Chris: I stumbled on Keenan's very
good blog via Mastodon repost about
his podcast, and then I read his post
titled, I've Missed Sam for a long
time, or Pick Your Battles while I Sip
my Coffee on the Couch this morning.
In the Post, he tells stories of his
cousin Sam and the ways their lies
intersected as they grew up, moved
apart, played video games, navigating
complex family relationships and loss.
I found myself identifying with parts of
Keenan's story, particularly how the story
opens with Keenan moving away from Sam.
As a small child, I didn't know how
to conceptualize the distance between
Elburn Illinois and Tempe, Arizona.
I knew that it was far enough
that they may as well have moved
to a completely different planet.
I knew that my cousin, my favorite
cousin, would no longer be a part of my
life in the same way he had until then.
It was my first experience with
loss and it was devastating.
End quote,
my own parents moved for our fam.
My own parents moved our family from
Winnipeg, Manitoba, where I was born to
come to Saskatoon, Saskatchewan for a
job coaching the men's volleyball team.
My dad was starting at the
University of Saskatchewan.
It was the summer before I started
grade one, and I remember thinking
I just lost my entire world.
My entire extended family
lived in and around Winnipeg.
My cousin Russ, who is the same
age as me, lived in Winnipeg.
We couldn't know each other anymore if
I didn't also live in Winnipeg anymore.
It is interesting to me how the life I
had for the first seven years of my life
still feels as meaningful as the 40 plus
years since and speaks to the power of
childhood experiences and memories to
imprint on us for the rest of our life.
Later in his post, Keenan writes about
his aunt and uncle Sam's parents.
Both of his parents were honestly
deeply unpleasant people to be around.
They specialized in mean-spirited
ribbing going out of their way to
question criticize and mock people
for their opinions, their looks,
or their beliefs didn't matter.
If it could be picked apart, it was fair
game, and they were of course, quick to
take offense if anyone pushed back against
their mockery in any way, lamenting
the fragility of those they picked on,
even if the people they bullied were
literal children like I was in the vast
majority of my interactions with them.
You're so sensitive.
Learn to take a joke
distilled into human form.
You know the type the people who
compensate for their overwhelmingly
mediocrity by doubling down on
condescension, who dig their heels
so deeply into the ground, and
even the slightest whiff of descent
people so thoroughly convinced of
their own infallibility that anyone
poking holes into the veil should
be met with vicious contempt.
If it was possible to chisel and polish
arrogance, my aunt and uncle could
produce the statue of David out of it.
End quote.
I felt conflicting emotions as I read
paragraphs like this in Keenan's Post.
I was shocked how adults could treat a kid
that way, particularly their own family.
I also felt uncomfortable at catching
a glimpse of my own extended family
and myself in being quick to take
offense if anyone pushed back on
questioning or criticizing others.
To be clear, not the
bullying of children, I,
he's allowed to say that
out loud on the internet.
Now some 600 words into this post.
I finally get to the
purpose of writing it.
The other emotion I felt was how can
Keenan share so openly about the bad stuff
that went on with family and friends?
Not that I'm judging him for writing
about it, but I've often wondered
how bloggers and podcasters navigate
telling stories of their own past.
That include not only the amazing
cool things that have happened,
but also the dark things that
exist in every family's closet.
It is not that, I don't know how to
put the words on the internet, but
how do you write it and then not
deal with months or years of backlash
or anger from the family or friends
involved in the story you shared.
Even just slipping in a vague reference
to my own family in the previous
paragraph, has me hovering over
the sentence tempted to delete it.
One starting point, I suppose, is for me
to think about how I would feel if one
of my siblings parents or my children
started writing or talking more publicly,
blog, Instagram stories, podcast episodes,
et cetera, about their experiences and
included things I had done or said.
Obviously, if it was flattering
or positive, it's a pretty
easy thing to be okay with.
But if they talked about how
I'd hurt someone with my words
or actions highlighted me at
a low or my worst moments.
I try to value authenticity as
well as vulnerability, and if
I'm gonna encourage that in those
around me, it's gonna be messy.
Sometimes I'd like to think that if
someone did write something, I'd take
the time to listen process and understand
where they're coming from and what I did
or said that caused them to feel that way.
I'd like to think that I'd respond
graciously, even if there are
inaccuracies in their experiences.
I'd like to think that is doing
a lot of heavy lifting there,
but I know based on how I treat
my own family, that my first
response would be a defensive one.
My quote, but if you just understood my
intentions, you'd see why end quote nerve
gets hit so easily that I don't even see
it happening until it's way too late.
And we're 20 minutes into an
argument about my intentions, even
if my words or actions were so very
different than what I'm declaring, my
intentions were all while completely
trampling on how the other person
actually felt because of my words or
actions, regardless of my intentions.
Reflecting on the past instead
of writing the present.
Going back to Keenan's Post, I
appreciate how much of himself is in
the story he tells of his cousin Sam.
He writes about his thoughts, emotions,
and physical body responding to the things
happening with his family, and he's able
to do that well because time has passed.
And then he finished his voicemail
with a simple, I just wanna make
sure you know that I love you, man.
I love you, man.
Those words echo in my skull.
Relentless reverberations of a
disembodied voice whose exact frequency
I can conjure up at a moment's notice.
No matter how much time has
passed, I can hear him say it.
It means so much because
I know he meant it.
The seething ceases.
I'm back in my body.
I call my aunt on the
phone, she apologizes.
I apologize for losing my Cool.
We make amends End.
And that's perhaps the biggest lesson
I need to learn about sharing stories
from my life that involve others.
It can be dangerous to share about
something happening right now.
An ongoing conflict or hurtful interaction
that's probably best left for personal
journals, therapy sessions, and direct
conversations with the people involved.
But when time has passed to the point that
I can look back on experiences with the
humility and awareness to the point that I
don't get dragged down into the full depth
of emotions the experience gave me at
the time, maybe it's okay to write about
it with the knowledge that it's still
important to share from my perspective.
I'm left reminiscing about all the ways
this ghost helped shape me into who I am
today and how much I wish I could tell
him one last time how much he meant to me.
I miss Sam.
End quote,