Even if my dysfunction had been funny, I still wouldn't be able to write a book about it.

A few weeks ago I finished reading Sarah Thyre's memoir, Dark at the Roots. If you haven't read it, you really ought to. It's funny and raw and, as is the case with most women like her, it made me want to drive to Louisiana and stalk her until she became my best friend.

The most amazing thing, apart from her enviable recall of details and events as well as her unflinching honesty regarding even the most unflattering anecdotes of family life, could be found in the page-and-a-half writers generally reserve for expressions of gratitude to those who assisted her/him in making any book into a reality. Or, at the very least, those who helpfully hid all of the sharp objects in the house during the suicide-provoking time period known as the editing process.  Among those to whom she offered her sincerest thanks, like her editor and her husband, the comedian Andy Richter, and various good friends were... her parents.

I have to confess that this gave me pause.  You see, I had always heard that the safest time to write a memoir where you could actually tell the truth about your life--unless you happened to be Laura Ingalls Wilder, Eudora Welty or Helen Keller--was after your parental units had joined "the choir invisible", to quote John Cleese.

When author and MSNBC columnist Jeanette Walls published the beautiful-but-excruciating The Glass Castle I was similarly blown away, but since both her parents were still voluntarily homeless during its creation and literary debut, a familial fallout seemed less likely to evolve in her case.

But when you're dealing with parents who still seem to have no personal recollection of any wrong doing (or any willingness to consider specific issues you might have with your childhood)--as I imagine Thyre's situation to be, I can't even imagine taking on the enormous emotional responsibility of exchanging the psychological burdens placed on us by parents with the apocalyptical nightmare that would be sure to follow the publication of a tome which made no attempt to excuse the plethora of mistakes parents make when raising kids.

Can I stop here before I go any further just to go on record and say that my parents did the very best they could with the few tools they had. They were polar opposites, as parents and as humans and their backgrounds were even more dissimilar. I would also like to say that I love them dearly, even though they would say that this is a huge fib on my part and why don't I come visit more often? They were not perfect and though they did some things right they also got a lot of things very wrong. That said, I'm certainly not pointing an accusatory finger from my patchouli-scented and sanctimonious throne of higher ground where unicorns poop rainbows and biscuits with butter have the caloric content of a celery stalk. I may not have made the same mistakes my parents have made , but I'm pretty sure really sure positive I've made plenty of others. ("I yell because I care...really!")

The difference between us is that my parents seemed genuinely surprised when confronted with the blunders they made. I can't even imagine writing a book about it. Mainly because none of it--unlike Thyre's story...or that of David Sedaris...or Anne Lamott (the early years) is all that funny. But also because after it was published there wouldn't be enough booze or hard drugs in the world to get me through Thanksgiving/Christmas with my parents ever again.

I will--when the day comes-- express no such shock over my  own parental transgressions. In fact, I fully expect to be handed a long laundry list (with footnotes) of my many, many grievous sins as soon as my sons get out on their own and start raising their own kids. That's when it really kicked in for me. I'm just hoping that when the day comes, it isn't an officer of the court who hands me that dreadful packet of truth.  Regardless, I hope I'm a big enough person to say I'm sorry for screwing up. In fact, I've already started because--here's a little secret--it takes a lot of the momentum out of their accusations if you've already apologized. In other words, don't wait 20 years. The hide you save may be your own.

So...would you ever publish the unvarnished story of your life right now? Or would you wait?

Also...pictures of the raccoon's rampage aftermath, as promised. Little bastards.

Comments

[daysgoby]

There's not enough whitewash in the world to get me to recount that before the parents die. Oh my god no. Even if it wasn't them it would be my grandmother or one of my aunts or a cousin or something...
(I'm cringing now, imagining the waves of disapproval)
Not that there were many deep, dark secrets - but to bare it all to the world? Nope.

[Antique Mommy]

Am familiar with Wall's Glass Castle - fascinating. Have not read Thyre's work but am off to Amazon at your excellent recommendation.

I would not knowingly publish anything hurtful on my blog or in a book about my parents. Whatever cathartic gain there might be in it for me, it wouldn't be worth it.

