Saturday, September 25, 2004
Daze Me
There are days when I wonder why I am my father's daughter. I wonder why I don't hate him, and similarly why he doesn't hate me, because our similitude is either massively off-kilter, or eerily similar- it goes either way. And then I remember what we have in common:
Musical tastes. Listening to music loudly. I sing along just as loud and rock out, but he doesn't. Writing. He writes just as well as me, if not better. This causes discord though because he doesn't find it as easy to get "published" as I do, and I end up feeling bad. Artistry. He is amazing at drawing, better than I am by hand, but whereas I push him to do more, he's only started now to draw and paint again. And he sells himself short. Humor. I inherited everything that makes me and others laugh from him, though he is considerably less talkative than I, unless he's had a few. We once sat through an entire wedding reception of people we didn't really know, and made fun of everything around us, giggling like mad idiots over our rum and cokes. We're good at being quiet. We're good listeners, sometimes to a fault.
But we're so different too: My dad has a calm diplomacy about him that I don't think I posess, that maybe I'm jealous I never seem to pull off as well as he does. He can deal with anybody, and make them listen and see the logic. He keeps his temper in check far better than I, though his is a brighter blinding flash of terrifying than mine could ever come close to. He's more left brained. He doesn't softly count on his fingers when he thinks no one is looking. We can both drive anything we put our minds to driving. We both put safety first. Dad is more anal about safety than I am though- he doesn't see the reckless joy that I see in coming home from a day of breathless excitement with a sunburn to show for it. He thinks ahead, I don't. People rely on him to keep themselves sane, to be supportive, and I'm not sure anyone really relies on me for much that they couldn't handle themselves. No one really really needs me more than anything or anyone else that would fit my meagre job description sometimes. Perhaps this sounds self depreciating, but let me explain. If someone in our family doesn't have an answer for something, the first person they will conjure up is to phone him, no matter the time, because "he will know." And he always does know what to do, or the best answer. I don't think anyone's ever treated me like I have "the best answer" past wanting to have weather, wildlife, or plants identified and expounded upon. Which, bless my lucky stars, is one thing I'm thoroughly knowleagable about.
Despite all our differences though, which I think (though this may seem to prove otherwise) outnumber the similarities vastly, the important thing is that we have what we have. And whenever we sail together and I look up to see him also grinning like an idiot as we keel way over on the boat, as my aunt, experienced sailor that she is, backpedals for more height on the boat that will never flip, despite our seventeen knot winds, I know that I am definately my father's daughter.
It's occurred to me that I don't think of changing dynamics of my parents very much. Not that I'm worried about them or anything- I suppose that I just never question what they have with each other, but I notice that what they have with each other is still a constantly changing thing, which didn't seem possible after 23 years of marriage. It's not that it changes for the worst, it just changes. They are less the mother and father in a sound marriage now, than they are giggling six year old conspirators that run off hand in hand on some great new adventure constantly. I never see them as a "mature" couple, and frankly, I hope they never are. All these old couple things that happen like getting seperate beds, or "learned behaviors" like shutting out the opposite spouse's voice, or learning tolerance for the good of not having to change a long-term consistancy, or any other horrible thing, are things that scare me for them. I don't want that to happen to them. And on a more selfish note, I don't want them to happen to me. I don't ever want to be with someone that doesn't love me absolutely as much as I love them, or vice versa. Scary stuff.
My mother and father came back from Ontario and New York yesterday, which is why I'm all gushy about them right now. I love seeing them. My mom and her friend were walking through wilderness in lower Ontario and found a snake. True to form, the "snake curse" has followed her everywhere she goes for her entire life, since giving birth to me. The difference was that this was the first venomous one she's ever found. A juvenile missisauga rattlesnake. I've schooled her well though, because though she'd never seen one before, I've beat the angular pit viper head schematic into her head so often (all the trips to Australia- without me to be the Steve Irwin to her silly tourist on the savannah) that she knew to get away from it quick. Initially I was horrified that she'd found the thing of course, especially after seeing the picture, not just because it was venomous, but because it was also a juvenile- read: not yet perfected at the skill of consistant venom doses upon striking- read: the amount of venom an adult missisauga would pump into you wouldn't kill you, but a juvenile could very easily almost deplete itself of venom into you, (only needs to eat about three-four times a month, at being only about three months old- hasn't tried out the little stabbers often enough), which could be really really bad for you. I'm of the mind that it wouldn't kill you, but it could cause a lot more complications than not- though both my mom and her friend are very brushed up on their first aid. So, I said "initially I was horrified", but after I was done having a fit about it, I was sort of jealous.
