What Happened?: A Lifetime is Not a Long Time

De: Jeff Altman

Narrado por: Virtual Voice

I feel like one of the Smothers Brothers. Mom AND Dad always like my brother best. He was always the competent one and I was a baby and by definition incompetent. I was told he had better grades than I did . . .but he didn't. I had a good year once . . . it took my brother getting a divorce for me to be elevated to an exalted state where I could do no wrong. But that ended when my mother learned that my wife was away during a Jewish holiday meditating. I had hair no longer than a finger but was told I had long hair. I was told to eat what was on my plate but then was told I was eating too much. Is it any wonder that at times I think I'm a crazy bunch of contradictions? Can a man late in his life come to understand what happened well enough to make changes to how he thinks about himself and his world that he can eradicate his fears? I doubt it. But I think there are ways to wake out to the programming my chips received and re-program them that starts with knowing what programming was performed. Does that make sense to you? A lifetime is not a long time and although we like to think of ourselves as being immortal, life has always had a funny way of showing us how foolish we can be sometimes. I am going through the motions of life, doing my job, taking care of my family financially, hating more days than I love. I spend much of my time frightened and angry but appearing calm and caring. I care about a lot of nothing, feeling purposeless and adrift. I am working far more than I am playing, frightened far more than masterful, pissed off much more I seem. There was a time when I was an elite human being . . . or so I felt. Where money meant nothing and spent it like tap water. I went broke, of course but it was the life I chose, just like I chose this one, overtaken with worry. I am buying a house that I can afford but afraid I can't. I don't have enough money in the bank to retire but neither did my Dad who worked into his late 80's. But the thing that saddens me most is the number of times I feel my son hates me. Hates my coaching. Hates my presence. And he's 10 years old. I've tried to do the right things to help him, to teach him values and responsibility without crushing him and now he hates me. And there are days and times the feeling is mutual. There are too many days where I am left wondering how things might have been different if i had given him one wallop on his backside. How I would not have to live with the annoying arrogant self-indulgent child insatiably wanting what he wants without thought, consideration or appreciation. Yet every other parent loves him and thinks he's wonderful. What am I seeing wrong? So I feel marked by him and wonder how much more time I have with him and how I can influence him into being considerate of his mother and me. The joke in our house is that family gatherings are horrible. Whenever the three of us get together for family time, I am usually the outsider and I feel his want for me to not be present. I understand the Oedipal drive to devour his mother and kill me off . . . and I am dying a slow torturous death feeling unloved and unwanted too often. Feeling lonely. How did I become this person who is on the outside? What did I do? What is my part in this? I think this is my reason for sitting down to write this book . . . to figure out what I've done and fix it before my time runs out. Many years ago, I spoke at a Toastmaster's meeting in New York. I was a good speaker and almost always won "Best Speech" honors when I presented at the SEC Roughriders meetings in New York City. At one meeting, I had the idea of writing a eulogy for my wife because of something she was studying as part of her teacher training. As I stood at the lectern, I said, "A lifetime is not a long time and although we like to think of ourselves as being immortal, life has a way of showing us how foolish we are." So I am here to s