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Show YOUR CHOICE SLEEPERS - Aimqfl So Pit (Ewes... BY TOM CLYDE The victim within Choose from 3 versatile fabrics a natural flax, a narrow bottle green strip, or a denim blue with striped accent with each priced at '699 a sofa bed with innerspring mattress. Sofa M99 Matching Loveseat 449 Matching Chair 349 Tomorrows Classics Today f 2970 Highland Dr. 467-2701 Mon.-Fri. 10-7 Sat 10-6 1890 Bonanza Dr. Park City 645-7072 Mon.-Sat. 10-6 I had lunch the other day with my friend Walt. Walt is a dry wall hanger, and has kind of a hard time keeping up with our simple mountain lifestyle here in Park City. He still questions things like designer , bottled water that tastes like some kind of solvent. Interpretative cuisine leaves him confused. "I mean there are enchiladas and there are Chinese stir fried vegetables, and then there is pizza. But don't try serving me stir fried vegetable pizza rolled up like an enchilada." So at lunch the other day, I was not at all surprised to see Walt in one of his more hang-dog moods. Last time that happened, he had just found a really great deal on one of those pre-aged Ralph Lauren shirts, only to have some woman visiting from California tell him it was last year's color. What's the point in buying an expensive shirt that looks like it is ten years old, if there is such a thing as last year's color. He just doesn't get it. But last week's mood had nothing to do with fashion trends. Walt was depressed. "I'm a victim," he said. "What really bothers me about it, is that it has taken me so long to realize it. My whole life destroyed, and I didn't even awaken to that destruction until I'm almost middle aged." Walt was truly despondent. "What do you mean, 'you're a victim?' A victim of what?" I asked. "My childhood. I am a victim of a dysfunctional homelife. Thank God it didn't take me longer to discover it. 1 could have bungled along through life without a care, but fortunately, I was able to discover the pain of my past." This took me by surprise. I've known Walt for years. "What do you mean, you came from a dysfunctional homelife? Your family seems perfectly normal to me. Families can't get more normal than yours." "Normal! Normal? You call those people normal? My parents were raving lunatics. It's amazing I escaped that house able to function at all." "Lunatics? Walt, your father sold State Farm Insurance. I don't think that is really lunacy. Your mother was a den mother for about fifteen years. Your parents are the most stable, even keeled people I've ever met" "See, that's what I mean. You're still in that state of denial. I've masked the suffering for all these years in denial. But now, I have come to realize that all my problems are a result of that sick, depraved home I grew up in. We all have that pain. You do too, but you are still locked in denial." "Walt, give me a break, I mean, what is sick or depraved about your home?" There were kids we knew growing up who were from sick or depraved homes, kids whose parents kicked them around, or were drunk all the time, or couldn't make a living and were always having to dodge the bill collector. But not Walt's. "You have to get past the denial stage before the . healing can begin " Walt explained. "Once you admit to being a victim of abuse, then you can understand all the failings in your own life. The abuse is the root of my bad behavior in high school." "Walt, your behavior in high school was a result of being 16 and in love with Cynthia McNeil who didn't know you were alive. Your parents were pretty tolerant of you through those years." Walt shook his head. "You don't understand. That was part of the pattern of abuse I put up with all those years. It was so subtle that I didn't even begin to notice it until just recently. And then I read this magazine article about John Bradshaw, who helped me to find the scar tissue. It really opened my eyes. Did you know that 90 percent of the families in the United States are seriously dysfunctional? Just watch tv some afternoon, and you'll see it on Donahue and Oprah." "Walt, did it ever occur to you that maybe the only thing dysfunctional is that you have had a little too much time off this winter, and have been watching too much Sally Jesse Raphael? Get a grip. Go skiing. If 90 percent of the American households are seriously dysfunctional, the so-called normal 10 percent have got to be flat-out certifiably weird." "No, listen to me. I was an abused child." "Garbage. Your parents loved and forgave and accepted when nine out of ten parents would have kicked your butt up around your ears. Those people are saints." "See, that's the point The abuse I experienced was the worst kind. It was so well concealed that I didn't even notice it at the time. My parents never gave up on me, not even when I got really tanked up and wrapped the new car around a power pole. They just said they were happy I didn't get hurt. Can you imagine living with mat? It takes some people years of therapy to uncover their pain." "Hmm, sounds pretty awful. How did you ever endure it." "Denial. That's been the pattern of my life. I've denied that the abuse existed all these years, but now I'm free. For all these years, I've masked the anger and suffering behind a facade of just good ol' even tempered Walt But not any more. Now that I realize that all that attention and all those nice things my parents did for me was part of a pattern of subtle abuse and cruelty, I'm able to come to grips with it all. I've . finally been able to find the victim within me." Personally, I thought Walt was losing his grip. He had run into a couple of problems on houses he had built. Those should have been taking a little more of his attention than looking for ways his father might have abused him by playing catch on Sunday afternoons when everybody else's father was breathing z's in front of the television. "Yep, thanks to that guy on Geraldo last week, I can finally see it clearly. It's all my father's fault All of it." "What's all your father's fault?" "The reason all the sheetrock nails popped out on the Smith's house the day after the painters finished. I've been blaming myself all this time, and but I know whose fault it really is." i x '" : ' Victimhood must be great. The Eating Establishmen proudly announces the Birth of i i w l Sttrilke m iim THE EATING ESTABLISHMENT EXPRESS Located at The Factory Stores Park City The "EEE" is serving many of your "EE" Favorites and a few new ones. Espresso Capuccino CafeAuLait Fresh Pastries and Breads from Pierre's Country Bakery served and sold daily All items available for TAKE-OUT You'll find us near the Factory Stores Entrance right between the socks and shoes! 