Where Were My Wild Things?
"It's easier to cry in the dark. No one sees you in the dark. Crying always reminds me that I still have feelings. They are just hiding in places that you can't see. They only come out in the dark."
Me - November 1, 2009
After her Soccer game, I took my daughter to see Spike Jonze's re-imagining of Where The Wild Things Are. We asked my Mother to join us. I'm not very familiar with the book. I'm sure I've read it but for some reason, it never stuck with me.
My parents separated when I was 7. They got divorced when I was 9. I was in the third grade. I don't remember much of anything before that year. Like none of it ever happened. I never thought that was a big deal. Now that I have two daughters of my own, I realize how big of a deal it was. It would crush my heart to think that my daughters wouldn't remember when they were 7. Especially if they didn't want to remember... Like me.
Growing up I can recall being angry and often disappointed. I don't remember about what or even why. It's just a part of me that lingers in my head. As an adult, I have always had a hard time asking for help. I always tell myself, "No need to rely on anybody. You'll only be disappointed."
I've been in and out of therapy since I was a kid. I'm always trying to figure out who I am. Does it really make a difference? Maybe I should be trying to figure out who I was. At what point did the little kid in me disappear from the face of the earth? Why the fuck would I want to know the answer to any of those questions? Besides, self discovery is for pussies.
My daughter and I shared a double love seat in the movie theater. She was practically on top of me. She holds my hand and it makes my heart warm. My Mother sat just to her left but she seemed a mile away. She always does but it's not her fault. I create the distance. That's just the way it is. This is how it was written.
As I watched the movie, I saw myself in the little boy's eyes. I too was always running away from something, looking for someone to save me. Children are very delicate when they are young but they don't shatter like fine, expensive crystal when you drop them. Little pieces chip away and fall to the carpet with each slip. The fine shards of glass, hide in the strands and crumble more over time, emulsifying under the dull footsteps of everyone who passes through the room. It's hard to see the damage if you don't look closely but it's there.
It makes me sad when I think about how fucked up I am underneath all of the armor that I wear. I'm not sad for me but for my Mom. She tried very hard and did a great job raising my brother and me. I wonder if she saw the stark similarities between our broken family and the one in the film? I'm sure she did. You could hardly miss them.
I wish I could remember the book but I'm starting to understand why I don't. Max is lucky to have the Wild Things. Where the fuck were my Wild Things when I needed them?
My daughter climbs on top of me because one of the Monsters is chasing the boy. She is scared. She squeezes me tightly and it makes me cry. I cry because I'm afraid she won't remember this moment. She's only 7. I know I will remember. I look at my Mom. I squeeze my daughter back. Maybe this is why I like the movies. Because it's dark and it's easier to cry in the dark. Maybe easier isn't the right word.
That night before bedtime, I asked my daughter to read me the book. As she articulated the story to me in a whisper, I stared at her a little bit too long and she caught me.
"Stop staring at me Daddy."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because I love you..."
I like the book way better and with the lights on. It makes me feel less Out-Numbered...
Me - November 1, 2009
After her Soccer game, I took my daughter to see Spike Jonze's re-imagining of Where The Wild Things Are. We asked my Mother to join us. I'm not very familiar with the book. I'm sure I've read it but for some reason, it never stuck with me.
My parents separated when I was 7. They got divorced when I was 9. I was in the third grade. I don't remember much of anything before that year. Like none of it ever happened. I never thought that was a big deal. Now that I have two daughters of my own, I realize how big of a deal it was. It would crush my heart to think that my daughters wouldn't remember when they were 7. Especially if they didn't want to remember... Like me.
Growing up I can recall being angry and often disappointed. I don't remember about what or even why. It's just a part of me that lingers in my head. As an adult, I have always had a hard time asking for help. I always tell myself, "No need to rely on anybody. You'll only be disappointed."
I've been in and out of therapy since I was a kid. I'm always trying to figure out who I am. Does it really make a difference? Maybe I should be trying to figure out who I was. At what point did the little kid in me disappear from the face of the earth? Why the fuck would I want to know the answer to any of those questions? Besides, self discovery is for pussies.
