my mother and father are in their early eighties. my brother’s suicide has been too much for them. I was baptised into the Catholic Church yesterday. It was a beautiful private ceremony. Of course they were not invited. They are atheists. Unfortunately, my father closely guards the Catholic baptism of his youth. It is one of his “talking points.” He acted okay about the baptism yesterday but today there was a set-up, a nice Sunday dinner with roast pork–but I can’t eat roast pork because I have lost too many teeth. Except it was so tender and good that I could! So stage one of the set-up was foiled. Stage 2 was, therefore, easy to spot. My father started bragging about some dumb article my sister’s co-academic friend was getting published, yes, dad, they say in academia, “publish or perish.” He was trying to get under my skin. That was the one thing he said last night, when I announced the baptism he immediately referenced my sister’s baptism in a big pool under the altar at the interdenominational church we attended for a while in our youths. I sensed some resistance so I was ready for dinner today. (My sister, who is 8 years younger, is my father’s safety blanket. For example, when anything is said about the morning when he tried to touch me when I was 27 he says “– was in the room.” She wasn’t, of course. So she is getting a Ph.D/ And he is a Ph.D.
So I countered with a discussion about my writing and that I am finally getting over my writing block that started when I was “President” of the undergraduate literary magazine in college. So maybe I can make a living by writing so that I do not have to depend on a man for my livelihood or my identity.
That elicited commentary on standby about a man’s daughter who was a both writer and a prostitute. I walked out on that and went to smoke a cigarette which I immediately put out and went back to offer salient words about my little sister’s sex life in her college days. Then I walked again and have returned to the cottage for the evening,
There is already ideation in place for the processing of the sexual abuse when I was 17, I have been pursuing reconciliation in accordance with a book my psychothera[ist gave me, I asked my ex to be there for me in this regard but he won’t even give me the money he promised me.
Choppy waters for the new baptism.