I remember racing through all the hoodoos at Dinosaur park during the heat of the summer, looking for snakes with my brother for the whole week that we camped there. He was of course terrified to with me on this pursuit, but the prospect of walking around where rattlesnakes lived without me proved to be moreso. The crickets were also in full fledge at the same time we were there during the summer, which made it all the more nerve wracking for him. "Is that a rattlesnake? How're we gonna be able to tell the difference?" I didn't know personally, but always told him I did know to ease his mind. I thought I knew, because I once saw a prairie rattlesnake in a zoo rattling once, but the more we traversed, the more I realized that it wasn't going to be an easily discernible thing until we were right on top of the thing. And as I looked at the chubby trusting face of my little brother often twisted into paradoxisms of terror and admiration (the golden years of the brother-sister bond I assure you), I often hoped that it would be me that found it before him. My parents would have killed me.
Gee, I'm all over the memory lane now... it was on the same trip that I also convinced him to wade up the little river that cut through the campsite with me, for about a mile and a half. It was shallow for the most part, with a fun little current that we would slide along on sometimes. In retrospect, this was should have demonstrated to me at the time the amount that my little brother looked up to me, and trusted me. The water was opaque for the whole thing. Not only had we spent the whole day looking for venomous snakes, me serving him with no alternative, but now he was wading down a muddy river alongside me, tightly clenching my hand, despite his eight brave years. It would be later that day that we would see a beaver from the distance of the bridge that was roughly the same size as he was, and even later still that he would learn that beavers drown dogs in self defense and be terrified to go near beaver lodges by our house because of his small stature. And so we waded down Dinosaur river, slowly feeling our way along the slippery clay bottom by squishing our toes around, mindful of sticks and holes and sometimes eddies of stronger currents. With the speed of the river, it should have been clearer but it wasn't. It was only up to our hips at the deepest though, this occurring at a time where he asked me if it was true whether sturgeon fish were in this river. And I didn't know, but we proceeded; I tight-lipped with what I hoped he assumed was my unfading bravery, while thinking about the prospect of seven foot behemoth fish eating my brother or at least scraping him up with their spiky protrusions. The hike ended at the prospect of us turning around, and me questioning whether erosion (a new grade five science concept) applied to humans as well as we sloughed our way back upstream. I taught my brother about erosion on that day also, holding him still as he giggled when all the clay around his feet washed away with the current, leaving his feet in a deep hole.
¶ 7:46 PM
Musical tastes. Listening to music loudly. I sing along just as loud and rock out, but he doesn't. Writing. He writes just as well as me, if not better. This causes discord though because he doesn't find it as easy to get "published" as I do, and I end up feeling bad. Artistry. He is amazing at drawing, better than I am by hand, but whereas I push him to do more, he's only started now to draw and paint again. And he sells himself short. Humor. I inherited everything that makes me and others laugh from him, though he is considerably less talkative than I, unless he's had a few. We once sat through an entire wedding reception of people we didn't really know, and made fun of everything around us, giggling like mad idiots over our rum and cokes. We're good at being quiet. We're good listeners, sometimes to a fault.
But we're so different too: My dad has a calm diplomacy about him that I don't think I posess, that maybe I'm jealous I never seem to pull off as well as he does. He can deal with anybody, and make them listen and see the logic. He keeps his temper in check far better than I, though his is a brighter blinding flash of terrifying than mine could ever come close to. He's more left brained. He doesn't softly count on his fingers when he thinks no one is looking. We can both drive anything we put our minds to driving. We both put safety first. Dad is more anal about safety than I am though- he doesn't see the reckless joy that I see in coming home from a day of breathless excitement with a sunburn to show for it. He thinks ahead, I don't. People rely on him to keep themselves sane, to be supportive, and I'm not sure anyone really relies on me for much that they couldn't handle themselves. No one really really needs me more than anything or anyone else that would fit my meagre job description sometimes. Perhaps this sounds self depreciating, but let me explain. If someone in our family doesn't have an answer for something, the first person they will conjure up is to phone him, no matter the time, because "he will know." And he always does know what to do, or the best answer. I don't think anyone's ever treated me like I have "the best answer" past wanting to have weather, wildlife, or plants identified and expounded upon. Which, bless my lucky stars, is one thing I'm thoroughly knowleagable about.
Despite all our differences though, which I think (though this may seem to prove otherwise) outnumber the similarities vastly, the important thing is that we have what we have. And whenever we sail together and I look up to see him also grinning like an idiot as we keel way over on the boat, as my aunt, experienced sailor that she is, backpedals for more height on the boat that will never flip, despite our seventeen knot winds, I know that I am definately my father's daughter.
