It's time really to have something light and pleasant to talk about here. But this is my life and this is what it's like.
So I how do I manage to do as well as I am, all things considered?
First of all, I do have resources to fall back on, such as my education and learning through experiences and personal research. I told someone earlier this year that one way I deal with things in my life, especially bizarre ones that smack of politics, is to research them to see if there are any clues in the (scientific) literature out there that can help me make sense of things. Not everyone can do it, either because of genetics of some other cause of inadequate intellect, or because they don't know how to because of lack of formal education. Fortunately for me I've had enough enough of both to help me wade through this without completely drowning.
The other is having family, including now deceased relatives, and friends that were in a position to help me at various times in my life; not everyone has that. However, I must say that in hind sight, some of those cases of assistance (from particular individuals) were with later-to-be-realized strings attached. These kinds of strings go something like this: If I help you you are eternally indebted to me and had better be forever kind to me, not disagree with me, and never cross me.
More specifically, people who help me like that might think something like this (and I'm thinking of specific examples as I write this):
1) "If I don't help you I'm going to look like a jerk, so I want everyone to notice what a good person I am in extending this arm of help to you. (And I also want you to come under my close tutelage so that I can make sure you don't cross me.)"
2) "I may be the cause of part of your problems in the first place, but after I help you you're going to have a hard time proving that to others because your credibility will be diminished."
3) "I'm helping you, but I want you (and everyone else) to know what a terrific sacrifice I'm making in doing so."
4) "You're getting a lot of attention for all your unusual problems (esp. political ones) and I want to join you in the limelight. Let me help you."
5) "Finally, (it looks like) you're seeing it my way, let me help you."
Among the people who I don't think thought like this were friends, my Grandmother and my Great Uncle. So I really can differentiate and don't across the board think that everyone is like this (which some of my detractors would undoubtedly like to argue).
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I want to apologize if you found it difficult to read yesterday's image. I increased the clarity as much as I could. Even if you click on the image to enlarge it you still have to strain to read it. There might be a better way to do it, but I haven't figured it out, especially with my equipment (I have a new computer & all-in-one printer, but I use Adobe Acrobat as the software for scanning (because I can do multiple pages in one PDF and also save the images as JPEGs). My Acrobat is an old version though (v. 6.0).
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I'd like to discuss one more thing about my father here. I told you earlier that he virtually never got angry or expressed displeasure. After I left my early childhood years, somewhere around 10 years old, I hardly ever experienced his displeasure. For the most part I was a "good" teenager, and when I did do things that did or should have garnered his (and mom's) displeasure, they may or may not have known about them, and usually I was just sort of following along with others and it wasn't out of my own malice or particular desire. Still, I think we've all been told to "just say 'no'" and those things were still wrong, but at least I wasn't hardened to continue in those activities. In junior high I did get in a bit of trouble, but it really had no bearing on things that happened later. So, for example, even if I skipped school it was a major shock to teachers even and I only ever did that a very few times, and wasn't involved in anything bad (like drugs or the like) while playing hookie.
But there were some things that I think may have involved political aspects that displeased dad.
As I started studying Russian my sophomore year in college there were a couple things I brought home to sort of play with: One was that the word for brother in Russian is "brat" - although it's pronounced more like our (American) English "brought" (I trust you can figure out how that could be used in fun, considering I had 2 brothers); and the other was that I learned that they were more prone to use patronymics than last names in Russian. So my name using that system would be something like this: Meg Markovna. Dad really didn't like that and I thought it was strange then, as I otherwise hadn't realized any of what was in store for me later. He didn't get mad, like bark at me or anything, but it sort of made him tighten up, look like he was biting his tongue from saying something. I didn't think it was any big deal, though, so I didn't let it deter me from using the patronymic.
The other thing was in Russia, and here we jump ahead to winter 1993. By that time I'd had a lot of problems, to say the least - and you ain't seen nothin' yet, really - so I had put together a 1000+ page report including documentation to submit to a human rights agency. I was able to find someone in my city who was supposed to be a representative of a human rights organization out of Germany. When I gave her the report she said she would submit it to the German organization and also to a Russian Duma member, who would have it translated into Russian. (That's a lot of translating!)
When Mom and Dad came to visit me, it was after we'd been estranged and they came to see me after I lost my child (I'll go into that another time) and had spend 6 weeks in the hospital. The time they were there was rocky for us in many ways, but at one point my dad (here's where the anger/displeasure comes in) asked me bluntly why I had written a report in Russian - someone in Washington (east coast Washington) had contacted him about it. My Dad at this point had been retired almost 2 years.
I leave you with that to ponder the possible significance of these things. I'm afraid that if I try to explain things you might think I'm crazy... but I'll get to that later, but I will say that I have significant evidence to prove that as of this writing I am not crazy.
I do want to add here, though, that after my paternal Grandmother's death they were going through her 99 years worth of possessions, which included a life-long practice of writing a journal. I don't know what exactly triggered it, but I have since then heard from different family members, notably my Mom and brothers, that something in those journal entries made him angry towards me. Like I said, I'm not sure what exactly what in the journals was the trigger, but I suspect it had something to do with my talks with Grandmother about my father. These are some of the scenarios I consider when I wonder what was going through his head that made him angry:
1) Cr*p (sorry, I seldom use such language, but I thought it suitable here)! this girl (me) understood more than I gave her credit for!
2) Cr*p! I worked so hard at maintaining my image and I can't believe that although I helped her so much, like helping her get out of Russia (more on that later, too), how could she talk about me like this? Ungrateful S.O.B. (that would be me)!
3) Cr*p! You mean she came to the States (from Russia), came to Seattle, and saw her Grandmother and not me/us (Mom and him)? And I love her so much!
These may not be the only options, but I find any and/or all of them to be fairly credible.
~ Meg
