This episode does not occur at any particular time, as it's more of a primer about my parents.

In the first episode, I covered a 3-month moment that speaks primarily to how unmanaged I was by my parents and how little regard they and I had for my safety. I was a wild child, and I told the story of two broken bones to provide a bit of foundation for you all to understand me better. In episode two, I'll give some background to help you know what my home life was like so that you have a good idea of the environment I inhabited. This microchapter will be a primer on my parents instead of an in-depth look. We will save those for another time.

I was born in Atlanta on Tuesday at 1 pm on November 2nd. For those who are interested, this means I am a Scorpio. I usually get this response: "You're a Scorpio???!!!????? I HATE Scorpios. I mean – not you, of course." A bit later on, I typically also hear, "You're not like other Scorpios. Are you sure you know your sign?" Which I take to mean that they are surprised that they like me. For those interested, my moon is in Taurus, and my rising sign is in Aquarius. The astrology area of the internet thinks I have a complex and potentially paradoxical personality and that this blend could lead me to be a strong, independent individual who is both passionate and grounded yet also open to new ideas and intellectual pursuits. So that's why you simultaneously find me magnetic, confusing, funny, and scary.

Moving on.

According to my mom, she became pregnant with me while on birth control. To add to her dismay, I was also three weeks late being born, meaning she was nearing the 10-month mark of her pregnancy. Also, I was not a small baby tipping the scales at a ginormous 9 pounds 4 ounces. And to be honest, I get why she was less than pleased with how I entered the world. At the time of my birth, my brother Mike was just over 3 years older than me and, by all reports, very unhappy with me getting in the way of his situation. He has yet to forgive me for the egregious act of aggression.

Thus, I burst into the world, making a persistent noise and disruption everywhere I went that my parents likely regretted deeply. I was a lot as a kid, but so were my parents.

I have one memory of my parents together in a relationship because they divorced when I was three. I vaguely remember my dad making pancakes on Sunday while my mom watched TV. Otherwise, I do not remember our house in Atlanta or my parents together as a couple.

Speaking of parents - let me introduce you to Harry and Ann.

My dad, Harry, was born in San Antonio, Texas, in 1944 and is the second born of seven(!) kids. He had five brothers and one sister. His family immigrated at some point from a small town on the Oder River in northeast Germany on the Polish border called Frankfurt an der Oder, not to be confused with the city of Frankfurt. I don't know when his family arrived in the US because my dad rarely spoke with or about his family as an adult, but it was before WWII started. I also never met any of my dad's family other than when two of his brothers visited in my sophomore year of high school, where I had one meal with them. I don't know the names of my grandparents, aunt, uncles, or cousins on his side of the family. I was never really given the reason for this, but I strongly suspect it was because my dad came out as gay.

From what I know, Dad had a very normal childhood with four other brothers in the house, if not a bit wild as a result. They loved inventing things and, at one point, built a single-seat "airplane" they were sure would fly/glide once they pushed it off the garage roof, with the youngest brother acting as test pilot seated IN the aircraft. Friends, it did not fly and plummeted straight to the ground with only minor injuries to the pilot. While that was perhaps a more sensational event, many similar adventures occurred throughout his childhood. My father has always loved radios and spent his youth learning to build, maintain, and broadcast with them. As far as he was concerned, there was no better way to spend his free time than taking apart and rebuilding various pieces of machinery, which remains true today. His love language is tinkering.

Sometime after graduating high school and going to work, the Army drafted Dad during Vietnam. He served as a communications specialist since he was an audio engineer before being drafted. Somehow, he landed the gig as the sound guy for USO shows and never left the US during his service. After his tour, he lived in an apartment in Atlanta that happened to be next to the woman he would later marry, my mom. He returned to work in audio engineering and later custom electronic builds for commercial use and, eventually, computer repair. He spent his days repairing computers and electronics and operating audio control booths throughout the Atlanta metro area. I can't tell you how many Saturdays I spent with him as he ran a soundboard for a big event. Late in his career, he was the chief audio engineer for Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. The airport still calls my 81-year-old father when they can't figure out where a problem is with a cable in the miles of underground tunnels.

