The Fruit

Noah Kahan has a great lyric in "Growing Sideways" where he sings, "I'm still angry at my parents for what their parents did to them."

Neither of my parents had it easy growing up. What we now consider physical and emotional abuse was called discipline in the 60s and 70s when they were being brought up. They were neglected and beaten and treated without respect for their entire adolescence.

My parents' goal was always to give me a better life than they had. They certainly succeeded. I wasn't beaten with boards, I wasn't left unsupervised for extended periods of time, and I wasn't encouraged to quit school to prioritize finding work. I was in sports and band, had braces, and truly wanted for nothing. My parents sacrificed a lot so that I could always have what I needed, and even things that I wanted.

That's not to say they were without flaws, though. As supported and as loved as I was, let's remember that nobody is perfect. My parents only knew what they were taught. They learned from their parents that children don't need to be beaten senseless to learn a lesson. They learned from their parents that paying attention to what your children are doing often keeps them out of trouble.

But, they also "turned out fine." Despite everything they went through, they adjusted, they adapted, they survived. And sometimes, the fact that they "turned out fine" keeps them from being empathetic.

I can understand that, honestly. I can understand how somebody who was beaten their whole childhood might think that a harsh word is nothing. They might believe their child is being overly sensitive. They wish their parent had cared enough to yell at them about their grades. They wish their parent had only called them names, instead of leaving them bruises. I can certainly understand that.

With that said, though, we are all products of our environments, and everyone's experience is valid. My parents were products of their environments, and I'm a product of the environment that they made for me.

I'm reminded of "This Be the Verse," by Philip Larkin:

"They fuck you up, your mum and dad.   

    They may not mean to, but they do.   

They fill you with the faults they had

    And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn

    By fools in old-style hats and coats,   

Who half the time were soppy-stern

    And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.

    It deepens like a coastal shelf.

Get out as early as you can,

    And don’t have any kids yourself."

My family tree has rotten roots, and I am the fruit. I bear the scars of discord and the marks of the underlying decay, but I strive to grow sweet amidst the bitterness. I hope, if there are to be seeds, that they might fall on different ground. I hope they give rise to a new tree with roots fortified by understanding, forgiveness, selflessness, and love.