#I do not use the term ‘druggie’ or agree with that language

[batwynn]

Sooo I’m watching an entire facebook group full of trump and cop dick suckers lose their entire minds right now.

Everyone in my very red area just went from “blue lives matter” circle jerking to “maybe we should not have given the local police 7 billion dollars” veeeery quickly when it came out that one of them just straight up killed a guy everyone liked and almost got away with it. 🤔 Wild how fast the opinion changes when it’s them murdering a likable white guy who didn’t qualify for the “oh he’s just a druggie” apathy special. It sure feels like something.

[whetstonefires]

Do you think the DC fandom maybe, Infantilizes Tim a little too much? Like for a rich kid character who's main trauma for a long time was a getting left home alone too much there's an oddly amount of meta abt how much how much his parents hurt him~ compared to, y'know the two poor characters who grew up with physically abusive dad's+druggie mom's, or the two that were raised assassin cult's, etc

…well, yeah, I do kind of think that? His whole schtick for so long was being too old for his age in ways that didn’t sacrifice his jokey, relatable teenager energies. It’s weird how little of that we see anymore, sometimes.

And then DC broke him and discarded him and he’s sort of awkwardly hanging around getting reimagined as more woobie with every fan generation. It is weird!

But tbh I do get it. And I think the reason his parents’ failure of him and his vulnerability get played up so much, and Jason and Steph’s sufferings (while used a lot for things like motivation and context) not dwelt on quite so much in the same lugubrious style, are kind of the same reason.

Which is that canon didn’t commit to it. Jason and Steph’s experiences with bad parenting were foregrounded and retconned more dramatically awful several times. (There’s some definite classism in how that was approached imo, and I’m never budging on being mad about DC retconning out Catherine being sick and then ignoring her forever in all Jason characterization because a drug death invalidates a person ig, great message during the opioid crisis guys.)

They engaged and coped with it–Steph (and Cass, our #1 canon batfam parental abuse victim) pretty directly, Jason a little less so because of the dubious and fluctuating canon status of most of the content more specific than ‘poverty, homelessness, theft, parental drugs and crime in there somewhere,’ so most of his parent issues have been focused on Bruce. He sure has dug into them tho. 😂 Rarely well or productively, thanks DC, but it’s explicitly part of his character, is my point.

Whereas upper-middle-class Tim was always treated by the narrative as fortunate and unharmed by his experiences with his parents. Even though they were clearly behaving badly in several ways, and Tim showed signs of being harmed by it.

Tim outside of immediate moments of frustration always was of the opinion he was Fine, and Very Fortunate Actually.

Therefore a huge chunk of the numerous everyone who’s got parent-related mental and emotional harm, but has struggled to have that validated and hasn’t responded with a lot of anger toward the parent, identifies with Tim. The only one who’s never really lashed out at his parents for fucking up with him. The one who still needs it explored, because canon ultimately didn’t.

[editing post to put in a readmore because lol it’s long, post otherwise unchanged]

(Dick obviously didn’t ever have any Issues with the Graysons, but he Angry Teenagered at Bruce so hard it changed Bruce’s characterization permanently, rip.)

The things Jason, Steph, and Cass have been through are dramatic, obvious, and fit stereotypes because that’s what they’re based on.

That’s important content to have, but because it’s right out there in your face even people who identify with it quite a lot are less likely to feel the need to work all the way through it again in fanworks. That part’s there. It’s text.

(Well actually Jason having been physically abused kind of wasn’t? I think? It was mostly assumed on the basis of stereotyping and Jason’s not caring about the man much even as he felt possessive of information about his death, which is valid. I don’t actually know what’s up with Willis now, Lobdell did some weird shit that lacked emotional resonance or staying power because he’s Lobdell and has no soul.

Cass’ wandering years are also ludicrously underdeveloped. But very very few comics fans or writers can personally relate to being amazing child warriors with no grasp of language living feral under bridges. That part of her life is consistently represented in terms of absences, in terms of its deviation from the norm and the deficits of normality it left her with, which is typical but unfortunate.) 

-

The interesting things to do with these characters are often informed by the bad stuff in their childhoods, but there’s relatively rarely that much more to say about the fact that those things were bad. They know they’re bad. They’ve had a lot of on-panel rage about it, as discussed above. Steph and Cass both beat the shit out of their dads.

Jason is, in fandom especially, a sort of Platonic ideal of a kid who’s mad about his bad childhood and really bad at figuring out where to point that rage.

(Damian is a whole other kettle of fish, because he’s been lumbered by so many detailed retcons coming so fast no two people can seem to construct compatible models of what his early childhood was like, and even more because he’s still ‘a child’ enough that he’s necessarily in a different stage of processing than someone who’s officially only a few years older than him at this point, but still functionally 8 and also 20 years older, and whose parents are no longer in the picture to continue screwing up.

Also there’s no question that if he brings up an abusive thing the League did, he will be validated by his current environment about his realization that it was in fact bad. There’s a lot of fic on that theme! But it doesn’t have the same tone precisely because it is usually understood that that support will be there if he wants it. Realizing that his previous context contained things that were wrong keeps being made the focus of his arc.)

