I have always been one to keep boundaries, or to compartmentalize things and people. It’s not something that I think about, it’s just something I do. Like there are work friends, and non-work friends. There’s my family and Jose’s family. There’s real family and married family. I’m not very good at crossing groups, or really moving through these imaginary lines. It doesn’t mean that I like or care about someone less, it just means they have a place in line, a sort of hierarchy I guess. I’m not supposing that anyone else does this. And as you read this you are probably thinking what a horrible thing to do. I have no defense. It just is the way it is. I could in fact, probably easier than I should be able to, make a list of people I would save from a drowning in order from first to last. Bad right. It only works when you don’t aren’t actually involved in the sinking ship scenario, but just thinking about it. For example, when Isaiah was a baby, the discussion that I had with every person in my house was that is something happened, their job was to save Isaiah. And if they couldn’t save Isaiah, then, and only then, would it be ok to save themselves. However, I told Jose that this didn’t apply to him. If he couldn’t save Isaiah, he’d better die trying, because I’d probably never forgive him otherwise. Anyway, all this weirdness isn’t the reason that I’m writing today. But it’s necessary background needed to understand what comes after.
I strongly suspect that Franklin suffers from the same mental processing. I think he puts people into boxes and doesn’t want them to move out of that box into another box. And he’s not going to try to put the boxes together. He has this little microcosm of people at my house. He has my family in Cadiz. He has his family in El Salvador. He has Jose’s family. He has has friends. Here is what I suspect. That he has my family and Jose’s family here in Kentucky. But his real family lives in El Salvador. And since we’re not his real family, he really can’t be bothered overmuch with getting involved in our lives.
I try to make justifications for this, try to find a way to change my mind about what I think is true. But I’ve not quite made that happen yet. Franklin came to live with us when he was 16 years old. In retrospect, that was really too late, for him to feel like he was really a part of our family. But I just couldn’t make myself push to have him come earlier. I couldn’t take a child away from his mother, no matter what the opportunities would await him in America. It wasn’t until he was 14 or so, that I thought he could make that decision for himself about wanting to come. By the time he came to live with us, who he was going to be was pretty firmly set. Sure there was still some wiggle room, but the foundation had been laid. And not to disparage his mother, who did so many things right, there are a lot of things that I would have tried to do differently. But then, I have the luxury of the American life which would have allowed me to try to make those changes. When Franklin arrived he had already acclimated to doing what he wanted, when he wanted, and how he wanted without a lot of parent interference. He had not made any effort on his current semester of grades, because he thought they wouldn’t matter, so he was failing all of his classes. It is perhaps the best example of this thought process. He does not push himself or achieve for himself. He is not a queen bee, or king of the pride, he is a worker bee. He will do only what he’s expected to do. He will not find anything extra to put him over the top. And if it’s not explicitly laid out in the instructions originally given, then it will not be done because “no one told me to do that.” It is by far the most annoying trait in a human being that I have ever seen, and it lives with me.
But even that isn’t really the issue. Franklin came with the idea that he was an outsider and he has let himself stay in the role for the past 5 years. Any all family event was not something that he wanted to attend. Believe me, I understand the teenage perception of the FFO. It sucks, but mostly just the getting there. And because I understood, I didn’t try to push him too much. My mistake. Maybe it would have been better to foster grumpiness in exchange for spending time. On top of that, Franklin’s tendency to keep to himself and not talk to anyone really, only thickened the wall between us. And because he was 16, because I thought what he was doing was probably the hardest thing ever, I gave him space. I treated him more like an exchange student than a child. I didn’t push him like I know I would push my own children. I didn’t feel that I had the right. And as a result, I now have a step child, who doesn’t consider himself a part of this family. Though he doesn’t say it that way, his actions time and again reflect his disinterest in being a part of this family unit. He chooses not to go on family vacations with us. He worked his schedule at work so he doesn’t suffer through church or the family breakfast that we have after. And this year, it was that he doesn’t really want to come to Thanksgiving or Christmas in Cadiz. Now, he may argue that I’m over stating that position. But I would disagree. W hen you ask, are you expecting me to come to Cadiz for Thanksgiving. What you are saying is, “I don’t want to go to Cadiz for Thanksgiving how mad are you going to be.” And when the question is repeated for Christmas, well, that’s just the icing on the cake.
I can say that it was a big enough hurt to make me step back a bit. This lack of connection, this desire to not be a member of my family, is not a new conversation between me and Franklin. We’ve had it several times. And his response, usually, is related to the fact that he doesn’t like to talk to people. Not just us, but anyone. To which I respond, bullsh#$%^t. Being a part of a family isn’t always about talking and sharing your innermost secrets. If it were, then I would not be a part of a family. As in the Walker household, we laugh and wax philosophical, but we don’t delve into our own personal crap with each other. Sometimes we delve into a non-present parties personal crap, but that’s about it, really. Having those big conversations is a huge, frightening production that no one really enjoys. Deep down, we’re all relieved that everyone has someone so that that person can be the one to hear all the fears, hopes, dreams, etc. Being family is about spending time together. It’s about enjoying each other’s company, at least 60% of the time. It’s about connection and shared history. It’s about knowing that even if we’re different, you got my back with everyone else (even if you immediately turn around and tell me I’m 10 kinds of idiot). Hell, when you get right down to it, family serves the same purpose as religion. It’s the knowledge that you are not alone in this world, ever. It’s a weird kind of love that isn’t always accompanied by genuine liking. It’s probably all based on innate survival instincts from when we first crawled out of the primordial ooze. And it has been lost through the years as industry and technology have allowed us to move away from our families. And you can believe, that Franklin doesn’t want to share such a bond with us. What’s wrong with us. We’re not to weird. We’re decent, if not always good, people; some of us are better than others. But more importantly, we all have made an effort and expressed a desire to include Franklin in our lives and in our family. And though I compartmentalize and can’t really ever say that Franklin is my son without pausing first (cuz he’s not my son… as my son would have already been murdered for such behavior). That doesn’t mean that I didn’t treat him like a son (actually I treated him nicer for the first year or so). My dad and Glenda have treated him just like a grandson. And my mother has made an attempt to bond with Franklin as well. But I think Franklin only hears noise and interruption. We are something that must be survived so that he can get back to his real family. And that is what most hurts me (and I’m working diligently at expressing my hurt as extreme anger, thank you very much).
So, the person that I am, says I am done. I don’t want to try anymore. It hurts my feelings and makes me angry. But the mom in me (and this is when I feel the line between step son son fading away) tells me that I have to keep trying to make the connection. Because one day it will be something that he craves or needs and it should be there. And the cherry on top is the fear in the knowledge that when he leaves, and it’s coming, that it will not be a temporary goodbye. It will be permanent. When he leaves, he will not return to visit, or to spend time with the boys. When he leaves, he is done; it will be too late to find a way to make him want to be in our family. And here, I am so glad that he is not the child of my womb, because I don’t think that I could survive that hurt – this one is bad enough.
