TMI

I’ve always fancied myself a writer of sorts. As a child, I dabbled in poetry and writing almost daily letters to my cousin Red. As a young adult, I wrote letters to my friend Karen who traveled and worked aboard. I kept journals from time to time, but I didn’t really get my writing chops until I was in my forties. I went through a time period, about 4 to 5 years where I discovered the power of my mere words over men via the internet. There was actually a period of time when I was seriously considered a career in erotica as well as other ventures via the internet. I had a gift and several of my friends told me that I should stop giving it away for free, but I guess I never had the chops for starting my own business, so I kept it as a hobby.

My kids were teenagers during this time period and I am not one to keep secrets from them nor did I ever want them to have sexual hang ups like I did due to my lack of a sexual education. Therefore, they were aware of my hobbies and for the most part, they seemed fine with them. When I mentioned how I was considering writing erotica for a living, my eldest said, “Great, I’ll have to tell my friends that my mom bought me my Porsche with her porn.” That didn’t sound so bad to me and the reality was, my kids probably knew more about the many scopes of sexuality than I because they grew up with the internet. I know for a fact that they taught me a thing or two, explaining terms I was unfamiliar with and that was okay with me. I wanted them to feel free to ask me questions so I felt free to ask questions as well.

Yes, there have been times that I have wondered, was it too much to share this sort of information with my children? Are there subjects better left unspoken in the child/parent relationship realm? Maybe, but in my forties my sexuality blossomed and I wasn’t ashamed to tell the world. I may have scarred my younger son a bit with my lack of computer skills and me having to painfully ask him how to remove a picture of my naked ass from my screen saver, but you should see some of the things I have seen on his screen saver! I suppose we’re a different kind of family, open and more honest than many of my kid’s friend’s families, but I for one am glad that we are. There have been times that we may cross the lines and leave the comfort zone, but I don’t believe any real harm has come of it.

Recently, after discussing this matter in family therapy, my youngest decided to share with me some of the sites he goes to. I have to admit, I was a bit put off by some of the subject matters, but more so it was because people were being very mean to each other. Yes, it felt odd that he was sharing this with me, but I think it helped me understand him a little bit more. We’ve never been a “Leave it to Beaver” kind of family, even my father could be what most consider very inappropriate in what he would say in front of us, but in all honesty, I think I appreciated his candor. I have known too many people who hold their parents up on a pedestal and wrongly consider them candidates for sainthood. I believe if they truly knew their parent, they may share some of the same traits as our family. Then again, some folks are so terrified of exploring their sexuality, they may have indeed lived saintly lives, but their silent thoughts and unexplored desires may have led them to lead lesser lives than they hoped for.

I for one wish I would have known more about my mother. She died when I was 21 and I feel that I barely had a clue as to who she was. My father told me that she had been the one who didn’t want to wait until they were married, but he made her wait out of respect for her. He told me that she was a tiger in the bedroom which led me to understand the duel sides of my personality. To many, I have been a solid citizen, scout leader, cheesecake maker and kid party planner extraordinaire. To others, I am known as a total mind slut, always have and always will see the sexual connotation in most any conversation. I for one think it is better that my kids have a more honest understanding of who I am, a woman who embraces her sexuality and freely expresses it instead of believing that I am some Puritan whose delicate ears need protection from improper conversation.

I have never falsely believed that my father was a saint. For the most part, I knew who he was, but then again maybe not. As the story goes, my father may have been unfaithful to my mother. Like many of the countless lies I have been told in my lifetime, I will never know the truth about this matter. I didn’t find out about it until after her death and my father adamantly denied that it happened. My brothers were young at the time of the supposed infidelity and they both have their stories to tell, different versions of the same scenario, but with many similarities that lead me to believe that it was true. One of the stories is that my father had continued to think himself a spy of sorts, like he had been in WWII and had gotten himself into a bit of trouble. In efforts to silence him, he was being blackmailed about an affair he had while putting up a newspaper press in Mexico. My elder brother said that he had seen the photo that forever changed my mother’s emotional wellness. He said that my dad had his arm around another woman, nothing truly damming, but it was enough to break my mother’s heart.

Knowing what a Casanova my father had been after my mother’s passing, I can totally believe that he cheated on her or at the very least was a bigtime flirt (like many a married man, they are the biggest flirts of all). Although I have been through every inch of this house, I could never find any incriminating evidence of this affair. However, even though we did not own a camera or film projector, my father always kept tucked in his personal belongs, in a special compartment of his bedroom dresser drawer, a small reel of film. There are no markings on the box that hold it and the film size is way too small to hold up to the light and make out anything of worth. Could it be? Could this reel of film be the answer to the burning question about my father’s infidelity? I kept it safely tucked away always wondering if it held the answer to the question that plagued me for years, nay decades. I finally decided, that I had to know what was on that old singular reel of film my father kept all those years.

I was having my personal family videos transferred to DVD and I decided to send in the reel of film as well. When the finished product arrived, I couldn’t bring myself to look at it, maybe somethings are better left unknown. I had it in my possession for quite some time before I found the courage to pop it into the DVD player. I made certain that I was home alone, it was okay for my kids to know the truth about me, but not about their grandfather. It wasn’t like they held any false notions of him being some saint, we all knew he was a cad, but they didn’t need to see it on a big screen TV. I took a deep breath and pressed the “play” button. It took a moment for something to appear, but when it did, there was no sound. I had to interpret for myself what I was watching; where was this? who are these people? what’s going on? The tears began to roll down my cheeks as I finally realized what I was watching, the single reel of film my father had in his possession, privately tucked away in the special compartment of his dresser drawer for decades revealed the truth.

What did I see? It was my father, so young, so handsome, smoking a cigar with his coworkers proudly going over the work he had done by helping build a newspaper press somewhere, some time long, long ago. That was the truth, the truth I was so afraid to expose myself to for a very long time. Maybe if I had asked him what it was when I first spied it in the secret compartment of his bedroom dresser drawer when I was being a nosey kid I could have saved myself all the torture of wondering what it was. Maybe he didn’t even remember himself, but knew it was something of worth so he held onto it, along with the very few possessions he had. You see, the story I was telling myself was so much worse than the truth.

A wise friend of mine once told me to stop making up stories in my head when I didn’t have all the information. No truer words have ever been said. I have tortured myself so many times by reading into a situation instead of having the courage to ask questions out of fear of what the truth may be. So, maybe I’m a bit too honest, too free with my words when it comes to telling my children about my thoughts and adventures, but it’s not like I have told them everything. Maybe my nickname should be TMI Gail instead of Groovy Gail, but I have nothing to hide. In fact, I believe that people who do not share information about themselves freely are actually doing themselves, as well as others an injustice. By not sharing the truth about who you are and what you’re doing, you leave the story open to interpretation which in most cases is more damming than the actual facts.

We are all storytellers in one way or another. We tell ourselves stories to help us cope with our realities when they are challenging. We tell stories to others in hopes of protecting them or sometimes to make them believe we are someone we are not, but wish we were. Everyone tells stories, but I for one speak the truth when I tell my stories. I may not tell the whole story in order to protect someone or myself for that matter, but I want my kids, my friends, my coworkers to know who I am. I suppose it’s my way of surviving because I know when I keep my stories to myself, when I don’t ask questions to find out what the real story is, I end up hurting myself more than by ever being a little inappropriate. Some may disagree, but I’m proud of who I am and I hope my kids are too. I’ve been brave enough to share with them all that I am. Maybe it was more than they needed to know, but they will never have to make up stories in their minds about me due to a lack of information because after all, I’m TMI Mom and proud of it.

#thelieswechoosetolivewith