The badness of Tim’s childhood, on the other hand, was mainly in subtext. Even when we were clearly meant to understand Jack was fucking up, like when he canceled plans with Tim at the last minute to go on a date with Tim’s stepmother, or that infamous time he came to apologize for not being a great parent and got mad Tim was distracted by a crisis on TV so he flew into a rage and took the TV and smashed it and was like ‘that’ll teach you,’ it wasn’t leaned into.

The story didn’t treat Jack as a minor villain to be overcome but like a sort of environmental hazard of childhood, like homework, to be endured and coped with. Tim said things like ‘it’s fine’ and ‘at least he left the computer.’

(And like. It’s not about having a TV and computer in his room. It’s about not letting a child have boundaries, pointedly not respecting a child’s possessions, creating an emotionally insecure environment, punishing minor infractions in proportion to their momentary impact on your own ego, physically lashing out at a proxy for the child…)

Rather like Tom King later didn’t understand about the punching from Bruce, whoever did that story (probably Dixon? I don’t care enough to check) did not understand how serious a case of bad parenting that scene was. That is most definitely textbook abusive behavior. (It’s a hell of a lot more common abusive behavior than being a lame supervillain or shooting you when you screw up, and a lot more specific than ‘was a thug, might have hit me, dead now.’)

And Tim was never allowed to be mad at his parents about it. It was fine. He needed to be ignored so he had the freedom to be Robin. He deserved his dad being mad at him because he was keeping secrets. He complained too much, although objectively he did not.

The universe punished him for ‘complaining,’ more than once. We cut straight from him shunting aside his disappointment that his postcard from his parents was just to say they weren’t coming home yet after all with ‘if it will stop all the fights they’ve been having lately it’s more than fine’ to them getting kidnapped.

He agreed not to come on the rescue mission. His mom never made it home, and his dad was in a coma for a while. And then ultimately Jack died as a result of Tim’s decision to be Robin, immediately after finally deciding to accept it.

So Tim walks around feeling a huge burden of responsibility for his parents’ deaths, and completely unable to process any hurt they did him as real or valid, especially in comparison with the far more blatant awfulness other people have been through, and canon is clearly never going to address it. Or even acknowledge it properly.

Let me repeat that because it’s kind of my main point:

People are fixated on getting Tim’s emotional abuse validated because that’s an incredibly important step in recovering from emotional abuse, and it’s one canon consistently denied him.

How ‘bad’ things are ‘in comparison to’ problems other people have is a bad and unhealthy way to engage with trauma. Okay? That’s just a really harmful framework to apply to pain.

It’s also a way that both Tim and people with experiences similar to Tim’s are encouraged to engage with their own experiences, compounding the existing problems.

So. Not a form of relatable DC was ever actually aiming for when they tried so hard (and pretty effectively) to make him a relatable character as Robin, but an enduring one for a lot of fans.

-

So Tim’s childhood is a natural target for fanworks in a different way than the traumas that have been made explicit and taken seriously by the text. And then a lot of that got compounded by the way the introduction of Damian as Robin was handled, and the lack of resolution that got. And his current status as not quite having a place in the family anymore.

So between the level of projection encouraged by that context and how relatively difficult to access Tim’s Robin run has become ten years after the fact, this has led to a lot of fanworks on these themes that are based mostly on other fanworks, and stray further and further from the original content.

So at this point there’s an entire wing of Tim’s fandom wherein this side of him has expanded enormously, and he primarily exists to suffer, frequently in ways that 1) escalate to a point that is inarguably ‘valid’ and hard to dismiss and 2) set him up to rebound from it in whatever way the writer finds emotionally satisfying or useful–being ultimately cared for and reassured by people who value him (the most infantilizing option but like, popular for obvious reasons), or unveiling his brilliant scheme that was causing him to pretend to be passive in the face of mistreatment, or turning around and using his genius ninja skills to wrest power back from his abusers, or just laying down some sick burns about being treated fairly.

But not that many of the last one, because that’s mostly done with other batfam members.

Tim’s become a vehicle for a lot of vicarious coping that Steph and Jason just aren’t appropriate for, because they get angry and they get even. And those are stories that exist already, so there’s less scope for telling your own.

And because Jason’s reaction pattern is ultimately so masculine (i’ll make them all sorry! with my guns! blam blam!) while Tim’s is pretty gender-neutral, the demographics of fanfic mean that the bulk of the people using Tim vicariously in this manner are female-aligned, which has over time feminized this archetype of him a lot. Sometimes in ways I find really uncomfortable, like there’s a lot of forced pregnancy stuff which activates my panic buttons. x.x

But, ultimately, it’s fandom. People are going to do what they’re going to do, DC in their perpetual fail has hung Tim out to dry in narrative terms, and I’d rather the people who are using Tim for victimization narratives over the people who can’t dismiss or discredit him fast enough now that his position has been filled. 🤷‍♀️ What we gonna do? Fave’s in an awkward spot. DC hates us. This is the life in this comic book pit. XD

-

Also if you’re the same anon who left me a callout about op of that weird Steph post in my inbox, or if you aren’t @ that person, 1) I refuse to get involved so I’m not answering that ask 2) those aren’t even particularly dramatic fandom crimes? That’s pretty normal? That’s just…Caring Too Much About Ships And Disagreeing With Me.