Like your parents, mine did the best they could. It wasn't perfect, but it wasn't bad.

More so than their screw ups becoming more obvious to me since having a kid of my own, what is more glaring to me is how hard it was for them to be so poor, have three kids under 4 and one of them (me)being extremely ill for many years. Makes it easier to overlook the fact that I never had a Malibu Barbie. :)

[AlphaDogMa]

There is a reason I blog anonymously. And her name is Mummy.

[moo]

There are times when I think "I have to get this out NOW" consequences be damned ... and then there are times when I keep it all in.

It's not my parents I'm afraid of offending or hurting ...

[Jay]

One of the reasons that I have made it a point to not have any kids is so that I don't have to worry about someday being confronted with the fact that I would probably be a crappy father. And it makes it much easier for me to sit back and point out all the mistakes other people make in raising their kids.

Okay, that last sentence was a joke.

Kinda.

[Suebob]

I was lucky to have pretty good folks. I made peace with their flaws a long time ago and appreciate all they did/do for me.

Bad racoon! Bad!

[TX Poppet]

I've always thought it was very telling that among my three sisters and myself our childhood has been described with varying degrees of dysfunction. Eldest (the social worker)calls it emotionally abusive, Second (the troubled one)describes it like a violent slasher B movie, I say it was cold and sad, and youngest alternately describes a snake pit of crazy or Brady Bunch lovefest depending on who she is arguing with. Same house. Same parents. Same time frame. Four points of view.

My Mum once told me how proud she was of being able to raise her children so differently from her parents and breaking the chain of abuse. It about killed her when Eldest told her she had been an "abusive" mother.

I wonder if I'm deluded when I say that I have a completely different parenting style and my children are blissfully happy?

[San Diego Momma]

Well, my mom has already passed away...

But even though my dad is still around, I'd write the book because knowing my dad, he'd TELL me he read it, but never actually would.

[Jenn @ Juggling Life]

Those are some cute raccoon pawprints.

When my mom was alive I would never have wanted to hurt her by revealing all. She truly was doing her best--and if my childhood was dysfunctional it was only because hers had been twice as dysfunctional.

[Di]

What an amazing review!!! I hope you don't mind...I posted an homage to your post:

http://www.liveandletdi.com/my_weblog/2008/06/dark-at-the-roo.html

[Wendy]

Yeah, I could not write stuff about my parents or about stuff I've done & the reason they've been unhappy with me. No amount of reasoning would make either of us see things differently (although as a parent - & grandparent - myself now, I understand a little better what they were feeling at certain times).
On the other note - Raccoons - OMG!

[Tink]

I've often played with the idea of writing a memoir of what it was like living with my Dad, an alcoholic, manic depressive, bi-polar with various drug addictions. I swear, there were funny moments in there too. But honestly, I wouldn't want to give him the publicity... Wherever he is.

[Prof. J.]

Wow. You could write some scathing things about raccoons without worrying about hurting their feelings! They would deserve it!

[Hilary]

Both of my parents are gone. They've both made their share of mistakes, but none worse or better than my own. We all make parenting mistakes. I'm one of the lucky ones who ended up screwed up all on my own doing. ;)

Ack! I know how damaging those little raccoon stinkers can be. I can only imagine what they look like running around with white paws and tails.

[Nance]

According to my younger sister, I act like I had no life until I met my husband. I've always been a "mover-onner", and I don't often look back. So, no, I don't see myself writing a memoir at any time. Not my style.

[HollowSquirrel]

I swear I'm not laughing at the pink paw prints. Nope. I don't think I could write a memoir, mostly because I don't write well. My parents' positives outweigh the negatives, by far, so boo! Who wants to read that? lol.

[Cheri @ Blog This Mom!]

Look at those little white footprints!

I think one thing that blogging does is provide a written record of proof of our parenting errors and our ability to see it, call it what it is, and even poke a little fun at it. We try. We love. We try again. And we love some more. And then we document it with captioned photos. Best we can do. Best they can hope for.

