Throw Him Back

Okay, so I'm a strong personality. So I'm a woman who knows what I want. So I like to be in control of things as much as possible. So I'm outspoken. So I'm, if not independent, at least able to handle myself.

Not everyone is made that way, I get that.

I'm thinking about my sister. Arlen is about a decade older than I, and we weren't really thrown together much after I turned six and she got a license. She slept in the house but she wasn't really there. And I had Liz, baby sister and playmate and all-around pest, to occupy me. After all the growing-up stuff, Arlen and I got better acquainted; having kids and cousins for them will do that I suppose.

Arlen's love life was always pretty quiet. I don't remember seeing boyfriends or hearing about dates. When she moved away to work after college, I guess my curiosity was low. I'd never really seen her in a relationship-type situation. So when she got a boyfriend years ago that seemed to stick around, I didn't know what to think. I had nothing to compare it to.

So this guy stayed. And stayed. And married her.

Mark is your typical BUBBA. I mean, a truck-muddin', car-fixin', shade-tree mechanic with a preference for barbecue and beer, and a habit of hanging out at the Army/Navy Surplus. He has friends who stock up on surplus MREs and sell them on ebay. This comes in handy after a hurricane, I guess, or in case of Armageddon. A certain amount of this, I'm sure, can be fun. And useful.

But the thing about Mark is he's neither.

He's crude and obnoxious. He's always in job jeopardy of one sort or another. He just pops out with any old thing that comes into his head, heedless of its appropriateness. His fuse is extremely short. He's nearly always bitching about something Arlen did or the kids did. And bitching to anyone who will listen. His friends are always welcome at all hours, but Arlen's family can rarely visit because all the kids make too much noise.

He makes arbitrary decisions that affect everyone in the house, and Arlen will not step in and challenge him. And I'm beyond feeling sorry for her anymore. It's the kids I ache for. Want lessons in something? Nope, Daddy doesn't want to have to haul you over there and back twice a week. Getting an award? Sorry, Daddy can't be there; he's got plans to be in his shed rebuilding something. Want some ice cream that Mom bought yesterday? Too bad; Daddy sat down and ate it all after you had a bowl last night.

I try and try to put myself in Arlen's shoes. What would I do if all that were happening in my home? And I just Can. Not. Imagine. It.

Make no mistake that my own darling hubby is a pushover and a wimp. Not in the least. He just lets me have a lot of leeway if it's something he doesn't know much about or that is less important to him than to me. But when he has strong feelings, we certainly work that out. Together. He falls over himself to be a good dad, and he works at surprising them with a treat or a random fun idea. He enjoys his girls, where Mark seems to barely tolerate his.

Liz tells me that I once verbally ripped Mark a new fecal exhaust port, in front of his parents even. I don't remember this, although I'd like to. We just have very little to do with them, and since they're not living in the same town anymore, that works for us. But since Arlen calls Liz several times a week ranting about Mark, I frequently get a call from Liz saying "You will NOT believe what Mark just did NOW."

I suppose I took it to heart when, before JJ and I married, I heard the advice about not going to your family with your marital problems. I never have. When we fight the children don't even know it, much less my family or friends. And perhaps my sisters believe all is wonderful and perfect here in the Fishbowl. I don't really know what they think. What I do know is that they have no memories of JJ being a jerk or hearing about how he did this awful thing or how I nearly plucked out his eyes over that.

I'm a little tired of hearing about the same boorish awful behavior from Mark and of Arlen's persistent whine. A few months ago, the D(ivorce) word was thrown around between them, and I wondered how long that fad would last. So far, it's still flying, and yet nothing changes. As alien as he is to me, she's even more so. We grew up in the same house, had the same parents, and she's completely happy with being unhappy. I'll never understand it; and as long as I don't have to hear it, I think I'll just get the Reader's Digest version if anything happens.

And God help her if she ever complains to me about him. The reaming he got will look like a trip to a spa.