Do I also feel those opinions are kinda bad? Yeah. But I disagree with everyone about something. Chill.

[thelastspeecher]

Angela Pines AU - The Favorite

I had another bit that I was going to write before I posted this, but I spent a good chunk of my day today working on a job application and I’m craving some sweet, sweet writer’s validation, so I’m posting it now.

(Btw, a reminder, I wouldn’t mind an ask or two for this AU...nudge nudge wink wink.)

———————————————————————————————————–

              “Mr. and Mrs. Pines?”  Filbrick and Caryn looked over at Angie’s kindergarten teacher. “May I have a word with you?”

              “Fine, but you better make it quick,” Filbrick rumbled, crossing his arms.  The teacher glanced at Angie, obediently standing with her parents.

              “Alone.”

              “Go play with your friends for a bit, angel,” Caryn said.  She gently shooed Angie away.  At five, she was firmly settled in with the family, despite looking less and less like a Pines with every passing day.  Her hair was golden and silky, unlike the Pines dark brown curls, and it was already evident she would be slender, not broad-shouldered.

              “What is it?” Filbrick asked the teacher.

              “Well, I had my suspicions on Angela’s first day of class, but I decided to wait until the first week was over to be sure.”

              “Be sure of what?” Caryn asked.

              “Your daughter is remarkably advanced for her age. The only other child I’ve seen as intelligent as her was your son, Stanford.”  Filbrick and Caryn exchanged a look.  They’d noticed Angie’s smarts, but weren’t sure whether they were imagining it due to their fondness for the girl.  “However, she has behavioral problems not unlike Stanley’s.”

              “My daughter’s behavior is perfect,” Filbrick growled.

              “She’s well-behaved, yes,” the teacher said, quickly backtracking.  “But she’s struggling to make friends with her classmates, and she’s hyperactive and distractible.”

              “All children her age are,” Caryn said.

              “Angela is more hyperactive and distractible than her classmates,” the teacher said firmly.  “I’m not sure why, but I wonder if it might be due to anxiety.  Anxiety in girls sometimes manifests in that way. Have you noticed her being particularly anxious at home?”

              “She had a traumatic event happen when she was three,” Caryn said after a moment.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if that caused her to have anxiety.”  The teacher nodded.

              “I’d recommend scheduling an appointment with her pediatrician, just to get her checked over.  The sooner she gets help, the better off she’ll be.”  The teacher walked away.  Angie, who had been watching the conversation curiously, rushed over.

              “What was that about?” she asked.  Filbrick ruffled her hair.

              “Nothing, angel.  Your teacher was just telling us how smart you are,” he said.  Angie beamed at him.  Her smile was gap-toothed right now, as she was just beginning to lose her baby teeth.  “C’mon, your brothers are waiting in the car.”  Angie eagerly ran off.

              “If she’s as smart as Stanford, Angie could be something great,” Caryn whispered to Filbrick as they followed at a more sedate pace.

              “We already knew she was special,” Filbrick rumbled.

              “Well, yes.  But a smart girl like her could be a splendid nurse.”  Filbrick tensed.

              “No.  No daughter of mine is gonna go into nursing.  I don’t want her dodging attacks from druggies or cleaning bedpans.”

              “Maybe a teacher, then,” Caryn suggested. Filbrick nodded.

              “Yes.  Teaching would be good for her.  We need better teachers in this world.”

              “Though, it’s worth mentioning that teaching doesn’t pay much.”

              “She’ll be able to land a doctor or lawyer.  Her husband can support her.”

              “That’s a good point.”  Caryn frowned thoughtfully.  “Hmm, maybe she could be an art or music teacher.  She likes singing and painting.”  Filbrick nodded again.

              “I agree.  We should do what we did for Stanford.  Sign her up for the things she’s good at, make sure that she becomes amazing at them.”

              “Yes.  We need to encourage her intellect.”  Caryn grabbed Filbrick’s hand and laced her fingers with his.  “We’re so blessed, Filly, to have such a wonderful family.” Filbrick grunted wordlessly in response, eliciting a soft chuckle from his wife.

-----

              Stan sat behind the counter, idly polishing new inventory for display.

              “Thank you!” Angie chirped cheerfully.  The customer she had been speaking to left. Angie looked up at the clock. “That’s the last one of the day.” She went over to the door and flipped the sign over to read “CLOSED”.

              “Stanley!” a voice shouted.  Stan sighed.  He looked over.

              “Yes, Pops?” he asked.  Filbrick, who had just come downstairs, glowered at him.

              “Why was your sister running register on her day off?”

              “She asked,” Stan said simply.  “And since she’s good at it, I figured she might as well.” He bit back the urge to point out that Angie was the only one who didn’t have to work in the shop every day. Filbrick sighed.  He looked at Angie.