9am - 9pm Monday - Friday 8:30 am - 9pm Saturday 8:30am - 7pm Sunday ESTABLISHMENT EXPRESS 649-0043 BY TERI ORR, Not much grows in the middle of the road The odds are, the thing is going to open up and I won't be there. (Sigh.) For weeks now, since Christmas to be exact, I have been watering and nurturing an amaryllis bulb that was a gift. Last year I had admired my friend's full red flower so much, she left it with me when it fully bloomed because she was going to be out of town on a trip. This year she gave me one of my own to grow. The instructions said to water the bulb once a week at first, and keep it in a warm place. I stuck it on top . the laundry hamper in the bathroom, poured in the requisite liquid, and waited. I did the same thing the second week and the third, and by the fourth week, I was ready to give up on the damn thing. I'm not known for my green thumb or my patience. At the end of the fifth week, a green shoot appeared and it's been joined by half a dozen more shoots that have been climbing the walls for weeks. And each morning, as I fire up the blow dryer, I have been chanting a silly mantra. Country western fans will recognize it as a variation on an old George Strait song... "La la la...Amaryllis by morning." Last week in a rush to meet some friends for dinner, the blow dryer and the bulb had a collision. The plant fell over, one of the shoots snapped and there was dirt all over the tile floor. I yelled at all the inanimate objects that could benefit from my wrath. I swore at the blow dryer and the stupid plant and told it to just give up and I'd be spared any more watering. I have to admit to my friend I wasn't cut out to garden. I threw the dirt back in the pot and I stuck a barrette in my wet hair and left the growing thing limp in a corner on the floor. The next morning, the forgiving plant was listing back up reaching for the skylight. I took back the harsh words, sang my mantra and turned the thing around so it could get sun on a different side. This week, the tallest shoot opened to reveal two bright red buds. And this week I'm heading out to California for a visit with my daughter who is in her first year of post high school studies. I just know that flower is going to open up while I'minL.A. This morning I tried to coach the flower into opening up by singing extra loud. I figure if plants really do respond to stuff like that this thing will bloom just so I'll shut the hell up. Singing is not my strong suit. I was reminded of my son who sang the dumb song word for word one night with me while I sat dumbfounded by the fireplace. Seems one his fraternity brothers is from Texas, and he played the tune over and over one party night until the words were forever etched on Randy's memory. And I had one of those motherly tugs just then that asked... "what's he doing now?" Oh, in general I know. He's studying in the south of France. He took a break and a train and got to the Olympics, where a couple of Park City friends took him skiing and to lunch, and took his picture. It shows a young man in a blazer with tie on at a reception for Mayor Brad Olch. His eyes are closed (he takes pictures about as well as his mom), but he's smiling and his hair is clearly still in that silly ponytail. Next week, the kid turns 21. It will also be spring break. He called me last week and said most the American kids were heading to Greece for the break and I have to admit I had great pangs of jealously. The blue-green waters, the clean beaches, the hard bodies. But I just said, "sounds terrific!" To which he replied, "Oh, I'm not going with them. I think I've decided to go somewhere else. "Europe is a big place and easy to travel from country to country to country so I was almost ready for his next answer. "Where are you headed?" "Prague." I repeated the city. "Prague? OK, OK, are you going with a different group of people there?" "Nope. I'm going alone." Again. "Prague. You're going to spend your spring break and your 21st birthday in Prague. Other kids go to Fort Lauderdale, Randy. Maybe St. George or Palm Springs. I'm just a little surprised at Prague." "Well. I hear it's a really beautiful city and I can get there easy with my Eurail pass and I think I can do it pretty cheap. I plan to shoot a bunch of pictures. I can't wait" I hung up the phone wishing I'd been so free and secure when I was 21. 1 pulled out my favorite Randy photo it is his kindergarten picture. He has on a great Norwegian sweater, is missing a tooth, and has a strawberry blonde bowl haircut, and if I listen I hear him, with his shy lisp, asking me a question I still had an answer for. I didn't want to try and send some fancy present overseas and risk the loss. So I wrote and told him we would celebrate in style when he returned stateside in the summer. But I did find a silver and turquoise pin in Wyoming last weekend that was this silly Armadillo. I wrote to Randy and told him to wear it in good faith, remembering the old southwestern expression that the only thing you find in the middle of the road are yellow stripes and dead Armadillos. I told him to keep exploring the edges. Randy has spent his other two college spring breaks at home skiing. And for that matter his has spent the rest of his birthdays at home. If he's not going to be here this year, I guess Prague isn't a bad second choice. So I sang a silly verse to the flower that hasn't quite opened up yet but is almost there. Armadillo, Amarillo, Amaryllis by morning. And it strikes a vein with me it will be OK if the flower blooms and I'm not around to see it. Unless there's an unexpected frost in my bathroom, it should be something to enjoy when I return, and for some time to come. And just this morning I noticed a second shoot opening to reveal yet another red bud inside. Randy's younger sister and I will celebrate together this weekend his birthday, her completing her first season of acting classes, and me, well, I'll celebrate everything I've watched struggle to grow... Amaryllis by morning. |
