The Eldest Child - Session 5

(Beep. Music fades in)

I never claimed I offered much in the way of therapy. I’m sure there are some people who reaped a few therapeutic insights or benefits from what I’ve said to them or others like them, but that was never the point. And if I made you think that it was or I promised you some sort of insight, well… I … I won’t deny that I did. It might not have been my intention, but if those are the words I said or the only way to construe the words I said, I understand your anger. I understand that the things I might have done were not ideal. Either simply in execution or at their very core. 

I’ve had to answer for my actions before. I was put on trial in the court of one person’s opinion, and they would have had grounds to hold me in contempt of said court as I did not handle myself appropriately. I did not conduct myself with reverence at those hearings. Instead, I found a weakness in the structure, a lie built into the foundation, and cloaked myself in it. I called it a shield against all criticism, at least from that person. 

And I thought it was okay to do. Because you know what? I will always be the biggest critic of myself. I don’t believe I deserve anything good or any happiness, however it may be defined. And what little I have scooped up for myself across the years has come to me by accident. That isn’t even the religious guilt talking. That isn’t just the battered child talking, though that voice is here and fairly loud. It’s my own refusal to admit to the substantial missteps I have taken. 

There were times in which I was certain about taking actions that were not wise. There were times when I committed to things that did not need a commitment. There were courses of action that I knew would lead to peril or realized as much after I had already started, but I was so sure of myself that I kept going. Or not really sure of myself. I was certain in the outcome. Come what may, come whatever collateral damage may And now there are fields that I reap for all of that same sowing. None of those crops are good for anything. They’re actually kind of dangerous. Or detrimental in some way.

These sessions for you are not unique. They are a part of that, though the consequences are not too grave. I never doubted you would be a good parent to your child. I said as much. But I also taunted you and stoked your emotion a bit too hard, and for that, I apologize. In the moment, it felt right to make these recordings, to say things that needed to be said… But not to interrogate why I thought they were important. 

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

I’ve never really done that. A few years ago, I had a series of nightmares about someone I knew but couldn’t speak to. We haven’t really spoken since then even. I doubt anyone expects that. I’m sure they thought that once those messages were sent out into the world something more substantive than a few emails would have been exchanged. Maybe I even gave out that impression because I thought it meant letting a sleeping dog rest. But no. There wasn’t much to say. I made those recordings to try to prevent a death, but it wasn’t just out of generosity or human dignity that I needed to prevent that passing. There was an element of selfishness to it. I needed that person to live. But I also needed to be able to pretend that there was a bridge between the two of us. That dutiful student and benevolent mentor could remain as such across space and time. Because I looked up to that person. A sentiment that I always followed up with “please don’t hate me,” but there were plenty of reasons to do just that.

Step away from the things I did do and think about all that I didn’t. 

In reality, a phone call or two would have always been better. It would mean keeping private what was always meant to be private. And that’s what I owed him. But I faltered. I pointed to a wound that wasn’t mine and gave it light when it should not have been my choice to do that. But I did it because it would made me feel better.

Just like it made me feel better to assure you when you did not need assurance. You always knew you were going to be a good father. That you were going to love your child no matter what, which is step one. It was your anxieties talking. Anxieties that showed up because your world was quite literally turned upside down. You and I both know that’s all it was. You did not need empty words. You needed space to grieve. No needed time to let the tears depart from your eyes as they were ready and dry out on your face. You needed those around you to hold that space for you, not incite the sort of anger that made you do that yourself. Anger at a disembodied voice, of course. That feels a bit better. A bit less… socially frowned upon. We don’t handle grief well. But nobody can really blame you for being mad at a disembodied voice. Mad at someone you could easily lose who just inserted herself where she did not belong. It’s okay to be mad at someone you may have, in fact, lost, assuming you ever had them in the first place. Which you didn’t, did you?

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

I know you know who I am now. I know someone told you. And I hope you see all the ways that I did not, in fact, lie to you. For all the things I did wrong, do not charge me with the few crimes I did not do. We haven’t met, like I said. And we may never. And even if we had,  I could never going to be the sort of person who could comfort you. But I could be the sort of voice who whispered into your ear the things that you already knew to be true but still needed the breath of life. I could breathe life into them, just to save you the trouble. 

You are going to be a good father, just as your father was. But it was going to be easier for you. The things that were asked of him would not be asked of you because he had already done them. He broke the chain your ancestors grew. I doubt you’d be able to recognize it now. That chain was crafted from the ego, from metal reserved from the statues your ancestors built of themselves. But even they knew at the time that the craftsmanship was shoddy and that not a single one of them would hold. They could not accept their own irrelevance and all the failures they carried, though, so they decided to bind those who came after them to their sins. Be it the sins of rage, consumption, hatred, and destruction. Let those who come after argue us for our merits, they decided. We will insist upon it. We will teach them no better. And if they question us, we will force them back in line, through whatever means we have to. Whatever method of violence we have to wield, we’ll do it. Be it our blood or not. 

Your father refused to play that game. He refused the role he was assigned. But he did in his soft but steady way. He took his family away from the shadows of buildings dedicated to self-portraits mistakenly and maliciously called gods. He wouldn’t call it a religion, though. He never said that word to you. That’s why you don’t fully understand what happened. He told a story without a title, without half of its characters. These technical errors he called protection, and you never second guessed him or the price he paid on it all. 

He didn’t want the lies of your ancestors. He turned away from what they called certainty, as all parents frankly should. That was the ultimate lesson that he never spelled out for you.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

Certainty and self-confidence are too different things, mind you. I lack self-confidence, but as I said, I’ve always been so certain that I was going the right thing or going the right way that it is very easy for me to overlook those details that didn’t fit in this image of service and compassion that I have convinced myself I am upholding. I don’t acknowledge the truth of things, the truths of things that do not match with the way I wanted life to be or understood it to be. 

Do you know what I always forget? Life doesn’t allow for simple narratives. Stories that can be told in five parts. Life doesn’t allow for things to go as we want them to, for things to adhere to our expectations and desires, especially those that we were told to have by others who also did not understand this lesson. As for what this wounded healer can really offer you, I’m not sure. I don’t entirely remember why I tried.

(Music fades out. Beep)

The Oracle of Dusk is a production of Miscellany Media Studios with music licensed from the Sounds like an Earful music supply. It was written, edited, produced, and performed by MJ Bailey. And if you like the show, tell friends about it or the quasi-friends that are still on your social media feeds because social norms evolved before words did, am I right?