Confessions of a Liberal Puritan

(This f---ing university library computer, which insists that it is in fact Aug. 26 of 2002 and 8:16 in the morning -- a fact that totally escaped me before I tried to post the journal entry I spent the last hour writing, in which I poured my heart out, etc., -- has managed to completely lose my post, since LJ won't let you post more than two years in the past and gave me no chance to change that date and time, blast them, or go back and find that lost copy. So, here's the short and dirty version of what was once much longer and somewhat profound.)

I taped The Mountain last night and watched it this morning, just for the sake of James Marsters' guest appearance as "Ted", Sam's alcoholic-but-sort-of-fun-to-be-around-when-he's-sober-and-on-a-manic-kick father. Aside from Ted and the 'kids' (the three youngest regular cast members, I believe) who gathered around him, I honestly couldn't care less about this show, nor would I ever watch it again, unless JM makes future guest appearances.

However, while writing my earlier (and now lost forever) post on JM's performance and how weird it was that I was able to enjoy it, since I usually react very negatively to depictions of highly irresponsible fathers, no matter how charming and no matter how muscular and nicely tattooed their forearms are when they hug people (which I just couldn't help but notice), I got to wondering if it might have something to do with the fact that, at the very hour I sat down to write in my journal, my own father was undergoing minor surgery in Wisconsin to install a pacemaker in his heart.

As it happened, my mother called me up last night to tell me that a) my father had awakened her at 3 AM that morning with chest pains and was currently in the hospital, b) he would be receiving a pacemaker to make his heart beat more regularly and more often during an operation scheduled for 5 PM today, and c) they were still planning on coming down to visit me for Thanksgiving, but they wouldn't be able to leave home until Wednesday morning, now.

Not really bad news, and actually reassuring, in its way, since it means Dad is getting help and should be feeling much better than he has any time this past year, soon. But it WAS another reminder of my parents' -- and particularly my father's -- mortality, and of the fact that someday they would no longer be there for me at all.

So perhaps it was that reminder which made me look more fondly and indulgently on JM's all-too-convincing performance as the Peter-Pan-ish, too-charming-for-his-own-good-because-he-seems-to-be-used-to-getting-away-with-all-sorts-of-irresponsible-behavior father of would-be art student Sam. Normally, that kind of stuff would just cut too close to home, since I still haven't gotten over my own experiences, as a child, living with a then-untreated manic-depressive father whom I adored and idolized, but who could hurt me so badly when he rejected me or simply forgot he'd ever promised to do this or that. Also, to be fair, JM -- with his elf-like appearance and compact size -- doesn't remotely resemble the huge and seemingly invulnerable father I grew up with, no matter how good he is at playing the charming manic.

But more than that, I actually found myself getting some real pleasure out of the way that Mike and Shel and Sam seemed to be coming together, using Ted's half-assed pipe-dream as the nucleus around which they could build their own sense of (at least temporary) safety and belonging and mutual loyalty, no matter how dysfunctional or otherwise-occupied their own families of origin might be. Forming a "Family of Choice", as it were.

That's what I first loved about the Scoobies on BtVS, and it's frankly the only thing I've found to enjoy about The Mountain.

And perhaps it's not coincidental that my Mom's phone call last night was shortly followed by another long-distance call, this time from the dear friend in Iowa who took me into her home when she barely knew me, so that I could more easily pursue my German studies before starting the PhD program here, and who has been among the most loyal and loving and unfailingly selfless of friends ever since. Hearing from this loving friend reminded me that I have formed and continue to form my own "families of choice" which continue to provide me with the sense of belonging and emotional safety that my own biological family hasn't always been able to maintain. Even though no parents are immortal and no parents are perfect, we all survive. We make our own additional families, through marriage and friendship and mutual loyalty and commitment, and as long as we live we continue to find loving souls along our way, who remind us that we are not alone in the night, after all.