Month: February 2019

Red Flags Schmed Flags

~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ Leave a comment

When I was 32, I attended graduate school in Bellingham, Washington, at Western Washington University. Go Vikings! Part of my graduate program included working as an English Composition Instructor. It was one of the best jobs I have ever had, and I truly enjoyed interacting with first year college students. Part of my responsibilities included meeting with students one-on-one to talk about their assignments, college, and the writing process.

By this time in my life, I’d been married, divorced and widowed, and had two daughters. I still believed in love and everything, however, sometimes I had to check myself when I met with students who were 18 and had unbridled hope regarding the world that awaited them. One young woman I’ll never forget was talking to me about her plans after college. “I’m going to marry my boyfriend, and we’re going to live happily ever after.” My gut told me to say, “Gimme a break! Whatever!” but luckily, my best self butted in and warned me to, “Shut up and smile.”

The benefit of youth is having ignorance of what could go wrong. The benefit of experience is having insight into what could go wrong. They are both liabilities as well. However, whether we are young and naive or old and weathered, we still fall for people who will hurt us no matter how many red flags wave in our faces. With as many episodes of Forensic Files, true crime documentaries, and murder mysteries I watch, I feel adept at sniffing out scary people. But in real life, I’m just as hopeful and romantic as my former college student.

Since it is not my goal to out any specific people from my past that turned out to be a dud, I’m simply going to provide a list red flags I ignored (at first) because I believed in the hope of a budding relationship. I hope you find these humorous and relatable. Also, try to remember that I’m in a good place now and share these because I have learned, and gained distance, from them. Enjoy!

  1. On a date, my boyfriend kept staring at the door and repeatedly hiding his face behind his menu.
  2. My boyfriend told a mutual friend, “Cindy’s not very pretty, but I’m going out with her anyway.”
  3. While driving through Seattle, my boyfriend was unable to find the tattoo parlor where he planned to get a belly button wring (yes, I know) and threw a frightening temper tantrum.
  4. My “sober for two decades” boyfriend smoked weed all day long.
  5. My live-in boyfriend “had” to stay at his mother’s house every time he got sick because I did not take good care of him.
  6. Although I was married, a young man kept telling me that “we were soul mates,” “we were destined to be together,” “I was too good for my husband,” “that I deserved better,” and that “he was my true love.” Barf.
  7. My boyfriend’s sister pulled me aside a few weeks into our relationship and said, “I don’t know what kind of show he’s putting on. He’s not a nice person.”
  8. My boyfriend said my son was weird. (you’re outta here!)
  9. Last but not least, my boyfriend freaked out when I asked why he was on Tinder.

I hope you laughed at these as much I as did while writing them. No doubt there is a guy or two out there talking about the red flags he ignored at first when he was dating me. Best wishes to all.

It’s All My Fault

~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ Leave a comment

I’ve been thinking a lot about responsibility over the past couple of days. For as long as I can remember, I have felt “responsible” for other people’s feelings — their happiness, anger, sadness, hunger, well-being, etc., etc. Some of it, I believe, comes from being an older sibling. I was seven when my brother Jack was born, and from the moment I saw his pursed lips and downy hair, inhaled the baby scent from the top of his head, I wanted to protect him. It was both understood and stated, with my father’s tireless refrain: “Watch your brother. Watch your brother. Watch your brother.” I adored Jack, and enjoyed feeding him, changing his diapers, and cuddling with him on the couch.

The responsibility thing really hit home during Christmas 1977. I brought home an ornament I’d made at school: green construction paper, red yarn, and silver glitter. Although I don’t remember, I must have left it on the dining room table where my stepmother was displaying all of her Princess House crystal. I was at school when Jack pulled on the table cloth and hundreds of dollars of crystal crashed to the floor. When I arrived home that evening, my stepmother screamed and screamed. Since Jack was only a toddler, and was trying to get my ornament, the broken crystal was all my fault.

Years later, when I started dating, I took responsibility for the feelings of my boyfriends, and anyone else who came along. If X had a bad day, it was up to me to cook him a nice meal and let him relax so he cheered up. If X wanted to go to dinner, I chose the restaurant, and if he disliked the meal it was because I had made a bad choice. If X’s family didn’t like me, it was because I was too sensitive and analytical, so I tried really hard to be amazing and wonderful.

Most recently, I’ve been reflecting on how I felt responsible for my father’s happiness. His wife was an incurable cheater, and I never told him, until 1988, when he received an anonymous letter saying “Your wife is sleeping with my brother. He’s married and has five kids.” My father confronted my stepmother, and of course, she said it wasn’t true. So, he hid a tape recorder in his bedroom. Confronted with the evidence, she said, “How dare you spy on me.”

My stepmother was a special kind of crazy, both unpredictable and prone to violent outbursts, the kind of crazy I couldn’t manage as a 20 year old. But, I figured since my father had confided in me, and was planning to divorce her, I should take him out for a drink and spill my guts. We went to the No. 5 in Binghamton, New York, and drank late into the evening. I told him everything I knew about her cheating, starting from when I was four until the present day. My father showed no emotion. The following day, he filed divorce papers and sent them to his mother in law’s house where his wife was staying.

A couple of weeks later, my father invited me to dinner at his house with Jack. On the drive over, he said, “I’m gonna take her back.” I started bawling. All those stories! All of her lies! “How could you?” I asked. My father said when he brought over the papers, she fell to the floor and started kissing his feet. She promised over and over to stay faithful. “I don’t approve,” I said. “But you’re a grown man.” He smiled, and answered, “You’re absolutely right. You’re so protective. Just like grandpa.” Damn straight.

There have a been a couple more times in my adult life where I have had the opportunity to let a person I care about know they were being cheated on. Both times, after telling, it blew up in my face. So, if you’re keeping track, that’s three strikes. I’m out.

It really sucks to see someone you love getting hurt by someone else simply because they are a good liar. However, if you out a cheater, that falls right in line with shooting the messenger. You’re going to get hurt unless the person you tell has an enormous amount of self awareness, and believes you, not the cheater. At the same time, if you’re like me and have a visceral reaction to seeing your loved ones getting screwed over, perhaps you can explore those feelings in a blog post.

P.S. My father and his wife renewed their wedding vows in 1988, moved to Florida the following year, and bought a business. Ten years later, he filed for divorce and they went through an acrimonious process. My father moved back to Binghamton.