              “Angel, on your day off, you shouldn’t be in the shop, fleecing rubes.  You should be practicing your painting.”

              “I like working in the shop,” Angie said. She took a deep breath.  “And, actually, Pops, I was thinking…”  She took another breath.  “I think I’d like to run the shop.  Once- once you step down.”

              “No,” Filbrick said shortly.  Stan’s eyes widened.  Very rarely was Filbrick so firm with Angie.  Judging by her expression, Angie was just as shocked as Stan. “Angela, running a shop like this is a man’s job.”  Angie clenched her hands into fists.

              “What- what makes you say that?”

              “You’re a very talented and wonderful young lady, but you won’t be able to take care of the shop like your brothers could.”

              “Why not?”

              “I already explained myself.  It needs a man to run it.  And when you get married, your last name won’t be Pines anymore anyways,” Filbrick said.  Angie ground her teeth.

              “Maybe I don’t want to get married,” she snarled. Filbrick stiffened.  “I’m the best one to run the shop!  I’m just as personable as Stan, just as smart as Ford, just as thorough as Sherm, and I can sell them all under the table!”

              “Those things don’t matter.”

              “Why not?!” Angie shouted.  Stan winced.  “Those are the things it takes to run the shop, and I have them!”

              “If you were a young man, maybe I’d let you take over someday, but you’re a young woman,” Filbrick said, his volume beginning to rise.  “You’re meant for something else.”

              “Like what, teaching?  You always say to hedge your bets, do the thing that has the highest likelihood of working out,” Angie argued.  “I don’t know if I’d be a good teacher.  I know for a fact that I’m good at taking care of the shop!”

              “Stop arguing with me like you know better than I do. You’re still a child.”

              “I’m thirteen, not three!”

              “That’s enough!” Filbrick roared.  Angie took a step back, visibly unnerved.  “I am your father, Angela Diane Pines.  You will do as I say and not complain about it.  Am I understood?”  Angie glared furiously.  “Am I understood?” Filbrick growled.  Angie’s shoulders tensed.

              “…Yes, sir,” she ground out.

              “Good.  Now, go to your room.  I’ll talk to your mother about how we’ll punish you for talking back like that.” Angie stormed past Stan and upstairs. Filbrick looked over at Stan. “Finish closing for the day.”

              “Yes, sir,” Stan said.  Filbrick went upstairs.  Stan sighed.  As he finished closing up the shop, he thought about Filbrick warning that Angie would get punished.  It was an empty threat, and everyone knew it.

              She won’t get punished.  They don’t punish her for anything.

-----

              “Stan, Ford?”  Stan and Ford looked up from their comic book and sketchbook, respectively.

              “What’s going on, Ang?” Stan asked.  Angie stood in the doorway of their bedroom, rubbing her arm nervously.

              “Um, I wanted your advice.”

              “Advice on what?” Ford asked.  Angie closed her eyes.

              “…Dealing with Pops,” she said quietly.  Stan burst into laughter.  Ford scowled down at Stan from the top bunk.

              “Stan!”

              “Can you blame me?” Stan asked.  “Angie’s the only one who’s always on Pops’ good side, and she wants advice on dealing with him?”

              “I’m not always on his good side,” Angie said.  She walked into the living room and sat on the bottom bunk bed, next to Stan. “Remember when I told him I wanted to run the shop?”

              “Yeah.  You yelled at him and didn’t get punished.”

              “But he didn’t let me do what I wanted.”

              “You might want to rephrase that, Angie,” Ford suggested gently.  Angie groaned loudly.

              “You know what I mean!  I asked to run the shop, and he told me, in no uncertain terms, that he wouldn’t let me.  And not for any real reason.  No, it’s because I’m a girl.”

              “Yeah, that was bullshit,” Stan said.

              “It was!” Angie said.  “It was absolute bullshit.”

              “Language,” Ford warned.  Angie glared at him.

              “Shut up.”

              “…Fair enough.”  Ford closed his sketchbook.  He climbed down to sit on the bottom bunk, on the other side of Angie.  “I’m guessing that what you want advice for is related to that argument?”

              “Yeah.”  Angie looked down at her feet.  “You guys know that Mom and Pops have things planned out for me and that they have their own ideas of what a girl like me should do.  Well, it’s mostly Pops who has those ideas.”

              “Yes, we’re very aware that the expectations Mom and Pops have of you are different from what they have of us,” Ford said.

              “They’re gonna have you be a teacher, for one thing,” Stan said.  Angie nodded.

              “Yeah, that’s what they want, but it’s not- it’s not what I want.”  She took a breath.  “I want to be an artist.”  Stan and Ford nodded.  “How am I supposed to tell Pops?”

              “Well, first off, remind him that you’re his baby girl,” Stan said.  “Use those big blue eyes of yours, wear something cute, and don’t hesitate to cry.”

              “That’s just what I normally do,” Angie said, rolling her eyes.  “I don’t think the method I use to get Pops to buy me new paints will work for this. I’m telling him that I don’t want to go into the career he’s had planned for me since I was little.”

