6 Relationship Lessons I Learned from My Dysfunctional Parents (and TV)

I love my parents, but they were never really a model for a healthy marriage, or a healthy interpersonal relationship for that matter. This I pieced together at a rather young age. But I also figured out that there were lessons to be learned from their behavior – mostly things not to do in a relationship. But knowing what not to do and knowing what else to do instead are two separate matters. To fill in some of those blanks, TV seemed to provide some modicum of answers (and was an easy place to retreat from the drama around me anyway), though I have to attribute most of my success to my current and long-time partner.

Here are some of the key lessons I’ve taken from them:

  1. Be honest. This seems simple, but it also seems often overlooked. Relationships require trust, and trust is not fostered through lies and hiding things. Eventually the truth comes out and with it anger, frustration, grief, and distrust. Or, in the context of sitcoms, the truth comes out in a comically bad way and only manages to crater the relationship until things get resolved just before the last commercial break.
  2. But not brutally honest. While being truthful is important, feelings matter too. And some truths hurt. If there’s nothing to be gained by sharing something, and not sharing that something will cause no harm to your partner, let it be (e.g., if one of your friends made some sexist or racist “joke” or commentary that would piss your partner off, especially if he/she doesn’t like that friend anyway, then maybe don’t relay that story – also if it didn’t piss you off, that may be worth reflection). TV likes to make you think these will also result in similar hijinks to the relationship lie, but there are gray areas.
  3. Be independent, not codependent. This is one that my parents actually do well, but not for the right reasons. I’d long appreciated that my parents had independent interests that they would selectively share with each other, but it’s only been in adulthood that I could fully appreciate that this is partially because they don’t actually like each other that much. But when I would seek out healthier relationship dynamics on television, this was one of the traits that healthy TV couples seemed to share with my parents – e.g., the parents on Family Ties or Growing Pains or good couples like Paul & Jamie on Mad About You. My wife and I are fairly independent people with our own interests and friends while also being each others best friends.
  4. Communicate. My parents barely do this. And when they do, it’s often caustic (usually mostly from one side). There is a good few decades of unresolved tension there that will likely continue until one of them kicks the bucket. And I know better than to try and fix it. There was a time when I was young where I thought I could inject some sense into the mix when things got heated, but I learned quickly that that doesn’t work. Hot heads are thick and slow to cool or see reason. And bottling up bits of contention will only lead to heat buildup such that there will be a last straw. Have hard conversations when you are cool-headed enough to not say things you’ll regret. Also, part of good communication is sometimes shutting up and listening (something at least one of my parents is decidedly not good at).
  5. Appreciate your partner. I cannot stress how important this is (even though it’s a trait I still struggle to deliver on with consistency). While my parents definitely consider each other and each others opinions and feelings, I can’t say there’s a strong consistency to it guiding their actions. At times it seemed like my one parent would do things in spite of the other’s feelings. And while they get each other gifts for the appropriate holidays, those gifts are about as personal and considerate as a semi-randomly ordered electronic device or gag-gift can be. But my TV families (and my wife) taught me better – relationships don’t require constant presence, but appreciation of their value and worth both in presence and absence. While a strong relationship shouldn’t feel like work, there’s work to be done to maintain it. When we commit to it, we’re committing that the other person is worth the effort as the value the relationship delivers greatly outweighs that cost. So it’s key to remind your partner from time to time that you still value them. This doesn’t explicitly mean flowers or chocolates for Valentine’s Day or your anniversary – celebrating your relationship should be something you want to do, not something you feel obligated to do. Whether it’s those milestones or just any given weeknight, you should want to show them how much you appreciate them, and you should do so in a way that shows you know them as a person.
  6. Trust your partner. Jealousy and suspicion are ugly emotions – ones I was thankfully never good at. They are fed by seeds of doubt. I can’t say that I’ve ever seen jealousy in my parents’ relationship, but suspicion – often wildly conspiratorial in nature and without any real foundation – was not an uncommon catalyst to a fight between them. I didn’t really learn what jealousy tasted like until one of my girlfriends got the idea to take root. But I learned quickly that I didn’t like it, and I didn’t see a place for it in a good relationship. I never saw it between Steven and Elyse Keaton or Jason and Maggie Seaver. And it rarely came up between Paul & Jamie Buchman despite both of them frequently crossing paths with members of the opposite sex including exes. So why should it be something I have to deal with. If you’re in the right relationship with the right foundations of trust, you shouldn’t. And I don’t. As such, I can laugh when my wife tells me that someone cautioned her male friend that there are rumors about them having an affair, or when she accidentally calls me Zack. And she can laugh at me when I show her a blog post comment I got from an ex, or tell her that I accidentally kissed a coworker’s hair. (yes, all of those things have happened.) And neither of us have had to explain ourselves after spending the evening drinking with coworkers or friends of mixed company. When you have that trust and you appreciate that relationship, you don’t want to do anything to break or jeopardize it.

