Thoughts from reading "Jumper" (Jan. 12)
Note: I borrowed a book from the library, Jumper. I was looking for something that would relate to what I was going through, but in a less intense way. Something about Jumper stuck out to me. And boy, was I right! It ended up bringing up a lot of thoughts and memories to help me on my journey.
Point form notes:
- I watched the movie teen years ago, and something about it stuck with me. I didn’t like the movie, but couldn’t forget it. So I thought it may connect with my story
- The character has two parents: an alcoholic father and a mother that is absent for most of the movie. At the end, we find that she is part of a sect sworn to kill all jumpers (the main character can teleport at will). Her only kindness was first to leave. Later, to give her son a head start before she hunted him to the death. This good/evil mother theme seemed to resonate
Some things that stood out...
1. Disciplined with a belt
I do not remember ever being spanked. But know for a fact that my dad used his black leather belt to do it.
2. Vague sense of guilt
The character always feels like he is in trouble. He has brief, mildly negative interactions with people and feels beaten down. He keeps internally yelling at himself “not I didn’t do anything wrong!!” Yet still struggles with these feelings. I sense that he feels this way because his father disciplined him capriciously and ruthlessly. At random times, which he could not always predict, he would be found guilty, and thrashed. This gave him the feeling that all people, esp authoritative men were always mad at him, or just biding their time before they exploded with disciplinary wrath
3. Violent and vulgar sexuality
In only the first two chapters, the character is nearly raped twice. The incidents are described vividly, with emphasis on the stink and yuck of the situation.
He seems to carry a sense of defilement with him. Where is it from? From an “incestuous emotional connection” to his mother? Was he really rapped? Or does this somehow emerge from such a childhood? Both anger and sexuality become repressed, tangle together, and emerge as dark, shameful fantasies?
Shame seems to cling to him. For no apparent reason. I definitely resonate with that.
4. Mowing the lawn
In the book, Davie (the protagonist) had to mow the lawn, from the age of 11. When he leaves home, it simply isn’t done, and grows wild. He reminisces about how his dad would order him to mow, while sitting on the porch drinking beer, and pointing out spots he had missed.
My dad was not that bad. However, something about this connects. We have chores for our own kids, but there is not the same severity about it. I’m not sure how, exactly.
I remember my dad sitting in his chair. He was kind of lazy in a way, although he made sure we knew that he had worked a hard day’s work (which, to his credit, he did work hard at his job). But maintenance around the house, and the vehicles, and house chores all fell by the wayside. He would say things like, “I’ve worked hard all day. Now, you need to go mow the lawn."
One time, our dishwasher broke. It stayed broken a long time. Dad said, “I’ve worked hard all day. I’m not going to fix it. You guys fix it. It is for doing your dishes.” We were teens, but had no idea how to start. Also, there were three of us. So whose job was it exactly to fix it? If I tried and made it worse, that would be my fault. And so we just did dishes by hand, and it stayed broken.
He was like that. When things were “not his problem,” he didn’t lift a finger to help. I am guessing that is why he didn’t do much cleaning either. He did cook, maybe because he liked it. If he started cleaning, it was usually not a good situation. He would get so mad things would go flying, and mom would drag herself out of whatever health drama she was in to say, “it’s OK, it’s OK…you don’t have to. I’ll clean!”
I don’t do any of these things with our kids. They are to do chores. But I think that I set the example by working hard. I don’t sit in a chair and say, “I’ve worked hard all day — now you go mow the grass.”
5. “Modulate your voice”
Davie reminisces briefly about his mom. He remembers how she told him, “Modulate your voice, Davie.” He remembers this as a kind thing. “So much nicer than saying, ‘shut up’ or ‘shut your f— mouth’ like dad would say…”
As I read it, I thought, “Yes, but his mom is still telling him the same thing. They are on vacation, and she wants him to be quiet, because his voice is ruining their trip.”
Something about that resonates as well, although it is less well defined.
6. A very low self-image…super-powers
Davie has very low self-image. Then, he gets super-powers, and starts to feel better about himself. Like, maybe if he has super-powers, he is OK.