              “You’re still little,” Stan said, ruffling Angie’s hair.  At this point, it was obvious that Angie would stay at her decidedly below average height; she had never even gotten a formal growth spurt, unlike her brothers. She pouted at him.  “But I know what you mean.  Hmm.  Ford?”

              “Use Pops’ emotions for you against him, yes,” Ford said after a moment.  “But also come in with a fully prepared argument.  Come up with an answer for any possible reason he might give that you should be a teacher.”  Angie nodded.

              “Anything else?”

              “Don’t raise your voice,” Ford said.  Stan nodded.

              “Yeah, I know you like to fight back, but that won’t get you anywhere with Pops.”

              “Got it.”

              “Don’t stress, Ang,” Stan said, putting a hand on her shoulder.  “If anyone could pull this off, it’d be you.  You’re the favorite, after all.”

              “Don’t say that,” Angie mumbled.  “It makes me feel weird.”

              “It’s the truth,” Ford said with a shrug. Angie scowled.

              “That doesn’t make it any better.”

-----

              Stan sat on the sidewalk where he had been thrown, the duffle bag in his lap heavy.  Tears pricked his eyes.

              Pops had a bag ready.  How long has he been planning on kicking me out?  He took a shuddering breath.  At least Angie didn’t see.  One of the most important tasks he had as an older brother was protecting his baby sister, and that included keeping her in the dark about how bad their father could get.  Stan slowly got to his feet.  The front door slammed open.

              “Stan!” Angie shouted, running out of the building. She tackled Stan in an enormous hug. “What’s- what’s going on?  I heard noise, and Ford said- he said that Pops-”

              “Angela Diane Pines, get back inside!” Filbrick rumbled, appearing in the doorway.  Stan stiffened in fear.  Angie spun around.  She stared at Filbrick with plaintive blue eyes.

              “Pops, is what Ford said true?  Are- are you really kicking Stan out?”

              “Angel, he has to be punished for what he’s done,” Filbrick said.  He walked over and took Angie’s hand.  “You should go back to bed, you don’t do well when you get woken up.”  Angie yanked her hand away.

              “How could you kick out your own son?” she whispered.

              “He ruined Stanford’s shot at that fancy school.”

              “But not on purpose!  Right, Stan?”

              “It- it was an accident,” Stan mumbled nervously. “I was pissed, but-”

              “If I don’t do anything, your brother won’t learn from his mistakes,” Filbrick said firmly.

              “Then punish him some other way!  Don’t put him on the street when he’s still a teenager!” Angie said fiercely.  Filbrick scowled.  Stan quailed, but Angie, who didn’t have much experience being on Filbrick’s bad side, didn’t back down.  “If you’re kicking him out, then- then you’re kicking me out, too!”  Angie grabbed Stan’s hand.  Filbrick’s face went slack.

              “Angie, don’t do this,” Stan whispered to her. “You’ve got a future.  You’re only fifteen!”

              “You’re only seventeen,” Angie said, her voice firm.  “And we’re Pines.”  She gripped Stan’s hand tighter.  “We stick together, even when the world’s against us.”  She looked back at Filbrick.  “Be prepared to lose your youngest son and only daughter, Pops.”

              “I…” Filbrick started.  Angie sniffled loudly.

              “I can’t stay with a father that I know is comfortable kicking out his own son, especially when- when-”  Angie’s voice got choked up. ��“When the son he kicked out was born his.  I wasn’t born yours, Pops.”  A few tears began to trace their way down Angie’s cheeks.  Filbrick finally caved.

              “Okay.  I won’t kick him out, angel.”  Filbrick pulled Angie into a tight embrace.  He glared at Stan.  “Go back upstairs.  You can stay, but you’re on thin ice.”  Stan bolted for the door.  When he got to his and Ford’s bedroom, Ford looked up from the West Coast Tech brochure he was staring at.

              “I see Angie convinced Pops to let you stay,” he said numbly.

              “Yeah.”  Stan dropped the duffle bag to the floor.  “She did.”

              “Pops is a fool for not wanting her to take over the shop, if she can get even him to back down.”  Ford threw the brochure in the trash, got up from his desk, and climbed into the top bunk.  He turned away from Stan.

              An hour later, Ford was sleeping, but Stan couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried.  The bedroom door slowly creaked open.  Stan sat up.  He squinted in the darkness.

              “Angie?”

              “Yeah.”  Angie quietly walked over.  She sat on the bed next to him.  “Are- are you all right?”

              “Are you?” Stan asked.  Angie looked at him, bemused.  “You shouldn’t have seen that.”

              “It shouldn’t have happened.”

              “That’s just how Pops is.  Honestly, I’m a bit surprised it’s taken him this long to wanna kick me out.”  Angie stared at him in shock.  “Angie, it’s okay.  I’m okay.”

              “It’s a good thing I was there,” Angie said softly. Stan’s stomach churned.

              “Yeah.”

