Back in high school, I was captain of the baseball team so, at the end of the season, I gave a little speech at the awards banquet. The team chipped-in and we presented a gift to our coaches. I probably said four or five minutes worth of stuff. The specifics escape me, but I remember standing there with Marc, the other captain, and getting through it just fine.
When you’re handing out gifts, it doesn’t much matter what the hell you say as long as you’re not a jerk about it.
Once I got home, my father loudly announced that he thought I had been a jerk about it. He yelled and berated me, then eased into an extended lecture, with frequent angry outbursts. He thought my speech was disrespectful. He couldn’t name anything specific that I said; rather it was my manner, posture and tone when I spoke. He interpreted it as me being a snotty asshole.
My speech was only five minutes but my father’s yelling went on for over ten. He accused me of being ungrateful, disrespectful, and a piece of shit. I didn’t argue with him.
I certainly didn’t intend on saying anything disrespectful. Overall, I liked the coaches a lot. Maybe they suffered from hero worship, leaning heavily on a couple of gifted players (not me) rather than working to improve all of us.
I’m over it. The coaches were in charge and could start whoever they wanted to start. It’s water under the bridge over troubled waters.
No, I didn’t argue with my dad despite not understanding what I said or did to make him think I’d been a jerk. I didn’t say anything to my father, in fact. I stared at him and waited until he was done. I waited him out, let him exhaust himself yelling at me and then—excused by my father—I went to a party with my friends. Of course, I wasn’t in a party mood. I just wanted to get away.
My oldest brother witnessed the ”lecturing,“ and he asked me later on how I put up with it. He, (that brother) was famous for getting into drawn out arguments with Dad. But not me. I just took it.
I didn’t know it at the time, but I likely disassociated myself from the situation. I’m not a psychologist, but I’m pretty sure I just turned off my emotional response system in some survival instinct reaction, like playing dead when you come upon a bear in the woods, or get seated on an airplane next to someone who needs to explain why Beta was so much better than VHS.
If I had to guess, I probably learned the disassociation technique from observing my mother.
We never resolved those issues in our family. Eventually, my father calmed down a bit, or gave up trying to lecture us as we got older. He washed his hands of certain issues, and stopped getting worked up about our life choices.
Also, we ended up with much more serious issues to deal with. There would be illness and dementia afflicting grandparents, aunts, and uncles on both sides. Eventually, my father would have to face his own, grim, end of life challenges.
I suppose he was trying to impart some wisdom to me when he lost his shit and yelled at me forty years ago (holy heck, probably forty years ago this week, in fact!). Little did he know that, soon enough, I’d disappoint him in much more serious ways than whatever he thought I did at the baseball awards ceremony.
I never figured out what bothered him. But I’m over it. Water over a bridge too far.
The Moth GrandSLAM
Two weeks ago, I was a storyteller at The Moth GrandSLAM in Ann Arbor and I told a heartbreaking story of staggering genius. I know I’ve mentioned it before—that I was going to tell a story, not my staggering genius—but it was a big deal for me.
It’s only a six hundred word story but the shorter the story, the trickier it is to choose the correct words. I was nervous because I told a story about the moment I realized my mother had Alzheimer’s and I wanted to get that story right.
Also, that might have been the only chance I get to tell that story in a public forum. The Moth crowds are always supportive and energetic. It was a golden opportunity to share something and feel the love.
I was so nervous, in fact, that I felt sick the day of the show and thought I’d maybe had a stroke or something. I think my blood pressure spiked. Eventually, I found a way to calm down. Everything went great at the show.
Those of you who know me are probably a little surprised I was worried about talking in front of people as I’m generally a boisterous loud-mouth showboating for any kind of an audience. But I used to have paralyzing stage fright.
Eighteen years ago, realizing my stage fright was not going to go away of its own accord, I joined a Toastmasters club at work and spent twelve years getting comfortable with public speaking.
Six years ago, I started speaking at Moth StorySLAMs. So the chance to tell that story about my mother two weeks ago was special to me, and my ability to pull it off was the culmination of many years of work.
I didn’t win, but I did well. I’m not bragging but I hope to encourage you to do something that might take a long time to accomplish. If you’ve avoided trying something you care about because it’ll require a long apprenticeship, get started now.
The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago. The next best time is today, especially if you can get someone else to dig the hole.
Meanwhile, at My Writing Desk…
I’ve been scheming about what to do with this novel in progress while also designing a series of sci-fi short stories. Lest I have too much time on my hands, I joined a workshop for humor writing, so I’m trying to adjust my writing routines to allow all this to happen.
Or maybe I’m avoiding the hard work of the novel by starting new projects.
Bestsellers by People I Know Who are Not Me
It’s fine. Happy for them. Not jealous at all.
Recommended Reading
I’m still reading Tana French’s The Witch Elm and I have thoughts. Many thoughts. I’m so close to the ending that I’ll have to wait until it’s all over before I can try to figure out what she’s really doing with the story. It’s engrossing and compelling.
I’m also watching the ultra-violent Barry (on HBO “Max”). It’s the fifth and final season, and all kinds of stuff is going on that, like with The Witch Elm, I need to hold my words until the end to see what I think is going on with the story.
Next Picayune
Thanks for reading the Mickey Picayune. I’ll be back in June with another story and words about books!
All the best,
Mickey