[V-Grrrl]

No one reads memoirs about "ordinary" lives so I wouldn't publish mine. I wish my parents had done more in terms of nurturing my talents, building my confidence, making my education a priority. I couldn't do extracurricular activities unless I found my own way there and home. I rarely, if ever, had friends over--my parents were too busy. I wish they had been there for all the award assemblies and sports banquets and speech competitions and races where I got medals and certificates. They weren't there for any of that. They never set foot on school property until I graduated first in my class.

But they were proud of me and let me know that at home. They loved me even when they stopped loving each other. They may not have come to school events to celebrate my accomplishments but I never came home to an empty house or a night that didn't include all of us around the kitchen table eating dinner together. My mother kept a spotless house and cooked and baked. My father worked hard and then came home and worked some more. My parents were stable and responsible and religious. In the end, that was enough.

[Jennifer H]

Well, as you know, I've done some of this on my blog. I'm far beyond caring if my mother or my stepmother comes across it--there's nothing to be lost there anymore in terms of a relationship.

I haven't written about my father's role very much yet, and I'm struggling with what to say, since we do have a relationship. I don't imagine he will stumble across my blog, and I doubt he would question my right to say what I need to say. He was the common denominator who married both women.

I'm sensitive enough that I don't want him to be hurt, but I can't say I wouldn't ever write it all, either.

Those damn raccoons!

[Julie Pippert]

Please, go do a search on my blog for raccoons and see our horror show. I feel for you.

TG they eventually moved on. I think the battle got too hot for them after they became parents.

Yes, you heard me: baby raccoons.

Write about my family? Right now? I'd rather gnaw off my left arm. Dysfunctional? Yes. As bad as their parents? No. Am I better? I hope so. Have we (my parents and the kids) discussed it? Yes, to some degree. Off the record.

But I ardently agree with apologizing. I probably do so daily to my kids. Yep, I mess up daily. Call them the wrong name, accuse the wrong kid, lump the older in with the younger's behavior, yell (because I care I also swear!) or lose patience. You know, the usual.

[Ortizzle]

Neither of my parents is alive, but that's not the reason I would not write a "tell-all" book. There are other innocent people who need to be protected (from themselves, in some cases.)

Did you see that interview with Barbara Walters (I forget which program) where she talked about her upcoming memoir which inlcudes a confession about having an affair with a married U.S. Senator (whose name also escapes me now.) The interviewer asked her if this wasn't going to hurt the Senator's family and Walters said, "For heavens sake, it was 30 years ago. It's been over for a long time." That's kind of my attitude: if you don't believe anyone would be harmed, and your own life isn't going to suffer, go ahead and write about it if writing a memoir gives you some sort of closure. When you get right down to it, that's a decision we make every time we put anything personal on our blogs. (yikes)

[Mrs. G.]

You are so write about getting the apology out there early-my daughter leaves for college in a few weeks, and I am all over copping to all of my mistakes RIGHT NOW.

[Michelle]

We always think we will be much better parents than our own parents were. Then one moment you spit out something your mother would have said and you wish you could take it back.

Thankfully all of my good qualities came from them too.

[melissa]

I'm amazed by those raccoons. Holy crap!

I feel horrid most of the time as a mother, the burden of guilt. I wonder though, does my mother ever feel the same way? Doubtful. Perhaps it's a generational thing.

[Janet]

My mother actually did a decent job, but she had a really REALLY rough life. She saw her mother physically abused while her father became an alcoholic, her husband (my father) died at age 27 leaving her alone with 2 toddlers, she married another man to the GREAT AND PERMANENT disapproval of my father's parents (now THERE are some issues), he left her, and now she's married to one of the original Grumpy Old Men. I blame her for nothing, except perhaps not yelling at me enough. (Good grief.) Fortunately, my lack of patience with my poor little kiddos is more than offset by their father. Interestingly enough, he's in a situation similar to Poppet's - he's the youngest of 4 (3 sisters) and they all remember their childhoods very differently.

As to a memoir, I don't want to remember most of it, why on earth would I want to TELL ANYONE ELSE ABOUT IT!!!!!!! My horror stories are mostly born from my own stupidity and are best left unmentioned.