              It is good she was there.  But why do I feel so weird about it?  Pops likes her best, this isn’t new information.

              “It sucks that you had to get caught in the crossfire.”

              “Hmm?  Oh, you mean when I started crying?” Angie asked.  Stan nodded.  Angie looked away.  “Those tears might have been fake.”  The churning in Stan’s stomach worsened.  “Don’t get me wrong, I was really upset by everything, but I was more angry than sad. It’s just that, well, you know how Pops gets when I cry.”

              “…Yeah.”

              He melts like your Barbie did when it got left in the car a few summers back.

              “Go back to bed,” Stan said after a moment. “He was right, you shouldn’t wake up and then fall back asleep, it’s not good for you.”

              “Fine.  But I did mean it.  Us Pines have to stick together.”  Angie kissed him on the cheek.  “Good night, best brother.”

              “Good night, best sister,” Stan replied.  Angie got up and left the bedroom, closing the door behind her.  Stan laid back down.  Tears sprang to his eyes.

              Why did it take my little sister crying to make Pops let me stay?

[flyingfloatingfree]

eSTRANGEd

There is something very strange I have noticed about estrangement.  I don’t exactly know why I do it but, I often read the pages and websites of estranged parents whose children have walked away. Maybe I am just nosy, maybe I want to try and understand from the other side, maybe I want to find an inkling of the loving mother I needed there or maybe I just need validation.  I definitely get validation. LOTS of it.  There are parents there who are clearly broken and devastated. There are parents there who are furious and bitter. It’s the second kind I want to talk about.  There are a few common themes that I have noticed that really break my heart and I just wanted to put them out there.  There is a lot of negative language about their own children. Ungrateful Liar Selfish Brat Cruel  Nasty Abusive Druggie  Crazy Hateful Ugly Useless Lazy Slutty Evil Possessed They will blame anyone but themselves.  The other parent.  Their child’s peers The partner in their child’s life.  Their own family.  They think they were perfect.  I see a lot of “We made mistakes, everyone does, no-one is perfect” but, this comes before a list of all the things they ever did that were wonderful. From the bitter and angry parents you never see a list of these “mistakes”. It seems as though that statement is just a socially acceptable norm. It is used in such a way as to garner sympathy from those reading it, not as an admission of guilt.  They aren’t sorry. They really aren’t sorry for any part they played in their child’s estrangement. Well, they don’t believe they played any. Their child grew up to be evil, perhaps they loved their child too much, spoiled them too much... because they were wonderful. Their child’s turn to the dark side (For want of a better expression) has nothing to do with their perfect upbringing where their parent sacrificed their own happiness to raise them. They don’t understand how this could have happened but, it definitely wasn’t their fault. Anything their child says is lies and must be disregarded.  They don’t believe mental abuse justifies estrangement. The most common thing I see goes along the lines of “Unless there was serious physical abuse that put you in a hospital more than once or serious sexual abuse there is no excuse for estrangement”. Yes I have seen that several times and the alarm bells are deafening. They often go on to say “You should always respect your parents above everyone”.  They get what they want and may then decide they don’t want it.  This one is the most saddening of all.  Their estranged child reaches out to them, they agree to meet and start again... This may be once or twice or a few times. There may be grandchildren involved. The grandchildren they were desperate to see, the grandchildren they never failed to send cards and presents too. Still though, those parents who are too bitter and angry, who said there was no excuse for estrangement, then decide they just cannot forgive. Their child hurt them too much by removing themselves from the family fold and doing nothing except refuse contact. They want no part of them. Suddenly the relationship ends on their terms and they feel vindicated in doing so. They estranged and that was the right thing to do. Children MUST respect parents but, the same is not true in reverse.  The other side. Yes, I see angry estranged children. I see them curse out their parents and call them names... but, the percentage is much much smaller.  Mostly what I see? Children, Adult children desperately trying to figure out why their own mothers can’t or don’t love them. Trying to find the fatal flaw in themselves and trying to stay removed from a situation they know has done them tremendous damage... both at the same time.  What they want? They want a loving parent child relationship. They want someone who supports them and loves them for who they are. They want someone who believes in them. They want to be heard and seen and wanted.  Can you see the difference?  <3

[venthouse]

I don't think I like my best friend of 8 years any more.

He's been super generous with me, both in the past and to this day. When my mother needed a laptop, he and his family let her have one of theirs. He covers dinner for me some nights, which I try to get back to him as soon as possible. He's given me stuff for years, and I know most of my social circle through him. I owe him a lot, for taking a chance on me in high school when I needed it.

But lately I've just felt so sick of him. He has a very brash personality, which was great when I was content to just slip through the cracks and be in the background of everything - even today I still feel kinda like that. But his language and behavior come off as aggressive sometimes, I can never get a word in when I'm hanging out with him in a larger group, he gets very hyperactive sometimes and just start singing songs at the top of his voice for no reason and he'll play these fucking head games with his mum where he pretends to get mad at her until she leaves him alone. His whole thing at home is to fuck with his family's emotions for fun.

