That's the way YOU remember it, mom...(Long)

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

Bear with me, this is going to be long.

The summer that I was 11, I accompanied my mom and my sister Cindy* from North Jersey to Roseto, the town in Pennsylvania where my Italian relatives live(d).

There was some unpleasantness there, which ended with my mom and sister spewing and ranting as we set off again, on Interstate 40. They were livid. They were out of control. My mom was so worked up, she almost rammed another car due to not watching the road. I was in the back seat, terrified, with all this nastiness seeping into me, and when I tried to say something supportive, my mom turned around and yelled, “Rilch, we are very upset about this, and we don’t want to hear anything from you unless you’re telling us that there is a train coming across the tracks.”

If you’ve never seen those two go off, it would be hard to understand how and why this episode scarred me. But I know from other threads that manny people here know or are related to harpies like them, so I’m sure you can imagine it. At any rate, this was one more reason, among the many, for my resentment of them to fester into hatred.

Now, the way I understood it at the time was like this. Aunt Rosie (mother of Rosaline, who died just before this New Years’, as I mentioned in another thread), had died the previous winter. She had owned a really tits, old-school pasta maker that made about 11 different kinds of pasta. My sister had apparently been under the impression that she would inherit it, but when we arrived, Rosaline had informed her that she’d given it to Grammy. So we went down the street to Grammy’s house, and she refused to surrender it.

I’m leaving out all kinds of family politics here, but in short, that is how I remember it: the pasta maker went from Rosie, briefly to Rosaline, then to Grammy, entirely bypassing Cindy. Mom and Cindy overreacted, mom drove recklessly, and I had to sit there and listen to this shit and get yelled at for suggesting that they calm down.

A few years ago, I visited Cindy, and we talked about this and other incidents. She cried and apologized, and admitted what I’d been thinking all along: that she never would have used the damned thing anyway. So according to her, this really did happen.

Now to present day. My parents are in Chattanooga, TN, preparing to move to Vegas, where Cindy now is. Before leaving, they will go to Roseto one last time to clear out Grammy’s house. (She’s in a nursing home now.) My mom asked if I wanted anything, and I described two religious plaques and a pincushion. I also described some of Rosaline’s trinkets and asked if she could get at least one of them for me, just so I’d have something to remember her by. She agreed, and then we got onto the general subject of inheritances and dividing up keepsakes, and how rabid family members can get in such situations.

I remembered something else about the Pasta Maker Incident. Aunt Rosie had spent her last two years or so as an invalid, not leaving the house, and ultimately not leaving her room. Meanwhile, Cindy had been in Port Allegheny. So I don’t know where she even got the idea that the pasta maker was for her; it’s not like she visited Rosie on her deathbed and had it promised to her. I didn’t get into this, but merely said, “You know, Cindy really shouldn’t have gone off like she did about Aunt Rosie’s pasta maker.”

Mom: “What do you mean?”

Me: “She thought she was going to get Aunt Rosie’s pasta maker, but Rosaline gave it to Grammy, and Cindy blew a gasket.”

“That was always Grammy’s.”

Me: “[brief description of incident, in which I carefully avoid placing blame or mentioning that I had been traumatized] You don’t remember driving back on the I-80 and almost having an accident?”

“No. Rosaline didn’t have a pasta maker.”

“Well, Cindy thought she was going to get a pasta maker, and I clearly remember her getting very upset about it.”

“Well, she has it now…Do you want it? I could steal it for you when we get to Vegas.”

Oooookay.

1)I know I didn’t hallucinate the incident. Cindy remembered it too, at least when I brought it up to her.

2)Cindy may have a pasta maker, but I don’t see how it could be the pasta maker. She hasn’t been to Roseto since 1990, and if she’d had it in 1997 when we had our summit meeting, it seems logical that she would have mentioned it.

3)No, I do not want her to steal it for me. That’s them, not me: always valuing appliances and furniture and fucking money more than they value people. I don’t want a pasta maker, I want a family.

If anyone’s still reading this, thank you for listening.

2

I listened. You’re welcome.

Yes, that sounds shitty. I’m sure you didn’t imagine it.

Stuff like this is “selective amnesia”. Yeah. That’s what it is. I have a friend who does this, but on a far more harmless and benign level. But he sometimes manages to “forget” stuff that makes him look kinda bad.

Your mom has a huge case of selective amnesia, all right.

3

Rilchiam, I’m sorry. This is terribly unpleasant. My sympathies to you.

4

I’m sorry Rilch.

In order for your mom to remember this, she would have to acknowledge that she’s a grade A bitch. It’s easier just to deny that it ever happened. Don’t fight it, just pity her that she’s lost the respect and love of her daughter.

5

I’ll de-lurk for a moment to let you know that you are not alone. In fact, it sounds as if we might have the same mother. The only thing that helps me deal with people like this (in general) and my mother (in particular) is to acknowledge that she (mother) is a wee, unhappy little woman who is manipulative and conniving in order to achieve her own end BUT doesn’t have the skills to behave any differently or else she would. Act differently, I mean. In short, the optimist in me believes that she is doing the best that she can to hold it together at any given moment. BTW, my sister has also deveolped this selective amnesia. God help them whenever they butt heads. It is an evil of catastrophic proportions. Jeez, I wonder what they say about me!?

[/pulling the rock back over my head, resuming the lurking position]

6

Thank you all for your responses. forbidden donut, welcome! With a username like that, I’m sure you’ll fit in here.

Zyada and yosemitebabe, you’re absolutely right.

donut, you’ve brought up another good point. When Cindy and I had our soul-bearing session, we discovered something else. For years, our mom had been playing us: she’d unload on me about how awful Cindy was, then tell Cindy how awful I was, then come back and tell me about the latest “awful” thing Cindy had done. “Well, no wonder,” we realized, “that we haven’t been getting along!”

We never actually confronted her, but we did start telling her to squash it when she talks shit to one of us about the other. She still does it, but we no longer listen to her rants. As I said to her once, we can’t both be monsters, and in fact, neither of us is.

7

Denial is not just a river in Egypt…and my mother lives there!
It seems like a lot of parents have ‘selective amnesia’- which is their cop-out way of trying to let themselves off the hook for their neglectful/abusive/hurtful behavior.
“I didn’t know your father was abusing you!”
“I never hit you!”
“I don’t remember saying that you’re a failure!”
grrrr…this is one of a myriad of reasons that I’m estranged from my screwed-up family. Don’t EVER let any of your family make you question your reality. Chances are you remember things how they REALLY happened, and they don’t, because they blocked stuff out or whatever.

8

Rilchiam, I sympathize with you. My mother was cut from the same mold it seems. My most vivid memories of the craaaazy mother I grew up with have completely slipped from her consciousness.

“I NEVER DID THAT!”

Now I just try to limit our conversation topics to the weather.

9

Hmm. Before I ask this, I’ll point out I’ve generalized the impression from a tiny sample size (basically a handful of friends) and am already dubious of it–but still, it’s been consistent over that tiny sample size.

Do mothers display this kind of behavior more openly at their daughters than at their sons?

My ex’s mom, to hear her describe it, was a profoundly emotionally unhealthy person. I’ve had female friends tell me stories of their mothers that make me cringe and be thankful that both my own was pretty down-to-earth in comparison. But then I got to thinking–was she? Would my sister share that opinion, or would she be able to rattle off stories of similar total memory-editting?

My suspicion is that it’s an observed pattern that simply isn’t meaningful on a larger scale. That one cloud that looks like a horse doesn’t say anything about other things that look like horses. But still, what do the teeming millions think?