Sunday, September 18, 2011
Friday, September 2, 2011
Father's Hands
Born and bred in the deep South, uneducated and illiterate, my father learned about survival at a very young age. He learned how to use his hands to build and rebuild cars, engines, or anything mechanical that required grease and ball bearings. His heartbeat was in his hands. They were his identity, his whole being, his life force, all from the wrist down.
It was after my mother left us with Daddy that those hands became the same hands that fed my body, bathed my body, held, nurtured, and sometimes loved my body, but most of all, beat my body. Black and blue, until it collapsed.
He was six feet five inches tall and around four hundred pounds. A giant. My tiny hands disappeared inside the cupping of his snake-like fingers. At times he was a good father because his hands would be loving and quiet, and at other times bad because his hands would hurt and sting with each slap and stranglehold. I remember those times that he'd laugh so proud and call himself "grease monkey." I'd whisper out loud to myself, "belonging to the Devil most times."
I remember the squelching hot summers, being carried in his arms, legs bared and spread wide against his belly, his calluses rubbing rough against my thighs and hamstrings, his hands too wet, too rough, too hot, too close. The more I tried to pull away, the tighter his grip became. I always knew when his hands were about to change from good love to bad. It was usually once he felt me surrender my struggle for freedom and safety. "All right, Daddy," my body would say, "you win again."
My father has lived by his hands my whole life. He worked as a machinist at Duke University where many years ago he was selected to design and replace the ornate adornments attached to the front doors of the glorious Duke Chapel. Today, as those doors still stand, I am all the wiser. I now know what it means when all is quiet and still around me. I have found an inner peace. So peaceful that, recently, I heard my soul singing. Singing loud - praises of freedom and safety. Safety which made me smile because somewhere deep inside I finally knew that it is at those doors that some of the Devil ends and God begins.
Sharon Asheton
It was after my mother left us with Daddy that those hands became the same hands that fed my body, bathed my body, held, nurtured, and sometimes loved my body, but most of all, beat my body. Black and blue, until it collapsed.
He was six feet five inches tall and around four hundred pounds. A giant. My tiny hands disappeared inside the cupping of his snake-like fingers. At times he was a good father because his hands would be loving and quiet, and at other times bad because his hands would hurt and sting with each slap and stranglehold. I remember those times that he'd laugh so proud and call himself "grease monkey." I'd whisper out loud to myself, "belonging to the Devil most times."
I remember the squelching hot summers, being carried in his arms, legs bared and spread wide against his belly, his calluses rubbing rough against my thighs and hamstrings, his hands too wet, too rough, too hot, too close. The more I tried to pull away, the tighter his grip became. I always knew when his hands were about to change from good love to bad. It was usually once he felt me surrender my struggle for freedom and safety. "All right, Daddy," my body would say, "you win again."
My father has lived by his hands my whole life. He worked as a machinist at Duke University where many years ago he was selected to design and replace the ornate adornments attached to the front doors of the glorious Duke Chapel. Today, as those doors still stand, I am all the wiser. I now know what it means when all is quiet and still around me. I have found an inner peace. So peaceful that, recently, I heard my soul singing. Singing loud - praises of freedom and safety. Safety which made me smile because somewhere deep inside I finally knew that it is at those doors that some of the Devil ends and God begins.
Sharon Asheton
Thursday, September 1, 2011
"It's A Family Affair"
This is a big weekend for me. I am doing something that I haven't done since I was 7 years old. I am attending a family reunion.
My family of origin does not exist. For all of my adult life, I have spent holidays alone or with friends who would invite me over to take part in their family traditions. These years have been a humbling experience for me. I used to feel so sorry for myself. The 'oh, I am so alone, why don't I have a family?' used to really come up for me. Months preceding the holidays, I would feel it beginning to come in. After Halloween, the Christmas commercials would begin and I would begin to spiral downwards.
Today, it is all so different. I finally have a family to love and be loved by. Something that I never thought would ever happen in my life. My boyfriend, Dwayne, of one and half years has an amazing family. His parents have embraced me completely as part of their family. Both of his parents, Mom and Dad, are exceptional, spiritual human beings. Their love for others and for their community is overwhelming at times. How could two people be so incredible, I ask most days. They are the family I have always dreamt of having. They have been married for 53 years, and are still going strong. And, as I mentioned, this weekend is the family reunion for Mom's side of the family. Family I have yet to meet.