Something that happened recently is that I was building myself up for a job interview. Applications open near the end of July, so I want to get my shit together. He sends me this ad for our local McDonald's - at which I had a fucking terrible interview a couple years ago that still haunts me to this day, when the guy interviewing me had to stand up and start serving people. Realistically, I need a job, so the help should be appreciated - but I have my eyes set on Bunnings, this national hardware chain that's about to open a massive store in my town.

The next time I see him, the topic comes up. And he makes some points I don't disagree with - start at McDonalds, interview for Bunnings, quit McDonalds if I get the Bunnings job. Okay - I'm feeling averse to McDonalds because of my prior experience and because my heart is set on Bunnings, but I understand that he's a friend just trying to help me out. I'm being stubborn here, and he's trying to help me.

But then he starts talking McDonalds up over Bunnings. Saying that McDonalds would be a better place to work at, talking about two of our high school friends who would go to work high during university and that it reflected badly on Bunnings that they were able to get away with that, and by saying that since I would be older than most of the people at McDonalds I would be eligible for management sooner than anyone else.

First of all, McDonalds is a high pressure kitchen environment, and I'm always tripping over my own feet. I think the pressure would get to me, and I don't think I can do that job. Bunnings is a retail store - not a walk in the park, but somewhere I think I would thrive in. I can get a passion for lumber and power tools and shit, and I can adjust until I'm great at that job - McDonalds seems like it would quicken my descent into alcoholism. It's a hard, stressful role that I interviewed for in the past and bombed at, which has left me with some baggage, and while I appreciate my friend's good intentions, I disagree that it would be a better place to work than Bunnings. To just say that like it's a fact felt kind of demeaning, like how could I ever think otherwise.

The second part - not my problem. Some stoner dipshits did a stoner dipshit thing in a university town. I don't think that reflects on the business, especially this new store that's about to open and staff dozens of people at once, and honestly - like McDonalds has never staffed druggy burnouts before. This shouldn't define whether someone gets a job there or not. The implication that McDonalds is a career starter while Bunnings is a dead end career felt especially pointed, and I really began to disagree with his larger point.

That last part I really doubt, just because I'm older doesn't mean they'll consider me for management over some younger kid who's worked there longer. It's at this point that I stop him, and I ask him why McDonalds suits me better than Bunnings. The resulting conversation involved him telling me I felt like I was "too good" for McDonalds. I understand it could have been an instance of tough love, but the way he was putting down the job I was building myself up to in order to frame his option as the better one just didn't sit well with me.

This is the first time in ages I've actively challenged something he's said. I don't always agree with him, and I make my own pithy comments from time to time, but for me to go "I don't agree with what you're saying, and I don't understand why you think this would be better than that" is fairly rare. I try to take everything in good faith and be open minded, but I outright disagreed with him here and it resulted in him trying to undercut my thing - a huge hardware store the size of a warehouse that's about to hire dozens of people at once - in favor of a MCDONALDS that has ALREADY REJECTED ME. I feel better applying for Bunnings, because it's a clean slate in every regard, but apparently that just makes me look stuck up.

Something that's a little more recent:

I've been talking to this girl. She lives in Canberra, which is a couple hours away, and she was back in town for the week. I have a good reason to believe we have a mutual interest in each other, but this week has been a fucking rollercoaster. She's been sick, so she cancelled on lunch twice before getting back to me later to try and make new plans, and of the two days I saw her around, I was too nervous to say anything of note. We messaged and snapchatted, including a talk about ghosts and religion at 2am, and I think we got along fine. This week didn't go as well as I was hoping, but circumstances were bad. Even now I'm pretty bummed out, but I got to say some stuff and have a conversation over text while she was here. I think I did the best that I could, given the circumstances, and under the same circumstances I wouldn't change a thing.

I'm walking home from another friend's place last night with my best friend. He asks me how I felt about the week and how I feel about this girl.

I have this thing where I'm afraid I'm not going to be understood. It's not like "this person's an idiot", it's "I'm going to slur my words or use the wrong turn of phrase like an idiot and they won't know what I'm saying". So I speak in the driest tone I can, and I use technical language to try and give the most accurate statement as I can. I also think in more technical language, so when I get kinda fancy with my words, it's because I've thought particularly hard about what I want to say.

So I start talking about like how circumstances and shit have been bad, so I've closed the lid on this for now. She's been sick, she's travelling home in the morning, I got to see her that night - that's it. That was her visit, and I made the most of it, and even if things didn't go as well as I wanted I was just happy to see her because I like her on a basic human level.

My friend has two things to say.

1: I'm speaking like a robot. He says this multiple times as I try to explain how I feel about her and how things went this week. He interrupts me multiple times to tell me I sound like a robot, and he wants me to speak more naturally. I do not know how to do this, since I'm just speaking my mind.

2: I should message her right there and then asking her if she wants to come and play Rock Band with us. If she doesn't want to, she'll say so. If she does, she'll say so. Either way I have a definitive answer.

Here are my issues.

