I'm all for communication. I tend to lean on the overshare side of the spectrum of disclosure. My mother, on the other hand, feels that everthing that pops into her head should immediately pop out. And sometimes it pops out so fast it's kinda hard to understand what the heck she's talking about.
My mother cannot keep a secret. She just can't. Don't even try. This is not a judgment. It is just a fact. She's the kind of person who emails you a month before you birthday and starts out the email with hints about what she made you for a present and closes with something to the effect of, "I hope you find lots of things to match the purple, fushia, grey and camel scarf I made you. I'll put it in the mail today. Go ahead and open it. You don't have to wait for your birthday."
Our differences in holding our tongues causes some conflict in my relationship with my mother. For example. Here are some situations I really would have been better off not knowing about, which my mother revealed to me:
1. I did not need to know that the last time my mom and dad had sex was when I was twelve years old.
2. I really didn't even need to know that I was conceived in the morning of Valentines Day 1970, although I have to admit it's kinda funny to know.
3. I did not need to listen to my mom complain about her marriage to my father from the time I was 12 until I got kicked out of the house at age 18. Every time she'd ask my advice I would tell her to leave him. When she would ignore my advice and just want to vent, I'd listen dutifully, but it really wore me out. I loved our conversations because they made me feel closer to my mom than I ever had. She opened herself up to me in ways she never had with anyone. I felt special. I enjoyed feeling like I was helping her feel better. But when she'd spend the weekend in bed with a migraine or lay on the couch all weekend and not talk, it made me think I must be doing something wrong. It's my fault she's depressed. I must cheer her up. So I'd get her to talk to me and the cycle would begin. She's tell me her troubles, her life stories, her good and bad times, and I'd listen and feel important. But at the same time it parentalized me.
4. In my mid-twenties I did not need for Mom to tell me that Murray mentioned to her the last time he came into town that he couldn't believe how big I'd gotten and wasn't I concerned about my weight. I know Murray only liked skinny girls. He mentioned it several times. And I heard the story at least ten times about how he got so drunk one night he woke up with this really fat chick in bed and he started puking right there on the spot. Nice. Anyway, who gives a shit what Murray thinks of my body? That's gross. So I told mom to quit telling me when people make comments about my body.
5. This is not from my mom, but speaking of fat chicks, my dad and I met for lunch one day at the Chinese buffet. We were talking about his then third wife Trudie who he is now divorced from, and why she didn't like me. I did not start the conversation. I can't remember how it started, and I was hoping we could change the subject, but soon dad spat it out like a chicken wing into a small porcelin bowl, "Trudie doesn't like heavy-set people." I was stunned. But then I said, "Well that's ok. I don't like stupid racist people." Dad just laughed. I felt weird because I knew he was going to go back and tell Trudie I said that. And I felt weird that I cared that she'd know I said that. Stupid bitch.
6. When Kendall and I had been dating for about two years or so, evidently Keith and Hazel asked my mom about our relationship, at least according to my mom's retelling me the story. She said, "They said, well, we still love Sydney but we think it's a sin." I remember saying something like, "Yeah, and?" When mom told me this like it was some big secret. I just wondered if it was mom's way of ratting out my sister and brother-in-law or if she was passively-agressively agreeing with them and telling me how she felt. I do remember watching an episode of Phil Donoghue about gay people with her. When the show was over, I asked her what she would do if one of her kids told her they were gay. I was about 13. I had no gay inklings at all. I was just curious. She grabbed the Bible, flipped it to a certain chaper and read me about how being gay is an abomination.
We spoke of it never again until I was sixteen, drunk, and stumbled through the door once at 3:00am and woke up my mom on the day bed she slept in after she and dad stopped sleeping together but before she left him. I was crying. She asked me what wrong. I blurted out, "I think I'm gay. I just kissed Crissy!" Mom was silent for a moment and then said softly, "Yeah, I know honey. Go dry off and get some sleep." She never brought out the Bible. She never said anything. In fact, my lover Kendall and I shared a house with her for a while. I guess she loved the sinner but not the sin.
When Marty came over to Murrays, a few months before he died, we were all looking at old photos. We had each dug through our collections of old stapshots. I brought out one of my favorites. Mom's taking the photo. Walt, Marty, Murray, Hazel, My dad, My dad's mom and step-dad (not the drunk) are all standing in front of a motel. Walt is holding me up so my head is even with nearly everyone but Hazel and dad's mom.
I held it out for Marty to see the picture. She took the picture with her left hand and held her right hand to her heart and gasped. "That's the vacation when Mom asked me if she should divorce Calvin." I was stunned. All this time I had thought I was Mom's only mini-psychotherapist. "How old were you?" I asked. "About 13," Marty replied. "That's about how old I was when she started confiding in me about their relationship." We both crunched our faces and kinda half smiled and half frowned like a clown who's giving up chasing after his scarf.
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