My daughter and I shared a double love seat in the movie theater. She was practically on top of me. She holds my hand and it makes my heart warm. My Mother sat just to her left but she seemed a mile away. She always does but it's not her fault. I create the distance. That's just the way it is. This is how it was written.
As I watched the movie, I saw myself in the little boy's eyes. I too was always running away from something, looking for someone to save me. Children are very delicate when they are young but they don't shatter like fine, expensive crystal when you drop them. Little pieces chip away and fall to the carpet with each slip. The fine shards of glass, hide in the strands and crumble more over time, emulsifying under the dull footsteps of everyone who passes through the room. It's hard to see the damage if you don't look closely but it's there.
It makes me sad when I think about how fucked up I am underneath all of the armor that I wear. I'm not sad for me but for my Mom. She tried very hard and did a great job raising my brother and me. I wonder if she saw the stark similarities between our broken family and the one in the film? I'm sure she did. You could hardly miss them.
I wish I could remember the book but I'm starting to understand why I don't. Max is lucky to have the Wild Things. Where the fuck were my Wild Things when I needed them?
My daughter climbs on top of me because one of the Monsters is chasing the boy. She is scared. She squeezes me tightly and it makes me cry. I cry because I'm afraid she won't remember this moment. She's only 7. I know I will remember. I look at my Mom. I squeeze my daughter back. Maybe this is why I like the movies. Because it's dark and it's easier to cry in the dark. Maybe easier isn't the right word.
That night before bedtime, I asked my daughter to read me the book. As she articulated the story to me in a whisper, I stared at her a little bit too long and she caught me.
"Stop staring at me Daddy."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because I love you..."
I like the book way better and with the lights on. It makes me feel less Out-Numbered...
That was beautiful Jason.
ReplyDeleteReally beautiful Jason. You are so in touch with your inner being and you articulate it so well when sharing with us all. Thanks, once again.
ReplyDeleteBeautifully written.
ReplyDeleteI have a total blank before age 11. That's when my brother and I moved out of my mothers house and into my grandparents - escaping from an alcoholic step-father. I know that things were bad, but am sure I will never go to therapy to figure out what!
I hope that your daughters never forget this time in their lives.
Maybe your blog friends can be your Wild Things. We are just a few years late, but better late than never!
ReplyDeleteWoW! I am passing this along - this will put things in perspective for some who were in your situation also growing up. Nice job Jas. & I am glad u saw the movie w/ your daughter.You can someday let her know how that moment w/ the hug was. It will be a good story.:-)
ReplyDeleteFantastic article Jay. I can relate to those things you said with your Mother. Life changes without having both parents around. When my father passed away, my world and life irrevocably changed.
ReplyDeleteAs always another great Outnumbered.
Amazing article...hit home
ReplyDeleteany dude can be a guy, it takes a man to cry.
ReplyDeleteWow. Great post. Really beautifully written.
ReplyDeleteVery well written and very touching
ReplyDeletebeautiful post.... i actually did read the book when i was a kid... the scariest part of the whole thing for me ,this time, was the fact that the mother let him go to bed without his dinner :P
ReplyDeletebtw i enjoy evry single post
nice job peeling another layer from that onion of yours bro. well written. i remember the book well. was one of my favorites.
ReplyDeleteJason, thanks for sharing the parts of yourself that you do know.
ReplyDeleteOn behalf of all dads who are products of divorce and who miss their 7 year old daughter's, Thank you.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful.
That really was beautiful. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteyou had me at "It's easier to cry in the dark."
ReplyDeletei LOVE and RESPECT how exposed and vulnerable you are, yet at the same time, protecting your sweet daughter.
such a good daddy you are... such a beautiful post.
Moved beyond words. Thank you for not only sharing an innermost part of yourself, but in doing so, putting into words what many of us children of divorce also felt.
ReplyDeleteI think there's a really good chance your kids will remember. I remember things from when I was 2. My daughter remembers peeing on the sidewalk when she was potty training a couple years ago.
