I've been thinking a lot lately (past few months or so) about love and what the hell that really is. I don't think I've ever actually experienced true love. Not the emotional kind anyway. Growing up I never heard the words 'I love you' from my parents or anyone else for that matter. I had a nasty uncle who teased me relentlessly (Uncle Leonard Beeson, whom I hope is rotting in hell) and when I complained to Eleanor about his teasing she told me he teased me because he 'liked' me. Really? That never made sense to me. Why would someone who supposedly 'liked' me, treat me so viciously (teased me until I cried - see earlier blog post)? I never experienced hunger and I always had clothes to wear. Wasn't ever beaten, however, to me that is 'easy' love. That's the kind of 'love' you provide when you don't want the neighbors to talk or social services to show-up at your door. 'Real' love isn't really tangible. It can't really be seen, although it can be demonstrated by hugs & affection. To me, it's when someone takes the time to really get to know you. They allow you to express your opinions, disagree, etc and they have meaningful conversation with you. They know your likes, dislikes, your fears and your aspirations. You are seen and heard. Growing up, if I expressed my opinions or disagreed, it was either met with silence (because some things can't be talked about) or I was punished for disobeying. I think that's why the word 'love' is so confusing to me. The first time I heard 'I love you' from Eleanor was when I left for college (18 years old). Since then, she has said it many times, as did my Dad, however, to me it's just a word they said, because neither of them backed it up with action. Eleanor will tell you (and me) that she loves me, however, she continues to hang around my brother and has chosen him over me. 'Love' rings very hollow, when it has strings attached and/or nothing to substantiate it. I found this story when googling 'love':
A little girl was invited for dinner at the home of her
first-grade friend. The vegetable was buttered broccoli and the mother asked if
she liked it. “Oh, yes,” the child replied politely, “I love it!”
But when the bowl of broccoli was passed, she declined to
take any. The hostess said, “I thought you said you loved broccoli.” The girl
replied sweetly, “Oh, yes ma’am, I do, but not enough to eat it!”
That's the kind of love I was raised with. Love in word, but not deed.
No comments:
Post a Comment