Nothing makes Dad happier than being in his backyard workshop repairing esoteric electronic equipment while no other human is around. He could go a week without talking to another soul and barely notice it. While Dad is undoubtedly capable of polite conversation, he finds it incredibly dull. It was common for him to come home from work, grab a plate of food from dinner, and take it to his workshop to eat it over the guts of a malfunctioning piece of equipment without a word to his family. He usually found his way inside by 9 pm each night. My brother and I have always had a relationship with Dad barely more than that of casual acquaintances, including the 5-6 years we lived with him after he and Mom divorced.

We've spoken roughly 10 times over twenty-five years and met in person once. He's only met one of my kids. The hard part about my relationship with him is that he is generally pleasant and funny IF you can get his attention. He feels almost nothing for his kids or grandkids. His is an incredibly painful brand of indifferent neglect because there is nothing to do to fix the situation. He WILL NOT change for any reason, and maddeningly, he will agree that he has been a terrible father. It's not even worth my time hating him for it because nothing can or will ever change. I moved on a long time ago after a lot of therapy and accepted who he was so that I could maintain my peace. What we have for a relationship today is that I email him every 6 months or so, asking him if he is still alive.

My Mom, Ann, was born in Fort Worth, Texas 1946. Her mother grew up in Ocala, Florida, just north of Orlando. Her father grew up in Fort Worth, Texas. My Mom's childhood and teen years were very tumultuous. Her parents divorced when she was 11, an entirely unheard of happening in the mid-1950s. She spent her time shuffling between Florida and Texas until my Grandmother died of breast cancer when my Mom was 13. After that period, Mom lived with her dad in Texas until she attended the University of Florida. She studied nursing, following in her mother's footsteps, who was a brilliant nurse in her Army service in WWII. However, my Grandfather, a literature professor, was furious my Mom did not pursue a PhD in English so she could teach at the university. Mom spent most of her high school years grading the university papers of her father's students because she was gifted at writing and literature. By the way, according to my Grandfather, if you were a Gen-X high school or college student, there is a 33% chance you used the textbooks my he wrote.

After graduating from university, Mom moved to Atlanta and met my Dad shortly after starting her career as a surgical nurse. Mom, like her mother, was a brilliant nurse and quickly rose the leadership ladder to Chief Nurse at two different hospitals in her career. Later, she retired from nursing to take up medical recruiting and was considered the go-to person on the East Coast in the US for placing high-value MDs like neurosurgeons. Also, she was a white-collar pot dealer. Like, a lot of pot. Nope, you are not thinking in big enough quantities – it's much more than you imagine. I'm talking garbage bags of high dollar pot under her bed kind of dealer.

I'll be honest with you here: when I was a kid at home with my Mom or stepdad, I was likely always a little high from secondhand smoke from their joint or bong. I could never get into the Weeds or Breaking Bad shows because they hit too close to home.

Back to the primer.

Unlike my Dad's family, I spent a reasonable amount of time with my Grandfather and my two Uncles on my Mom’s side. We'd travel to Texas to visit Grandpa every other year and then the following year go to Vermont for the family to meet at my Uncle Jimmy's house - also a professor of classics. But even with these trips, I rarely felt I had much in the way of extended family because of my mom's frequent acrimony with her father and brothers.

Mom was a complicated person; she was a rebel, the life of the party, and likely the most intelligent person in any room she entered. She loved a good conversation, particularly if it got contentious. She also carried the weight of the incredibly acrimonious relationship her parents had with each other and then the death of her mother. Because of what she grew up expereincing, she never really wanted to be a parent. This was one of the reasons our relationship was always difficult. Also, she was a narcissist who put me in bad situations frequently. I can say that I tried my best to make it work with lots of therapy.

My Dad told Mom he was gay when I was three and that he wanted a divorce. Things were already pretty bad between my parents, so they were relieved it was finally over. When my parents separated, my Mike and I moved to Florida with my Dad. My Mom took off for parts unknown, and I saw her maybe 4 times over the next six years. Eventually, she returned with a new husband (number 3 of 4) and moved us back to Atlanta. My father moved back two years later.

During these years from birth to nine, I lived in five houses in two different states, Mom married two more times, and Dad had at least two partners I know of. The setting of much of my childhood was the incredible dysfunction of many individuals, constant change, abandonment, several kinds of abuse, and, yes, crime. More than one therapist has mentioned what a miracle it is that I am both still alive and in good mental health. As I've said, resiliency is my jam.

Now that we are here, there are many stories to tell. Stay tuned for some truly batshit crazy moments.

xoxo
Bird

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