A chance to feel human again

I was not looking forward to visiting my parents in the US. On one visit my father had tried to hit me in anger ⏤ a 70+ year old man trying to hit his 40+ year-old son. Old habits die hard. I deflected the blow, and it didn't earn him any respect. My attitude towards my mother has softened; her image evolving into someone trapped in a 1950's role who was not mentally up for the challenge of raising three boys (and finally, a girl). But I always felt my father had less excuse for taking frustrations out on his children. He was upholding tradition.

Until my late 20's, I was convinced that parents who helped their children with homework were spoiling them; not preparing them for the real world where no one would hold your hand. Ours was definitely a "spare the rod, spoil the child" family. Working class tough. My siblings seem to have less anger. I'm not sure if they were less targeted; there were occasions when we would watch one being belted while dreadfully awaiting our turn. Other times I can remember our father explicitly saying "You want to know what's fair?" as he hit each one of us "that's fair."

My anger towards my parents extends to unjust authoritarians and those who rely on violence and intimidation for power. So with the ascension of Trump, I was not looking forward to visiting the belly of the beast. I knew my parents were having health problems, and my wife pushed the visit.

My father is now frail enough that he does not waste his energy arguing. His condition is partly due to mistrust of doctors; his stubbornness regarding his own sometimes internet-based theories on treatment; and sometimes covering up the fact that he accidentally dropped his medication on the floor and couldn't find it or was worried if he bent down he wouldn't be able to get back up. He has refused treatment that would extend his life. At one point I saw him pale and shaking and thought he could die within hours. Finally. The beast no longer has fangs. Yes, I had sympathy, as I would have for anyone who is looking death so closely in the eye. A weight was partially lifted, but circumstances of the end remain hanging. Will it be an automobile accident where my mother is taken with him? I leave some of these issues to my siblings; distant partners in familial resolution.

Seeing my father pale and shaking helped reframe him as human rather than monster. And being in the United States was refreshing, after reading and watching so much news about the stumbling giant supposedly in need of being great again. I remarked to a friend in San Francisco, "It's good to see; seems everyone is getting on with their lives." His reply, "Well, there is so much structure that remains in place and can continue on autopilot as the foundation is destroyed from beneath." Outsiders forget what a huge, diverse population exists within the borders of that section of the New World. Some Australians even lump two continents together as "America" though they reserve nationalist scorn or sibling rivalry for the 50 states that are united.

The truth is Americans are getting on with their lives because they have little choice; unlike my life in Australia, which seems to be on perpetual hold. First I was not a permanent resident; now I am still not a citizen. But none of that matters because the Australian workforce seems to have no use for me at age 57, and my encounter with an educational institution was brutal - administration insisted on calling me a liar for what I insisted on calling authoritarian incompetence. I had too much pride - not yet sufficiently humbled as all immigrants should be. Now I am humbled, feeling old and useless to Australia. Sure, I'm an adequate; not exemplary househusband. Washing clothes and dishes isn't beneath me, but there are no children to take care of and... welcome to the world of unpaid and under-appreciated value.

One of the more wonderful moments? Visiting my old workplace. Five years after leaving, I was still greeted warmly and given hugs. I am human after all; I have a history and was a productive member of society! Since leaving that workplace I have encountered two situations where I was treated with suspicion and felt scapegoated. These experiences have made me wonder if I'm getting too old. In the United States, I would be in the prime of my career. The joys of privilege; the hazards of being an immigrant.

St. Patrick's Day with the team :-)