None of these should be startling lessons in themselves – these are fundamentals. But in hindsight it is surprising how few of these were strongly present in my own prime example for relationship dynamics, and yet only a couple of them took relationship experience to learn. It didn’t take me multiple tries to learn that trust and honesty were important or that there was a healthy balance between complete independence and unhealthy codependency. My wife can attest to the fact that I’m still learning the right balance with communication and showing of appreciation, but she also knows that I care enough to want to do better and that it won’t happen without her communicating with me and being appreciative when I get it right.

The bottom line is that bringing the baggage of your parents’ relationship to your own is a choice – you could repeat the sins of your past, or you could learn from them and be better.

Breaking the Silence

It’s been nearly 3 years since I’ve posted anything here and I’ve been recently thinking of how to get back into writing here (or if I even should). I can go on about the debatable merits of this topic, but instead, I’m going to post something here that I wrote a year ago on social media that still holds true in my mind.

Snowflakes

I am a snowflake.

I am not an ice cube – forged in cold and stagnant ideas in an echo-chamber of complacency and stale world-views. Where isolationism is lauded and rigidity is king.

I am a snowflake – borne of a fragile kernel in the bluster of the world, challenged by the swirl of ideas, fostered by the strife of opposing forces.

I have floated through the currents of my creation, swam against the updrafts of resistance, and learned that only by the gravity of my conviction can I fight to find purchase in the world.

Snowflakes are not homogenous; we are a sea of diversity of shapes, sizes, colors, and ideas.

Snowflakes are not soft; we are crystallized in the crucible of our experiences in the world.

Snowflakes are not weak; we are as strong as any shard of ice that’s come to be.

What snowflakes are is fluid. When the winds of change are on our backs, a tide of snowflakes can wear a brittle mountain of ice down to dust. As an avalanche we will sing and bluster and usher the future forth like a force of nature.

You like to call me a snowflake, as if it were an insult – that I’m something different that doesn’t fit in your sheltered icebox of a world. But even the most pristine of freezers develops frost. Change cannot be escaped, merely held at bay. But this resistance is futile as the snowflakes are at the door.

Yes, I am a snowflake. And we are many and strong and ready for you to step out of your safe haven and become one, too.

Leap On

On this day 36 years ago my life changed in a way it would take decades to fully appreciate. I welcomed a second little sister into my family who happened to be one of those “leap year babies”. I’m sure not a leap day will pass in my life that I won’t be thinking of her.

On this day 36 years ago my life changed in a way it would take decades to fully appreciate. I welcomed a second little sister into my family who happened to be one of those “leap year babies”. As with any new sibling, reception is mixed and it takes time to see the good in it. My sister had a new compatriot, which gave me occasional respite from her iron will. And I gained an ally against that iron will when it got out of hand (which it often did).

One of the truths of being a leap year baby is that birthdays are a pain. For all the great uniqueness that comes with it in years when the day occurred, also comes a hollowness to celebrations in years when it doesn’t. We’d always make the jokes about it (her only being a quarter of her actual age, not being able to drive being “only 4”, etc.) as humor was a common way to skirt reality in our household. But as much as most of us used that humor as a salve, for my sister growing up in it, it was real. She was a soul of delight and mischief who rarely went down the dark path – always a paragon of hope and optimism.

But then at the ripe age of 4 ¼ (17 in real years), darkness found her. She was diagnosed with a brain tumor – one that was nearly impossible to treat and even harder to remove. In spite of this turn of events, she remained bright and hopeful. She coerced her biopsy surgeon to do minimal shaving so that she could cover her scar with an updo for her senior prom mere days later. She happily moved in with me and my wife in our inarguably shittiest apartment ever so she could have an easier commute to her regular radiation treatments. Even at her lowest – having the swiss cheese memory of an advanced Alzheimer’s patient, she still made jokes and kept us hopeful for her state of mind and recovery.

And despite a bleak prognosis as a teenager, she made it to her 5th and then her 6th “real” birthdays, fighting the good fight all the way. At 24, while she was reliant on a battery of medications to replace every regulatory hormone her body stopped managing (she lost her pituitary gland with the radiation) and had double knee replacements due to the compound effect of her body failing to take care of her own joints or metabolism, she stole the show at her own sister’s wedding by walking down the aisle unassisted.

Twelve years later I still think of that day. And the day that came a month later when she passed.

I think of her in those times bucking every odd stacked against her. It’s easy to look back and feel sorrow for the years lost – both those she half-lost fighting her ailments and those she lost in losing the fight. It’s easy to feel saddened that we can’t still have her presence in the world. It’s easy to look at the day she left us and feel its loss.

But her light wasn’t lost: that light she showed on her prom night, at our sister’s wedding and so many other times in between. There is hope and optimism in me that I don’t think would be there if not for her. There is hope and levity and light that I pass on to my children (without the spectre of being about misdirection and avoidance, but rather about acceptance and joy of life) that I don’t know that I’d have in me if not for seeing it in her.

As much as I miss her, there are some truths that are more important about my relationship with my littlest sister: for the time I had with her in my life, I am better, I am stronger, I am bolder, and I am happier because she existed however briefly. I am a better person than I would have been if the world never had that leap year baby. And I may well be a better person in spite of the loss of her. There are so many things in this world that remind me of her and remind me that I miss her. But in that absence I know better than to regret it or be subsumed by it – she taught me that.