This resonates. I remember thinking I had super powers as a young boy (ability to be invisible…ability to make things fly with my mind…ability to read other people’s minds). Sometimes, these thoughts would come back even as a teen. I often pursued things in a very focused way, learning music and other things faster than others. (I was an "over-achiever") This sometimes became my “super-power.”
I think that being raised without having one’s core worth as a human validated leads to this aching low self worth. And so there is a need to over-compensate by being “amazing” at something. This has not always been bad: I have gotten legitimately good at a few things. Would I have gotten good at them if I didn’t have a need to over-perform? Perhaps I could have, without the negative baggage associated, such as being too hard on myself, being highly competitive, being down on myself when I failed, and being ecctatic/euphoric (then crashing) when I had a success. I also tended to be "annoying" at things. For example, when I played the bass, I was continually told to "tone it down." I had a showy way of playing, which some people liked, but some found very distracting, especially in worship music. I just wanted to be noticed. I wanted to be "amazing." I needed to be...
7. In the way
Davie describes times when he was “in the way” when his father wanted to have sex with his mom, in a small hotel room. He was told to go and wait in the lobby for half an hour “while they did it.” The act was remembered as ugly and unwanted by his mother.
This makes me feel the sense of “in the way.”
It makes me think of a young man, in love with a woman. But then these kids come along, and they’re in the way when he wants to have his desires satisfied. What damage is done, when a child is not celebrated, but is made to feel that “they are in the way?”
I find it significant that my first imagined “super-power” was invisibility. Maybe this isn’t significant, because I have seen our own kids imagine they are invisible. Maybe that is just a normal thing. Or maybe not.
Maybe I felt the need to be invisible, because I was in the way? Felt embarrassed at the huge inconvenience that I caused?
I think (with sadness) about the fact that my brother has mentioned on several occasions that he did not want his youngest: but his wife did. And so he said, “OK, fine. I am getting a motorbike.” What damage will it cause if this attitude is detected by his later child? Did he learn this attitude from our father?
He described to me what it was like as a very young adult, not knowing much about birth control, and suddenly having kids. “If only someone had explained more options to me, my life would have been different.” He has said on multiple occasions that he had plans, things he wanted to do. Then he had a kid…”Well, that’s postponed for 18 years…” then another “OK, another three years…” then two more, much later.
All of “his” life, his desires put on hold. In a way, that is noble. In a way…does he exude a sense of resentment? Does this come out to his kids?
Is this a repeat of how dad parented us?
I think of a mutual friend. He hoad this wry, dry insulting sort of humour. It was very funny. But if you wrote down what he said, it would be shocking. I asked him for work one time as a teen, and he said something like, “You better not touch my wife!” I was very embarrassed by the comment, which was his intent. When I stuttered that I wouldn’t, he said, “naw, I wouldn’t mind anyways.” The guys laughed — at my discomfort, and his whit, but it was a weird incident. He wasn’t exuding a love, or desire for his wife. He was like this with his kids too.
I heard through another source how one time, one of his sons got stuck in the slimes. (Thick, bottomless mud produced by our local industry and left in the forests around town) “Dad, help” The boy was up to his ankles. His dad came and said, “you're OK.” He kept crying out for help, and his father was just completely emotionally disconnected. Enough that it was noticeable, and funny. This was what made people laugh at him: his way of being “there,” yet completely, hilariously, detached. Finally, when his son was up to his armpits (or maybe his neck) in mud, and thoroughly terrified, his father pulled him out.
Why do I think of this? My dad would have pulled us out sooner: especially if there were people around.
But I feel like there is a similarity here, that my subconscious wants to speak to me about. That attitude of cool detachment of a father to a son. “It wasn’t my idea to have this child…I agreed to raise it because of his mother. …I’m here because I have to…”
Is that perhaps why my father exposed us to so many needless risks? Did so so casually? Because somewhere inside, he just didn’t really feel connected to us? Didn’t really care?
Is this why mom says she felt so much anxiety? Because she feared that we were not really safe when dad took us out on adventures in the wild?
