Who's Gonna Break First?

On Redemption

One time in my early teenage years, a cardinal sin of the household in which I was raised was allegedly committed. The sin was what my dad referred to as “hanging on the phone.” He had been trying my mother for hours, and was getting a busy signal.

This was the 80s. There was a yellow dial phone hanging on a wallpapered kitchen wall above a desk. My dad drove home from the city to our suburban home, flew in the door and pointed at the phone. He was in a full-boil rage that had been heating up for hours, having been calling the house without being able to get through. He yelled that my sister and I were both grounded. We were in shock. We had been hanging around the house, the backyard, and each others’ bedrooms - but we knew better than to “hang on the phone” during waking hours.

We pleaded unsuccessfully for justice, and my mother assisted by insisting the rest of my siblings remain off the line while she ran over to the neighbor’s to ask her to try the telephone.

Our neighbor called us, and got a busy signal.

Cooled, my dad rang the phone company for repairs.

A little while later, I was sent by my sister to approach my father, who was reclining behind his newspaper at the kitchen table. I feebly asked if our sentence had been canceled, or at least commuted. Summer nights in high school are counted as much as they are lived! We did not want to miss out on plans with suntanned friends.

My dad replied, “You’re both still grounded.”

If you’ve read my book, you already know that I post-humously addressed my father’s inability to handle his “stuff” and leave me the space to grow into womanhood like a flower and not mold that needed to be removed. He kept his anger as armor, protecting him from the vulnerable unknown. I don’t fault him anymore. I have unconsciously lived through seasons of resentment that I used as armor against impossible situations and standards. I will brag and say that all the while, if something was within my periphery proving that I had been wrong, I said it. I am stubborn about a lot of things, but apologizing is not one of them. How about a little poetry break here.

It doesn’t matter who my father was. It matters who I remember he was. 

—Anne Sexton

He was human, and couldn't let it go. The reality of the busy signal my father had gotten for hours had been proven. We were not at fault, but emotions built a wall around him that kept us in the paradigm of remaining incorrect.

Sound familiar? If you ask me, it is a paradigm within the culture in which many remain, since 2020. I can hardly believe the denial we still all wade around in, tiptoeing, while sociopaths and criminals probably golf and go to wine tastings.

Propaganda proven as propaganda. Shots proven unnecessary at best. A deadly virus proven a cold and anyone who challenges that is usually in a fixed-gaze psychosis and rubber gloves. I am not even going to bother with links to studies. They do not get past beLIEf.

Many are sort-of back in good graces, but no one has looked them square in the eye to say “Holy crap, you were right. I was wrong. You were just trying to help. You suffered for critically thinking something through, which you had a right to do. You were showing your love for me, I misunderstood. I’m sorry.”

Take all that if you wish, if you have been placed in the “incorrect” paradigm, if you’re still grounded, so to speak. Dream of a conversation with a loved one. It doesn’t cost to dream.

What a perfect scenario 2020 was for those of us with an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, still seeking redemption. I don’t expect it, because I am distracted by the challenge of writing as if I am an anonymous poster while marketing my work in name. I rely on my married name as enough of a cover, and set out for social excursions on an assumption that no one knows what I am up to as a writer on Substack, between my commitments of keeping house and teaching women.

Contemplating the Word “Redeem”

Let’s ponder the idea of being delivered. Being paid back - a very real scenario for many physicians who stood against the medical tyranny - by taking in a visual of the Latin root of the word redeem, from etymonline.com. Don’t read, just breathe and look these pictures over like you would a painting, letting your eyes drift around, discovering what you notice. Words are powerful and can bring significant clarity.

‘Recover by purchase’ popped out for me. Anyone rejected for begging people to look into what they were buying into can’t help but ask, ‘Will anyone buy back?’

Keep the Faith

Now let’s just soak in a clip. Who doesn’t love Faith and Tim, singing out the million dollar question still hanging around for citizens in the “incorrect” paradigm. “Who’s gonna break first?” Who is going to talk about it, besides those who stood against the tyrannical machine?

Tim McGraw’s buns alone may help get someone to consider my point!

Who's gonna say, "What were we thinkin'?"
Who's gonna cut right through the tension? 
Who's gonna admit they missed? 
Who's gonna tell who how bad it hurts?

Who’s gonna break first?

Who’s gonna walk up and say hi, lean in close, say “What the hell are we doin?”