ReplyDeleteI think your daughters will remember a lot more than you think they will. daddy's are almost always a little girls hero. I played hide and seek with mine. I was three. He caught me when I fell down the stairs because I was afraid of thunder when I was five. He jumped in the lake and saved me from drowning when I was four. He pulled me on my sled, taught me to skate and throw a ball.
Since having children I have come to the conclusion that good parents strive every day to give their children more than they were given as children.
sweet story dude. you made me cry in the office and it's not dark here.
ReplyDeleteThat's the best thing I've ever seen you write. Beautiful. Obviously, I'm in exactly the same boat and can totally empathize. BTW, self-discovery is for titans, not pussies. I'm just finally figuring out the boy inside me and it's led me closer to happiness than I've been in 30 years.
ReplyDeleteI can't believe you made me tear up. I am just as fucked up as you are. If I didn't have my imagination when I was a kid, I wouldn't of survived. Many times I don't know if I remember my childhood or childhood I imagined. Now, I relive it through my daughter and every time she squeezes me or hugs me...I feel like junkie. I need and want more. Dude, I've never cried this much just from watching somebody breath.
ReplyDeleteThis made me cry. Amazing. Thanks J....
ReplyDeleteWell said bro!! Sounds like you had quite a moment.
ReplyDeleteJason - I am truly and deeply moved by what you shared here. A really wonderful expression of many conflicting emotions.
ReplyDeleteI love this.
ReplyDeleteYou're so not alone brother. Everything you wrote here, I can relate to - powerfully so. I've been alternating between forgetting and shaming my inner child since as far back as I can remember. My parents divorced when I was two and they LOATHED each other with such furiosity, they used the one thing they knew would cause max damage to the other... Read More -- me. I became a WMD for the two people in the world I loved most - against the two people in the world I loved most. My older sister still tells me she doesn't know how I ended up as functional as I have. I think I've got her fooled bro. I think I've got everyone fooled. Self discovery has been a massively painful but necessary process for me. I am not afraid to face the shit storm because I am so completely committed to overcoming my demons and deeply loving and accepting myself. Someday anyway. By the way I remember you totally having your act together in college. You were one of the few guys I met who I aspired to. To be honest, there haven't been many since then. So again, you may be Outnumbered, but as you so very well know, you're anything but alone.
ReplyDeleteyou're becoming a hero to many with your honesty. Keep going. You're on to something. Say the things people are to pussy to say. You're like Costanza in the episode where he does everything opposite and his life turns around. BRAVO!!
ReplyDeleteStunning post.
ReplyDeleteI too worry that my kids won't remember the good times we're having now. and worry that when they get older we'll fall out for some reason and then everything will be ruined. It's not a thought process that I think is very useful to have, but it's there anyhow.
That was beautiful! There is just something about our children that grabs onto our hearts & squeezes it almost till it hurts.
ReplyDeleteI don't remember much before 5 or 6 myself. My daughter is 2 and a half and my son is ten months. I hope they remember everything from the time that is possible on through forever. Even the times when I F-up, which are legion. Don't be to hard on yourself man, everyone wears that "armor" to some degree. The people I know who don't think they're f'd up is some way are usually the biggest assholes.
ReplyDeletei remember lots of things about my dad from when i was 7, and even younger. there are some things a daughter never forgets about her daddy.
ReplyDelete"Growing up I can recall being angry and often disappointed. I don't remember about what or even why. It's just a part of me that lingers in my head."
ReplyDeleteI relate to that. And I have the same fears about my own children. Beautifully written, painfully honest. As other people have said, you're not alone in this but thankyou for making that clear to the rest of us also.
You are a hero. Awesome writing!
ReplyDeleteYou're amazing! This was so beautifully and honestly written that it brought tears to my eyes.
ReplyDeleteI have many of the same thoughts and fears surrounding my own childhood (two broken marriages) and that of my children. I'm on my way to pick up my kids from school in a minute, and I think I'm going to have to give them each an extra big hug now.
As for your own Wild Things? That'd be all us bloggy folks that stalk you on a daily basis.
wow jason-thanks you for sharing something so personal with all of us.