It's occurred to me that I don't think of changing dynamics of my parents very much. Not that I'm worried about them or anything- I suppose that I just never question what they have with each other, but I notice that what they have with each other is still a constantly changing thing, which didn't seem possible after 23 years of marriage. It's not that it changes for the worst, it just changes. They are less the mother and father in a sound marriage now, than they are giggling six year old conspirators that run off hand in hand on some great new adventure constantly. I never see them as a "mature" couple, and frankly, I hope they never are. All these old couple things that happen like getting seperate beds, or "learned behaviors" like shutting out the opposite spouse's voice, or learning tolerance for the good of not having to change a long-term consistancy, or any other horrible thing, are things that scare me for them. I don't want that to happen to them. And on a more selfish note, I don't want them to happen to me. I don't ever want to be with someone that doesn't love me absolutely as much as I love them, or vice versa. Scary stuff.
My mother and father came back from Ontario and New York yesterday, which is why I'm all gushy about them right now. I love seeing them. My mom and her friend were walking through wilderness in lower Ontario and found a snake. True to form, the "snake curse" has followed her everywhere she goes for her entire life, since giving birth to me. The difference was that this was the first venomous one she's ever found. A juvenile missisauga rattlesnake. I've schooled her well though, because though she'd never seen one before, I've beat the angular pit viper head schematic into her head so often (all the trips to Australia- without me to be the Steve Irwin to her silly tourist on the savannah) that she knew to get away from it quick. Initially I was horrified that she'd found the thing of course, especially after seeing the picture, not just because it was venomous, but because it was also a juvenile- read: not yet perfected at the skill of consistant venom doses upon striking- read: the amount of venom an adult missisauga would pump into you wouldn't kill you, but a juvenile could very easily almost deplete itself of venom into you, (only needs to eat about three-four times a month, at being only about three months old- hasn't tried out the little stabbers often enough), which could be really really bad for you. I'm of the mind that it wouldn't kill you, but it could cause a lot more complications than not- though both my mom and her friend are very brushed up on their first aid. So, I said "initially I was horrified", but after I was done having a fit about it, I was sort of jealous.
I remember racing through all the hoodoos at Dinosaur park during the heat of the summer, looking for snakes with my brother for the whole week that we camped there. He was of course terrified to with me on this pursuit, but the prospect of walking around where rattlesnakes lived without me proved to be moreso. The crickets were also in full fledge at the same time we were there during the summer, which made it all the more nerve wracking for him. "Is that a rattlesnake? How're we gonna be able to tell the difference?" I didn't know personally, but always told him I did know to ease his mind. I thought I knew, because I once saw a prairie rattlesnake in a zoo rattling once, but the more we traversed, the more I realized that it wasn't going to be an easily discernible thing until we were right on top of the thing. And as I looked at the chubby trusting face of my little brother often twisted into paradoxisms of terror and admiration (the golden years of the brother-sister bond I assure you), I often hoped that it would be me that found it before him. My parents would have killed me.
Gee, I'm all over the memory lane now... it was on the same trip that I also convinced him to wade up the little river that cut through the campsite with me, for about a mile and a half. It was shallow for the most part, with a fun little current that we would slide along on sometimes. In retrospect, this was should have demonstrated to me at the time the amount that my little brother looked up to me, and trusted me. The water was opaque for the whole thing. Not only had we spent the whole day looking for venomous snakes, me serving him with no alternative, but now he was wading down a muddy river alongside me, tightly clenching my hand, despite his eight brave years. It would be later that day that we would see a beaver from the distance of the bridge that was roughly the same size as he was, and even later still that he would learn that beavers drown dogs in self defense and be terrified to go near beaver lodges by our house because of his small stature. And so we waded down Dinosaur river, slowly feeling our way along the slippery clay bottom by squishing our toes around, mindful of sticks and holes and sometimes eddies of stronger currents. With the speed of the river, it should have been clearer but it wasn't. It was only up to our hips at the deepest though, this occurring at a time where he asked me if it was true whether sturgeon fish were in this river. And I didn't know, but we proceeded; I tight-lipped with what I hoped he assumed was my unfading bravery, while thinking about the prospect of seven foot behemoth fish eating my brother or at least scraping him up with their spiky protrusions. The hike ended at the prospect of us turning around, and me questioning whether erosion (a new grade five science concept) applied to humans as well as we sloughed our way back upstream. I taught my brother about erosion on that day also, holding him still as he giggled when all the clay around his feet washed away with the current, leaving his feet in a deep hole.
¶ 7:46 PM
