By Don Radebaugh — I don’t know why it took so long to figure it out…that everything — and I mean everything — is my fault. It’s not my parents’ fault; it’s not the government’s; it’s not my boss’s; it’s one-hundred percent on me. And once I took ownership of that concept, my life began to change…and I’m happy to report, for the better. In full disclosure, I don’t blame my parents for anything; I love them dearly. They are remarkably wonderful people who did the best they could, all things considered. I fully recognize that my parents were taught too much garbage by their own parents, as I was mine. Our habits are taught, and as a result, learned. Again, having finally figured that out, I understand that the reality I create going forward is completely in my court. Once you learn to answer to yourself, the blame-game goes up in smoke…poof, gone.
I remember it like it was yesterday. It was our Sunday out with my dad. Must have been his weekend he got the kids. I was only 10 years old and my parents were already divorced. We were the perfect example of a dysfunctional family. For me, it was exceptionally painful, not to mention super embarrassing. I thought I was the only kid in the world who had a messed-up family. Of course, years later I learned that we weren’t the only ones…that all families are dysfunctional, just some more than others. But I didn’t know that back then.
We were at the Arby’s restaurant (which is still there) across from the Franklin Park Mall in Toledo, Ohio. My dad went into his normal lecture mode, which nothing good ever seemed to come from. I became the focus of his attention. I just sat and listened, taking it all in, soaking it up like a sponge. That’s what kids do. I’m paraphrasing of course, but I know I’m getting most of it right because it’s stuck with me that hard over the decades. He knew how to reach my subconscious mind without himself even realizing it. He was telling me that, career-wise, I may never amount to much. But wait; here’s the good news according to Harry. It was okay if I never amounted to anything; because it was okay to work in a mediocre mind-numbing job all my life, as he did. That I should expect to accomplish very little as if it were a foregone conclusion. As his talk rambled on, an utterly brilliant teenage girl — AKA my sister Patti — began kicking me under the table. It startled me; I looked up. I could see her mouthing the words, “Don’t listen to him.” How remarkable this moment was. A 13-year-old girl had the maturity and awareness to understand that his message was wrought with negativity and nonsense, as she tried to steer me back on track. How brave and admirable.
On the other side of it, my mom wasn’t exactly a sunbeam of inspiration; although I give her a lot of credit. She managed to provide the roof over our heads and showed us plenty of love, which trumps everything else. But she also never encouraged us to conquer the world. She often had a doomsday attitude, which I learned early on. She taught me, and I was paying attention. I thought it was just my DNA; I was wrong.
Years ago, I discovered some old letters written by my grandmother (my mom’s mom). They were directly addressed to my mom. They were letters of despair, complete with negativity, doom and gloom. They were designed to make my mom feel bad for having moved away from her Texas roots. That my mom should come back and help them with their money troubles. Never mind that my grandmother, years before, stuffed my 5-year-old mom into an orphanage because she decided she couldn’t afford her. I can only imagine what terrible things happened there, in Texas, in the early 1940s, before such regulations were in place to help protect sad, heart-broken children. The letters were off-the-charts depressing. Then, like a bolt of lightning, I realized where my mom got her negativity from. That this stuff isn’t DNA…that negative, doomsday mindset is taught, handed down over the generations.
It was extremely liberating to finally understand that the habits we form over the years are what our subconscious minds soak up as kids. And there’s the good news. No matter what sort of crap we learned in our youth, we can here and now recognize it, pinpoint it, and ultimately choose to unlearn it. Then learn new habits that build better models for our future. You can reference your list of alibis if you wish; but everything, ultimately, becomes our fault. No more excuses…just the courage to live the life you and I deserve.
In the words of songwriter-producer Graham Nash, “teach your children” well.
PS: I lost my sister Janet (cover photo right) from ovarian cancer in 2018. I never realized how much I loved her until she got sick. Never saw anyone suffer so much. Miss you my brave sister, and thanks for all the great advice over the years; you ALWAYS had my back, and now I’ve got yours. Love you always…
This was an amazing read. A true picture if my life.