ReplyDeleteIt's time you change one of the 3 little Reactions buttons, so we could click one for Heartwarming.... I've went to click recently and realized None of the Above was a better option than your 3.
ReplyDeleteWell done.
You got me. I'm crying with the lights on. Love what you wrote- I always do.
ReplyDeletebrilliant. thanks so much for sharing.
ReplyDelete@MadWoman @Sue - The friends that I've made through Out-Numbered are my Wild Things? Yes. I like that... Thank you to everyone for listening. The freedom you give me to spew my bullshit is truly liberating.
ReplyDeleteI felt that!
ReplyDeleteFabulous writing. And fearless reflection. You are a good dad.
Impressive and relatable, to many so it seems, but certainly to me.
ReplyDeleteMy parents divorced when I was 12, the summer before 8th grade. My dad had been having an affair, and my mom was being pursued by the man who installed our swimming pool that summer. My mom's "love interest" disappeared in no time. My dad moved his into the house within a few months of my mom moving out. They were together about 15 years.
The step-mother drank and brought heavy baggage into our lives via her family and their ways. Crazy stuff I saw.
My dad is bipolar, so he's crazy in his own way. My brother has even more serious mental illness. This summer, my mom died, unexpectedly, from cancer, one month after her diagnosis. I have four kids, one with a life-threatening genetic disorder.
I have seen four therapists in my life. One that my dad made me go to after my parents split. That guy suggested I was "too close" to my mom. What did that even mean? Even then, it smelled like propaganda from my dad, and it surely was. I refused to go after a few sessions. The second was my choice, but encouraged by my dad, when I changed careers and sunk into a depression for several months. He helped me reframe and get back on track. The third was to iron out some issues with my wife, before we got married, sort of a premarital thing for a few months. I didn't like that one so much, but she wasn't horrible. The fourth is currently in progress. I like her. We talk career issues, midlife crisis issues (I think I did that in my 20s actually at that career change, so what is it now at 41?), stress concerns (that led to serious health issues a couple of years ago that I'm still recovering from), questions and doubts about marriage and parenting.
I never cried much in general, until I had kids. Then it seemed I could cry at a sappy movie, let alone a real-life issue. When I got really sick, I cried a lot, I guess just from raw emotion, but prompted by anything, nothing, whatever. When my mom was dying, I cried every day for a month, especially on the way to and from the hospital. We had certainly grown distant in some ways, though I saw her often as she worked down the hall from me. I grew to accept the crying during her sickness, or at least expect it. But, then it stopped when she died. I cried at her funeral, not during the service, but before it started, when I caught a glimpse of a couple of old friends coming in the door. I couldn't really speak to them before hand, or I would not have made it through the service. These days, not so much crying, but on occasion, I have been moved to a tear or two recently when processing some of the issues at hand. I wonder does this shit get any easier, life I mean.
At times, it seems that I've not gotten much right so far. I hope that if I get anything right, it's raising my four kids. I figure that goal is worth the cost of therapy. We'll see how it works out. I hope it does.
Everyone has his moments of reflection and doubt and worry and hope. I think you captured that. Anyway, nice post.
Dude, I had a moment just like that. It was about nine years ago, and I was newly divorced. My kids were 8 and 5. We were watching "Lilo and Stitch" of all things. The little alien dude says in his high squeaky voice, "This is my family. It's little and it's broken, but it's good."
ReplyDeleteI lost it. Completely.
My parents divorced when I was 4. I have lots of memories, some good, some bad. But I completely identify with the "no need to rely on anyone" and creating separation. YOu expressed it all perfectly. I also understand the clinging to your daughter. I never wanted to travel for work because I didn't want to miss a day. Maybe I'm mistaken but I never thought my father felt it that strongly and I can't understand that. I should have read your post in the dark.
ReplyDeleteWonderful blog, I check it daily! My sisters also read it as well as my husband (who is also outnumbered), and it is usually one of our dinner topics! This one was really great, keep writing from the heart, we love it!