One thing that brings me so much joy is that she has asked me not only to be there for the registration on Friday evening, but also to be her 'go to gal' for other things. I am fully committed to her and this wonderful three day reunion that is planned. I was even honored by being asked to write something on family reunions and what they represent. I remember telling her that this would be something that I would write not from experience but from what I would imagine and fantasize that family means. I have my ideas, but not direct experience.
As I mentioned, my last family reunion was at the age of 7, in Georgia. I remember very little of it. Other than there were some 'scary' people there. You see, I don't come from a 'well bred background', I come from the 'other side of the tracks' where what you do has no consequence and living a life of doing the next right thing is an anomaly. Yes, I have come a long way. Having foster parents at the age of 16 really spared me from a life of repeating what I grew up surrounded by. The Hell's Angels were our neighbors, we lived in a trailer park where my step father said we should be proud because we had the biggest lot in the park. My step father was uneducated, illiterate. And lived in anger and like my mother, victimization. It was not an environment conducive to positivity, and celebration of life and all good things. We did not expand ourselves in the least. It was, indeed, a very limited, very depressing environment.
Flash forward to today, I have so much to celebrate. This family reunion fills me with joy, excitement, gratitude, and such a sense of inclusion and connectedness. I can only imagine the people I will meet. The sounds of laughter echoing all around us. The honoring of those with us and those who have passed on. Yes, I feel I am home. In every sense of the word. Dwayne's family is worlds away from what I have ever known. I am anticipating the opportunity to create new and beautiful memories with a family I hope I will always be a part of.
Yes, gratitude abounds. I am filled with excitement and tremendous joy. Today, life is more beautiful than I could have ever imagined for myself. And it is true, real, steadfast. There is so much love in our lives, I sometimes have to shake it out a bit and say, YES, this is real. Yes, I am finally a part of a family. And this family isn't going anywhere. Their love is here to stay. Something I have never known before.
My family of origin does not exist. For all of my adult life, I have spent holidays alone or with friends who would invite me over to take part in their family traditions. These years have been a humbling experience for me. I used to feel so sorry for myself. The 'oh, I am so alone, why don't I have a family?' used to really come up for me. Months preceding the holidays, I would feel it beginning to come in. After Halloween, the Christmas commercials would begin and I would begin to spiral downwards.
Today, it is all so different. I finally have a family to love and be loved by. Something that I never thought would ever happen in my life. My boyfriend, Dwayne, of one and half years has an amazing family. His parents have embraced me completely as part of their family. Both of his parents, Mom and Dad, are exceptional, spiritual human beings. Their love for others and for their community is overwhelming at times. How could two people be so incredible, I ask most days. They are the family I have always dreamt of having. They have been married for 53 years, and are still going strong. And, as I mentioned, this weekend is the family reunion for Mom's side of the family. Family I have yet to meet.
One thing that brings me so much joy is that she has asked me not only to be there for the registration on Friday evening, but also to be her 'go to gal' for other things. I am fully committed to her and this wonderful three day reunion that is planned. I was even honored by being asked to write something on family reunions and what they represent. I remember telling her that this would be something that I would write not from experience but from what I would imagine and fantasize that family means. I have my ideas, but not direct experience.
As I mentioned, my last family reunion was at the age of 7, in Georgia. I remember very little of it. Other than there were some 'scary' people there. You see, I don't come from a 'well bred background', I come from the 'other side of the tracks' where what you do has no consequence and living a life of doing the next right thing is an anomaly. Yes, I have come a long way. Having foster parents at the age of 16 really spared me from a life of repeating what I grew up surrounded by. The Hell's Angels were our neighbors, we lived in a trailer park where my step father said we should be proud because we had the biggest lot in the park. My step father was uneducated, illiterate. And lived in anger and like my mother, victimization. It was not an environment conducive to positivity, and celebration of life and all good things. We did not expand ourselves in the least. It was, indeed, a very limited, very depressing environment.
Flash forward to today, I have so much to celebrate. This family reunion fills me with joy, excitement, gratitude, and such a sense of inclusion and connectedness. I can only imagine the people I will meet. The sounds of laughter echoing all around us. The honoring of those with us and those who have passed on. Yes, I feel I am home. In every sense of the word. Dwayne's family is worlds away from what I have ever known. I am anticipating the opportunity to create new and beautiful memories with a family I hope I will always be a part of.
Yes, gratitude abounds. I am filled with excitement and tremendous joy. Today, life is more beautiful than I could have ever imagined for myself. And it is true, real, steadfast. There is so much love in our lives, I sometimes have to shake it out a bit and say, YES, this is real. Yes, I am finally a part of a family. And this family isn't going anywhere. Their love is here to stay. Something I have never known before.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)