250 Marbles
When I was growing up, my mother was a housewife and my father worked to buy the house. In his eyes, he owned the house and when he would arrive home from work he would say, “The boss is home.” I listened to too many of his rants about the house being “his” and only once heard my mother respond claiming her legal rights to half the property. My father had the mentality that because he made the gold, he also made the rules. It was an interesting dynamic to be incubated in, to observe, and later to realize that my father didn’t have a legal leg on which to stand. I hated their dynamic and vowed to never be in my mother’s situation. *
Fast forward many years and there I was in an uncannily similar situation. When Ex-man and I first reunited in our twenties, both of us had recently experienced a divorce - mine amicable, his acrimonious with bitter property settlements. He was able to retain a multi-suite house and a condo by buying is ex-wife out of their properties (which he had originally paid for, he was quick to add).
When we got together, Ex-man was living in another city and when he moved back where I lived, we lived in the rental home where I had been living with my son, then a toddler. A few years later we were sent a letter by the city, requiring us to move into Ex-man’s house (city tenancy laws). By then Ex-man and I had a daughter together and we moved our little family into his house. The house was in a cool area and Ex-man did a great job renovating our suite. Yet, there I was, living in a house held tightly by a man who never wanted to split up his assets again (understandably so).
This situation could have been easily rectified had we had the cash to purchase something together and call it “ours”. But high real estate prices, employment issues, personal debts, young children, and my decision to go back to school all factored to make a shared property not part of our reality. He didn’t see the charge of our living situation and once told me, “Just consider yourself a renter.” So I lived feeling like a squatter in his house until several years later (when city tenancy laws had become more lenient), we decided to move into neutral territory - another rental house.
How did the little girl who vowed not to end up in her mother’s situation, create a dynamic that was remarkably similar? Sure, the details of my father’s claims and Ex-man’s entitlements were different, but the feeling was the same. There was a lack of inclusion, an absence of generosity of spirit, a subordination to one’s partner, and underlying it all, the warped golden rule: He who has the gold makes the rules.
What would it take to let go of my mother’s story and create my own, original story?
*This is but one aspect of my parent’s relationship dynamic. It took me years to deconstruct the paradigm so I could understand both sides vis-à-vis their gendered roles, religious beliefs, generational and societal contexts, etc. In the process, I learned to love them as individuals.
When I was growing up, my mother was a housewife and my father worked to buy the house. In his eyes, he owned the house and when he would arrive home from work he would say, “The boss is home.” I listened to too many of his rants about the house being “his” and only once heard my mother respond claiming her legal rights to half the property. My father had the mentality that because he made the gold, he also made the rules. It was an interesting dynamic to be incubated in, to observe, and later to realize that my father didn’t have a legal leg on which to stand. I hated their dynamic and vowed to never be in my mother’s situation. *
Fast forward many years and there I was in an uncannily similar situation. When Ex-man and I first reunited in our twenties, both of us had recently experienced a divorce - mine amicable, his acrimonious with bitter property settlements. He was able to retain a multi-suite house and a condo by buying is ex-wife out of their properties (which he had originally paid for, he was quick to add).
When we got together, Ex-man was living in another city and when he moved back where I lived, we lived in the rental home where I had been living with my son, then a toddler. A few years later we were sent a letter by the city, requiring us to move into Ex-man’s house (city tenancy laws). By then Ex-man and I had a daughter together and we moved our little family into his house. The house was in a cool area and Ex-man did a great job renovating our suite. Yet, there I was, living in a house held tightly by a man who never wanted to split up his assets again (understandably so).
This situation could have been easily rectified had we had the cash to purchase something together and call it “ours”. But high real estate prices, employment issues, personal debts, young children, and my decision to go back to school all factored to make a shared property not part of our reality. He didn’t see the charge of our living situation and once told me, “Just consider yourself a renter.” So I lived feeling like a squatter in his house until several years later (when city tenancy laws had become more lenient), we decided to move into neutral territory - another rental house.
How did the little girl who vowed not to end up in her mother’s situation, create a dynamic that was remarkably similar? Sure, the details of my father’s claims and Ex-man’s entitlements were different, but the feeling was the same. There was a lack of inclusion, an absence of generosity of spirit, a subordination to one’s partner, and underlying it all, the warped golden rule: He who has the gold makes the rules.
What would it take to let go of my mother’s story and create my own, original story?
*This is but one aspect of my parent’s relationship dynamic. It took me years to deconstruct the paradigm so I could understand both sides vis-à-vis their gendered roles, religious beliefs, generational and societal contexts, etc. In the process, I learned to love them as individuals.
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