ReplyDeleteThis post was so beautiful, especially the part about children not cracking and breaking but:
ReplyDelete"Children are very delicate when they are young but they don't shatter like fine, expensive crystal when you drop them. Little pieces chip away and fall to the carpet with each slip. The fine shards of glass, hide in the strands and crumble more over time, emulsifying under the dull footsteps of everyone who passes through the room. It's hard to see the damage if you don't look closely but it's there."
This one paragraph says so much! You are such a good writer. I also appreciate that you are not afraid to tell us about your feelings. What I remember about Where the Wild Things Are is the sense of freedom that Max had when he was with the wild things. He could run around and do crazy things and still be accepted by this band of things that didn't conform to any standards. Yet there is a gentleness about them too as they initiate Max into their world and make him their leader. As a girl I never had this feeling to escape until I was much older.:)
I think you might have leaned over and taken your mother's hand at that point. Sometimes one gesture means so much, especially in the dark.
I totally agree with LionMother - that description is breathtaking.
ReplyDeleteAll us adults need to remember that daily in our interactions with children.
I have to go now and mop up my tears!
bravo on the great writing...and on being able to use your negative life experience to give your daughter a positive one thats what good parents try to do!
ReplyDeleteWow Jason. I can't remember much from the age of 10 and younger. My parents had a violent relationship. Also there was alot of abuse that wasn't of a violent nature--but even more damaging. Both to my Mother and to us kids. You've touched me here. I'm afraid to try to find that young me. Afraid of what I might remember. Of what is waiting to hurt me again. "Where... were my Wild Things when I needed them?" Indeed.
ReplyDeleteJust found you from Oh My Goddess...congrats on the pick.
ReplyDeleteGreat post. I always cry when a movies about to begin and I'm with my son...so strange.
Please stop by the respite...you might like it.
much love
Oh My Goddess sent me over here and now I am crying!! Thanks a lot Goddess! I often thing that my kids won't remember things when they are so young. I have one time or two, when traveling away from them, that if something were to happen to me, would they even remember who I am? I understand this post. I am not from a broken home but I think a lot of what you feel comes from being a parent... a good parent.
ReplyDeleteoh wow. amazing post jason. i had a troubled youth, though my parents never split. i look at my boys and hope for them. i would have liked a wild thing to come along and befriend me in my day. keep staring, it passes to quick.
ReplyDeletecongrats on the OMG award!
Your daughter is one lucky little girl.
ReplyDeleteProbably the most moving, beautiful, skillfully written post yet, Jason.
ReplyDeleteAnd for all of us "broken" children who came from "broken" homes, we can relate. You're not the only one, that's for damn sure.
I don't know what I respect more: your skill and natural talent as a writer, or the guts you have to be so honest and vulnerable and put it out there. Kudos to you.
I can relate so much to this post. Yes, I'm another one of the "broken" children; parent separated when I was 12, divorced when I was 22.
ReplyDeleteI would have done anything to share a moment like that with my dad. I almost cried when I read it.
Your daughter is a very, very lucky girls. Of course, she doesn't realize it . . . yet.
I am new to your blog, and I've read a few of your posts. I am hooked, I love your style. I saw Where the Wild Things Are a few days ago, with my "wild thing" child of 17. He did not need to be coerced into seeing this movie with me. I was surprised. I say often that he was a terrible two, and is now a terrible teen. He gives me my gray hairs. We are very much alike, he and I, and I realize that we are like magnets.
ReplyDeleteIn any case, after reading Shirley Manson's Facebook post about this movie (she's from the band Garbage, as well as the Terminator series on t.v., plus, she's Scotish, so I relate to her 110%) to ignore the critics, see the movie without small children along, and be ready to cry, off I went.
So glad I did, the messages kept coming. I was not hooked until about a quarter of the way through the movie, but after that? Ahhhhh. I did not cry until they started howling goodbye to Max when he was sailing away. And then I almost sobbed. My son laughed at me crying. What does that say?
I'm in a loveless marriage, staying because my husband tells me I wouldn't see my son's if I left. So I stay, and count the days until I could be free. Or not. Life is relentless at times, but reading blogs like yours makes the time go by faster. I adore a good read. Better than sex! (at least with the husband I'm shackled to).
Love,
Julie