Page 100 of Fumble Into the End Zone
“Your facial expression suggests you thought I’m without flaws. A person with no issues is below the ground,” he said.
I agreed with a nod.
“What about your parents?” he asked, and I wanted to avoid this question.
“My father was killed by his best friend when I was nine. My mother abandoned me when I was ten. It’s how I ended up living with my maternal grandparents.”
“And how do those things show up in your parenting and relationships?” he asked, and I jerked my head back.
“I’m not following. I don’t mistreat my daughter, and I would never leave her. My grandmother is my only remaining parent. I take care of them,” I said.
“I’m not implying you would, but trauma shows up, even when we’re striving to do the opposite. For example, I wouldn’t allow any of the children to taste anything with alcohol, including sparkling wine, in fear they would become addicted. My actions drove them to sneak and do it. My middle child is in recovery,” he said.
Sitting back, I tried to digest how my mother’s leaving showed up in my life.
“Marcus, I’m going to throw out a few things people who were abandoned deal with. They struggle with trusting others and can be withdrawn, they are possessive, may smother and cling to their loved ones out of fear of abandonment, struggle with accepting or buying things for themselves. In fact, they raise the bar on themselves to an unachievable level. Do you deal with any of these things?” he said.
Damn.Everything he listed, somebody had mentioned to me. I’d always been selective about who I allowed into my circle and granny told me I smother her and Harley. My conversation with my granny a few weeks ago about staying in Arkansas reintroduced itself to me.
“How do I fix it?” I asked.
“Therapy, recognizing it, and listening to your loved ones. Marcus, if you’re not willing to work with me, find a person you’re comfortable with, and they can teach you how to cope. I don’t want you walking away from this conversation with an expectation of perfection. No one is without flaws. Take me, for example. I still go to AA meetings. Live your life and as you work with a professional, you will learn to live it better,” he said.
I released the expectations I placed on myself and decided to keep in touch with Dr. Choice. Damn, maybe Mia was right about him convincing me to see him again. I owe my granny an apology. The day I moved in with them, I was angry as hell. It took my grandfather setting me straight and the birth of Harley to get past the hurt. Now I was questioning if I buried it instead.
“I have a question. My mother keeps calling me. I never answer her text messages or answer her phone calls, but I can’t block her. Why? She left me and created a new family.”
“Without knowing the entirety of the situation, my best guess is the ten-year-old Marcus has unfinished business with her. And until you work through it, you may not be able to block her,” he said.
I respected his answer as I reflected on it.
“I wanted to ask my girlfriend to marry me this weekend, but now I’m second guessing it. Shit, I have some problems,” I said.
“Marcus, has your partner expressed she is unhappy or complained?” he asked.
Not wanting to answer prematurely, I sat back and replayed conversations between Mia and me. From my perspective, she assured me she was happy.
“She always tells me I’m this great guy; I make her happy and she asked me once who takes care of me? Dr. Choice, I didn’t realize I was out here winging it.”
“The right woman has a way of bringing a man into focus. If you decide to go forth with the engagement, put it all out there with a plan to work on your flaws. Do not promise her an overnight success. Give her the choice. Keep in mind, she may also reveal her flaws to you.”
I shook my head, satisfied with his answer. By the time I left, I had already booked a virtual appointment. Making it to my car, I pulled out my phone and called Granny.
“Hey, Granny,” I said, masking my guilt.
“What’s wrong with my baby?” she said, and I burst into tears.
I know it’s been hell living with me. She told me, but I wasn’t listening.
“Marcus, baby, what’s wrong. Talk to me,” she coached through the phone.
“I’m sorry, Granny, for smothering you and being mean to you about going to Arkansas. I left therapy and...”
“Marcus, nobody is perfect, and I didn’t take it to heart. Some of this is my fault. Maybe if your mother and I were on better terms, she would have come to me instead of running off.”
This was the first time I’d ever heard my granny talk about my mom. Mariah Allen was a subject we avoided for our own personal reasons.
“I’m glad you’re getting help, baby. I’ll be home in a few weeks. I than got sick of Corner,” she said, and I burst out into a hard laugh.