I’m sure not a leap day will pass in my life that I won’t be thinking of her. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Not My Place

I’ll admit that I led a fairly sheltered childhood. I grew up in a small, semi-rural town in a small, semi-introverted family. We had small circles of friends and family that was distant. And in turn my own circles of friends have always been small and close-knit. I don’t consider myself a close-minded person by any stretch, but my experiences at least in my youth were limited. As a result, relating to the experiences of others has never been my strong suit. What I did have going for me is that I had no perceptual baggage and luckily very few inherited biases. So while I grew up in a fairly culturally uniform area, I absorbed no prejudices from it. But having had limited exposure, I avoid positing positions on cultural issues not my own. It’s not my place.

Through college and work experiences and just life, I’ve been immersed in a more diverse world. And still I’ve avoided picking up too many prejudices or preconceived notions. If anything, many of such notions I hear about often baffled me. So as I became comfortable, I’d challenge such assumptions with my fellows (at least with those I felt I was close enough to) … but not the world at large. It’s not my place.

Now that social media has changed the way we communicate with each other and the world, the opinions and views that I find myself exposed to are too numerous and contrasting to keep track of. And while I hold to the belief that most things fall into the gray, there are some ideas and practices I see in the world that are clearly in the wrong. And while I’ll stand by my fellow person’s rights and liberties, I don’t actively crusade against the wrong-headed idealists of the world. It isn’t my style, or my place.

But now I have children: young budding human beings who cannot possibly live as sheltered a life as I had or avoid the wrong-headedness that is (and really always has been) rampant. While I can teach them the right ideals and principles, good judgment and good values, it isn’t enough. I have to do more. As a parent, this is my place.

And unfortunately part of that job is to teach my kids hard lessons like: to be strong enough not to use violence and negative words against others, to be confident enough to stand by their ideas regardless of whether they are different, to be brave enough to call out others for hurtful or prejudicial behavior. I have to teach my daughter to strive for no less than she wants and deserves even though there are many forces that seem to be working against her simply for being a girl. I have to teach my son to be better than the baser instincts that are so easy to fall slave to and hold to principals of respect and fairness and equality. It will not be an easy road, but it is my place.

But this job has taught me something more – it IS my place to confront the demons of the world. If I can steer my children to a higher standard, why not others? Why not my friends, my family, my peers, my elders? We are living in a world with too much darkness, too much violence, too much victimization and not enough respect and individual responsibility. But it doesn’t have to be this way – we can make it better. We can stop tolerating the injustice and petulance of the lesser among us and start holding them to a higher standard. To live and let live. To take personal responsibility for one’s own words, actions, and station in life. To treat each any every one of us as equals regardless of gender, race, religion, body type, or capabilities. I think we can bring those values to this place called Earth and this race called humanity … if we can’t, then maybe this is not my place.

The Man Who Knew Too Little

I’m not getting any younger, and I hope that I’m still trending in the direction of smarter.  In less than 24 hours I’m going to be entering the latter half of my 30’s.  As my dad would put things, today if you rounded my age to the nearest decade, I’d be 30 – tomorrow it would be 40.  While oversimplifying things, it is hard to argue with the logic of it.

In truth, I hardly feel like I’m about to be 35.  But perhaps my mind just likes to let me feel that way.   Most of the signs of my age are things I can live with (I’ll take graying hair over balding) or tolerate (ibuprofen helps at times).  Some are comparative – while I don’t feel like I’ve matured more than a little in the last decade, but if I was anything like some of the 25-year-olds I know 10 years ago, then I’ve come a longer way than I’ve noticed.  I guess that a lot of it is perception.  But so far there are no costs to my age that I can complain about.

Kids help.  While on one hand they certainly can be challenging a lot of the time, the biggest challenge they offer is to your own perceptions of the world and what matters in it.  Before I had kids, even in my 20’s I found myself making efforts to define myself as an individual – both to myself and to others.  Now I know who I am and don’t feel a need to prove it to anyone.  My responsibilities are clear and my resolve is steadfast.  Plus they can make life so much fun.  They have personalities that are so big and bright that I can’t help but be drawn into them like the best show to watch is happening right in my house.

All that said, as I reflect on my time thus far in life I feel the need to question my progress.  Have I done all that I should have done by this point?  Do I know all that I should know?  It is the kind of introspect that leads to no good answers and often just to no good – the kind that leads to mid-life crises (and I can’t really afford a new sports car right now).

But again, perspective helps allay my mind.  I’ve never been one to give in to peer pressure or be all that comparative to or covetous of my neighbors.  And so I can soldier on in the knowledge that I know what I know and I’ve done what I did.  The only thing I can do is keep making the most of my time.  And at the moment I think the best use of such time might be for some sleep and prepare to tackle another opportunity for life experiences in the morning.  If I have any of note, I’ll be sure to let you all know.  In the least, perhaps you might learn from my mistakes.