I cannot tell you why a ten-year-old boy would keep library books in a wastepaper basket next to his bed. Maybe his nightstand wasn’t big enough. Maybe it was the most convenient spot. It doesn’t matter why, really, it just matters that he did (if he didn’t, I wouldn’t have this story to tell). There was no wastepaper in the basket; it wasn’t a dirty, smelly trashcan. If you looked in it you would see the library books and, if you were a somewhat sane adult, you might shrug your shoulders, but you wouldn’t put the books out with the trash, would you? Or…if you thought they might be trash, wouldn’t you ask the child?
Forty-five years after the event, J. and I still have not solved the mystery of the garbage books. Yes, our mother did throw them in the garbage; she claimed she thought they were trash. That was kind of odd, since we all knew J. kept his books in the wastepaper basket, just as we all knew that books with cellophane overwraps that are stamped “Property of the City Library” happen to be library books. So why did she do it? My guess is that it was her passive-aggressive way to let him know he should put his books in a more appropriate place. She “innocently” threw them away, so it wasn’t her fault that he had to pay for them. After all, if they weren’t treated as trash, they would’ve never been tossed out.
I have nightmares about borrowing books from that same library (which is 700 miles from me, so it’s highly unlikely) and losing them. In my dreams, losing library books is a heinous crime; I won’t argue the point. But how does it compare to throwing them in the garbage to teach someone else a lesson?
I often relate real life to the reel life in classic movies. Previous installments in this series have painted your family as straight out of Alfred Hitchcock's "Psycho" (1960). Today's entry brings them closer to Frank Capra's "You Can't Take It With You" (1938). Why is one family member likably eccentric whereas another is frighteningly pathological? I guess it's largely a matter of perspective.
ReplyDeleteAlan, I love "You Can't Take It With You." I would have loved to been part of the Sycamore family. I think that a more apt description of my family would be "The Munsters De Sade," you know...very creepy, no laughs. I often think of my younger brother and me as those two little babes in the wood. We might have been luckier to be Romulus and Remus. --bob
ReplyDeleteEvery time I read one of your posts it reminds me SO MUCH of a personal experience. I'm a little behind now, but I feel I must read them in order ...
ReplyDeleteMy ex-husband, The Cowboy, was 15 years older than me and an obvious indication of some of my "father issues" -- haha!
As a professional photographer I used to sometimes lay pictures around the bedroom floor to create a story-line so I could get the "big picture".
Shortly after The Cowboy moved into my home he walked in on one of these picture projects and he walked right across the room walking on these very expensive wedding enlargements I was arranging for an album. I could not even believe it!!!
It was EXACTLY as you described -- a passive-aggressive attempt to teach me not to clutter the floor with my stuff.
Thank GOD those days are gone -- OMG! Thank you, Bob, for reminding me how far I've come!
Linda, OMG--you won't believe this. I was involved with someone like that, too. I am convinced that it's not that we make bad choices (or that we don't) but that certain types of users and manipulators (victimizers) are attracted to us, and we fall for it. --bob
ReplyDeleteabsolutely. until we heal ourselves we keep attracting that same dynamic ...
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