I'm just playing with these thoughts. Of course, nobody can really know what goes on inside the heart of another. But it is interesting...
8. Not there to play
I ran out of time to journal at this point.
Point form notes:
- I watched the movie teen years ago, and something about it stuck with me. I didn’t like the movie, but couldn’t forget it. So I thought it may connect with my story
- The character has two parents: an alcoholic father and a mother that is absent for most of the movie. At the end, we find that she is part of a sect sworn to kill all jumpers (the main character can teleport at will). Her only kindness was first to leave. Later, to give her son a head start before she hunted him to the death. This good/evil mother theme seemed to resonate
Some things that stood out...
1. Disciplined with a belt
I do not remember ever being spanked. But know for a fact that my dad used his black leather belt to do it.
2. Vague sense of guilt
The character always feels like he is in trouble. He has brief, mildly negative interactions with people and feels beaten down. He keeps internally yelling at himself “not I didn’t do anything wrong!!” Yet still struggles with these feelings. I sense that he feels this way because his father disciplined him capriciously and ruthlessly. At random times, which he could not always predict, he would be found guilty, and thrashed. This gave him the feeling that all people, esp authoritative men were always mad at him, or just biding their time before they exploded with disciplinary wrath
3. Violent and vulgar sexuality
In only the first two chapters, the character is nearly raped twice. The incidents are described vividly, with emphasis on the stink and yuck of the situation.
He seems to carry a sense of defilement with him. Where is it from? From an “incestuous emotional connection” to his mother? Was he really rapped? Or does this somehow emerge from such a childhood? Both anger and sexuality become repressed, tangle together, and emerge as dark, shameful fantasies?
Shame seems to cling to him. For no apparent reason. I definitely resonate with that.
4. Mowing the lawn
In the book, Davie (the protagonist) had to mow the lawn, from the age of 11. When he leaves home, it simply isn’t done, and grows wild. He reminisces about how his dad would order him to mow, while sitting on the porch drinking beer, and pointing out spots he had missed.
My dad was not that bad. However, something about this connects. We have chores for our own kids, but there is not the same severity about it. I’m not sure how, exactly.
I remember my dad sitting in his chair. He was kind of lazy in a way, although he made sure we knew that he had worked a hard day’s work (which, to his credit, he did work hard at his job). But maintenance around the house, and the vehicles, and house chores all fell by the wayside. He would say things like, “I’ve worked hard all day. Now, you need to go mow the lawn."
One time, our dishwasher broke. It stayed broken a long time. Dad said, “I’ve worked hard all day. I’m not going to fix it. You guys fix it. It is for doing your dishes.” We were teens, but had no idea how to start. Also, there were three of us. So whose job was it exactly to fix it? If I tried and made it worse, that would be my fault. And so we just did dishes by hand, and it stayed broken.
He was like that. When things were “not his problem,” he didn’t lift a finger to help. I am guessing that is why he didn’t do much cleaning either. He did cook, maybe because he liked it. If he started cleaning, it was usually not a good situation. He would get so mad things would go flying, and mom would drag herself out of whatever health drama she was in to say, “it’s OK, it’s OK…you don’t have to. I’ll clean!”
I don’t do any of these things with our kids. They are to do chores. But I think that I set the example by working hard. I don’t sit in a chair and say, “I’ve worked hard all day — now you go mow the grass.”
5. “Modulate your voice”
Davie reminisces briefly about his mom. He remembers how she told him, “Modulate your voice, Davie.” He remembers this as a kind thing. “So much nicer than saying, ‘shut up’ or ‘shut your f— mouth’ like dad would say…”
As I read it, I thought, “Yes, but his mom is still telling him the same thing. They are on vacation, and she wants him to be quiet, because his voice is ruining their trip.”
Something about that resonates as well, although it is less well defined.
6. A very low self-image…super-powers
Davie has very low self-image. Then, he gets super-powers, and starts to feel better about himself. Like, maybe if he has super-powers, he is OK.
