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that motherfucker
2003-08-06 - 1:13 a.m. Dear (Evil Stepfather): In some ways, tonight I am glad you showed your true colors, because it eliminates the need to maintain the facade of civility erected between us over the last 22 years. But it saddens me more than it brings me gladness because it brings such pain to my mom, whom I dearly love and who certainly does not need this chaos in her life. When you first got together with my mother, I treated you badly, and I admit it. I was a bitch for quite awhile. However, for many years (since the late 80s), I�ve made concerted efforts to not only tolerate you and your eccentricities, but to try and forge some form of relationship with you, however tenuous it may be. I know I made the effort, and my mom will agree. Tonight you alleged that when my mother gives (mi hija) or me money that it is your money. That�s an interesting concept. Despite the fact that my mother entered into this marriage with her own assets and resources, and the additional fact that the home in which you reside is in her name only, paid for out of her separate and paraphernal funds and not a community asset or resource, it�s most interesting to me that you feel that you can exert control over the spending and distribution of the funds you claim to �give� her. That huge sum of $50 a week. Hmmm. You stated tonight with apparent pride that you give my mom that money. As an English major to a former English professor, there�s no need to define the word �give.� Suffice it to say that we both acknowledge that a gift to someone means that the donor divests his interest in the gift upon presentation to the donee. If you accept the premise, then it is a logical conclusion to say that if my mother chooses to share her weekly �gift� from you with either her daughter or her granddaughter, or (god forbid!) both of us, it is a gift from her to us, effectively leaving you out of the equation. If you equivocate on that issue, it�s time to acknowledge, (Evil Stepfather), that you really don�t give my mom money at all, only let her �use� a portion of your money for approved purposes. As far as paying for everything else, she�s your wife and would expect nothing else from the husband she calls a gentleman. But, after tonight, no longer an honest man. But (Evil Stepfather), I digress. The money in question isn�t your money, was never your money and never will be your money. Her money is her retirement benefits, her legacy from her parents and any stocks and / or annuities she acquired individually through her own investments. Perhaps you can no longer remember the pre-nuptial agreement you signed way back in 1981. That doesn�t negate its existence. You dislike and resent me. You seem to resent (mi hija) even more. Don�t think for a nanosecond that I ever forgot the time when I was pregnant with her and washing clothes at my mother�s house and you passed me, carrying my laundry crate, in the hall and shoved the crate into my abdomen as I fell into the hall closet. You do your dirty work when my mother isn�t nearby. Otherwise, she couldn�t bear to be near you. Because of your inflexibility and intolerance, you banned me from my mother�s house during my pregnancy. This from an avowed abortion opponent who once futilely lobbied for the mother of (your son's) unborn baby not to abort it. My mother and I have a complex and evolving relationship. Our inherent differences pit us against each other at times, but neither will ever doubt that there is a strong and abiding love between us. We share a close relationship and usually have contact daily. Your relationship with your kids is strained and, in one case, almost non-existent. The contrast must eat at you. We may fight, we may argue, we definitely disagree, but at the end of it all, my mom and I hug one another and affirm our love. You are essentially estranged from your son, and have been for years. He�s a cipher in your life. Why is that, (Evil Stepfather)? Let�s examine the picture more closely. Let�s discuss your friends. Wow, that was a short discussion! You have none. Face it. When was the last time the phone rang for you and it wasn�t a telephone solicitor? I realize your brother occasionally calls, but let�s confine this to south L0uisiana. You taught at the university for how many years? Surely you made friends there or in the community who might call for the occasional lunch date or other social excursion. Unfortunately, it seems as though your social contacts sprout from my mom�s friends and acquaintances. I realize that as a retired faculty member you get the standard invitations, and everyone is aware that (Evil Stepfather) will attend the opening of an envelope if there�s a chance he might be able to back someone into a corner and bore them to tears with stories of his boyhood or WWII. Hey! News Flash! It�s 2003! Nobody gives a shit. If you weren�t so socially inept, you�d have figured that out decades ago. People cringe inwardly when you start droning on about your personal history. Why would a person you just met care about your childhood on the farm or your (undistinguished) military career? You are full of self-importance, but low on substance. My mother would never have dated you in high school, which is why you worshiped her from afar all those years. You were just some jug-eared yahoo fresh off the farm with horse shit on your shoes. Essentially, you are a nerd. You married another nerd and begat more nerds. At least in your daughter�s case, the nerd syndrome continued. Now there is (your grandson): the poster child for today�s nerds. My mother, a non-nerd by everyone�s descriptions, married a man who also was not a nerd. He had plenty of problems, but being a nerd wasn�t one. They had me. Not a nerd. I begat a beauty queen who is so popular amongst her peers it�s mind boggling. Settles hard on that stomach, no? Face it. You and yours will always have your noses pressed firmly against the window of social acceptance and popularity. On the outside looking in, with tongues lolling in envy. That�s all you�ll have to deal with from (mi hija) and me. We love my mom and will always be there for her. You hurt her bad tonight. You�re an asshole, and your price tag is $80. I always knew you were a cheap bastard. *************************************** Still deciding to send it or not. I probably will. �
still here - 2009-12-18
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