This resonates. I remember thinking I had super powers as a young boy (ability to be invisible…ability to make things fly with my mind…ability to read other people’s minds). Sometimes, these thoughts would come back even as a teen. I often pursued things in a very focused way, learning music and other things faster than others. (I was an "over-achiever") This sometimes became my “super-power.”
I think that being raised without having one’s core worth as a human validated leads to this aching low self worth. And so there is a need to over-compensate by being “amazing” at something. This has not always been bad: I have gotten legitimately good at a few things. Would I have gotten good at them if I didn’t have a need to over-perform? Perhaps I could have, without the negative baggage associated, such as being too hard on myself, being highly competitive, being down on myself when I failed, and being ecctatic/euphoric (then crashing) when I had a success. I also tended to be "annoying" at things. For example, when I played the bass, I was continually told to "tone it down." I had a showy way of playing, which some people liked, but some found very distracting, especially in worship music. I just wanted to be noticed. I wanted to be "amazing." I needed to be...
7. In the way
Davie describes times when he was “in the way” when his father wanted to have sex with his mom, in a small hotel room. He was told to go and wait in the lobby for half an hour “while they did it.” The act was remembered as ugly and unwanted by his mother.
This makes me feel the sense of “in the way.”
It makes me think of a young man, in love with a woman. But then these kids come along, and they’re in the way when he wants to have his desires satisfied. What damage is done, when a child is not celebrated, but is made to feel that “they are in the way?”
I find it significant that my first imagined “super-power” was invisibility. Maybe this isn’t significant, because I have seen our own kids imagine they are invisible. Maybe that is just a normal thing. Or maybe not.
Maybe I felt the need to be invisible, because I was in the way? Felt embarrassed at the huge inconvenience that I caused?
I think (with sadness) about the fact that my brother has mentioned on several occasions that he did not want his youngest: but his wife did. And so he said, “OK, fine. I am getting a motorbike.” What damage will it cause if this attitude is detected by his later child? Did he learn this attitude from our father?
He described to me what it was like as a very young adult, not knowing much about birth control, and suddenly having kids. “If only someone had explained more options to me, my life would have been different.” He has said on multiple occasions that he had plans, things he wanted to do. Then he had a kid…”Well, that’s postponed for 18 years…” then another “OK, another three years…” then two more, much later.
All of “his” life, his desires put on hold. In a way, that is noble. In a way…does he exude a sense of resentment? Does this come out to his kids?
Is this a repeat of how dad parented us?
I think of a mutual friend. He hoad this wry, dry insulting sort of humour. It was very funny. But if you wrote down what he said, it would be shocking. I asked him for work one time as a teen, and he said something like, “You better not touch my wife!” I was very embarrassed by the comment, which was his intent. When I stuttered that I wouldn’t, he said, “naw, I wouldn’t mind anyways.” The guys laughed — at my discomfort, and his whit, but it was a weird incident. He wasn’t exuding a love, or desire for his wife. He was like this with his kids too.
I heard through another source how one time, one of his sons got stuck in the slimes. (Thick, bottomless mud produced by our local industry and left in the forests around town) “Dad, help” The boy was up to his ankles. His dad came and said, “you're OK.” He kept crying out for help, and his father was just completely emotionally disconnected. Enough that it was noticeable, and funny. This was what made people laugh at him: his way of being “there,” yet completely, hilariously, detached. Finally, when his son was up to his armpits (or maybe his neck) in mud, and thoroughly terrified, his father pulled him out.
Why do I think of this? My dad would have pulled us out sooner: especially if there were people around.
But I feel like there is a similarity here, that my subconscious wants to speak to me about. That attitude of cool detachment of a father to a son. “It wasn’t my idea to have this child…I agreed to raise it because of his mother. …I’m here because I have to…”
Is that perhaps why my father exposed us to so many needless risks? Did so so casually? Because somewhere inside, he just didn’t really feel connected to us? Didn’t really care?
Is this why mom says she felt so much anxiety? Because she feared that we were not really safe when dad took us out on adventures in the wild?
I'm just playing with these thoughts. Of course, nobody can really know what goes on inside the heart of another. But it is interesting...
8. Not there to play
I ran out of time to journal at this point.
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