First of all - the reason I "speak like a robot", on top of trying to make everything as concrete and definitive as I possibly can, to make sure everything is being conveyed properly, is because I've been thinking hard about my feelings on the subject. And those words are what I came up with. It hurts to hear him interrupt me multiple times to tell me I sound like a robot.

Secondly, and more importantly - I don't want to pursue her in that hardcore sort of way. She has a life two hours away, and whether we hook up or not, I enjoy her company and I want her to feel good. I'm interested in her, but I'm not going to bother her in the middle of the night to play Rock Band. This isn't "I need to know if you like me or not" - this is "I'm thinking of you, I want you to know that people care about you and appreciate you, and I hope on some level this attention will make you happy". I don't need to have a romantic or sexual relationship with her to like being around her - and I DON'T WANT TO PUSH THINGS TOO HARD. I HAVE MADE THAT MISTAKE, AND I DON'T WANT TO REPEAT IT.

I'm not trying to smash - I just really like being around this girl, and I want to be an adult about this instead of fucking myself in the ass and ruining a perfect good friendship.

Also, she's been sick and she leaves town in the morning. I'm not going to keep her awake past midnight to play head games with her. I'll see her next time - that's fine.

It's at this point I find out he's been snapchatting her to come up - "for my benefit", as he puts it. And he starts pushing me to put it all on the line and get a yes or no answer.

I didn't do it. I did make a goofy Snapchat to put on my story, because the night before we had a 2 hour conversation about ghosts and religion and stuff from a video on my snapchat story, and she saw it and didn't respond. That's good enough for me. She wasn't interested. I feel like my friend's attitude was just really aggressive.

I want to move forward as a person, but I don't like how he treats other people and I don't like how he treats me. I don't like how he behaves. I don't like when I say I want some time to myself, he says I have all the time to myself because I don't have a job, like I'm obligated to spend time with him on his terms.

He's been good to me, he's given me stuff, he's been a good friend to me and others. But it's getting to the point that the bad is outweighing the good. He insults me, he says things specifically to make me uncomfortable, he makes me the butt of the joke a lot. I don't feel good about myself when I'm around him. I feel like I owe him, but if the rest of my life is spent in this relationship, I'm going to drink until the teeth rot out of my skull. I want to have a healthier relationship with him, but frankly I'm beginning to resent him and I don't think he understands me or the person I want to be.

And if I open up to him, that just makes me a bigger target. And of course it'll become gossip, and he'll goad me into telling everyone else or just talking about it because he wants to. He takes this sick interest in shit, and he won't let it die until he's satisfied with it. He was so amazed by my stretch marks that on multiple occasions where my shirt has ridden up, he's like told me to pull up my shirt so he can gawk at them. It's not like a gay attraction thing either, he's doing it because my stretch marks are just such a weird thing to him.

So yeah. I think I hate my best friend.

[roodiaries]

Early 2017: Sydney Lights, Hints of the Pacific & Bum-Biting Goannas

The blog is back in AUSTRALIA (as per the theme and name, after the last entry's Asian deviation!) And it's more light-hearted and less moany than before I think :)

New Year in Sydney was an enticing prospect as popular opinion considers it to be one of the best places to celebrate. Clearly how good of a New Year you have depends totally on who you're with, what you do and what mood you're in, with the setting as simply something of a backdrop. That said, seeing in 2017 overlooking Sydney Harbour was one of the best new years I've experienced. The most overhyped night of the year lived up to its billing, one of the few times in my life it's done so (though the last four – in Edinburgh, Montanita, Birmingham & London respectively – have all been good ones).

The return from my December Asia trip was marked by a nasty bout of 7/11-sandwich food poisoning which saw me spew my guts and bile out in a hostel bathroom and cling to the toilet bowl for dear life. I was later told off for coughing too much in bed by a scary middle-aged African lady (from Sierra Leone), forcing me to put my pillow at the other end of the mattress. “Just go to sleep!”, I angrily retorted. She kept making comments aloud to herself in this dorm full of relaxed European male backpackers: “there's too much coughing in this room!...what time is it?...why does everybody hang their washing in here?” It's funny now, but at the time was very jarring. I spoke to her more the next day and she actually seemed quite nice: she just definitely shouldn't have been staying in a dorm room.

New Year came around and a big group of us headed down to village-like Balmain in the midsummer heat, weaving through the rampant picnicking masses ready to eat up the picturesque firework display, many/most with illicit alcoholic beverages tucked away to avoid clashes with the patrolling police. In my opinion, Australia is the most strict country I have ever been to in terms of rules and actual dishing out of fines for minor public disturbances (Singapore included): jay-walking in the city centre can get you a $70 on-the-spot fine; putting your feet on the seat on the train in Melbourne is $233 ($78 for children); not filling out the Census is $180 per day until you do. And alcohol is very carefully controlled: one wild backpacker party on Coogee Beach over Christmas led to the total alcohol ban in the area, which will probably be permanent now. Getting your hands on a beer at a festival or public event can be tricky too, and there were lots of signs up warning against it for New Year. Of course people still drank, but greater efforts were made not to get too rowdy and attract attention (efforts which failed increasingly as the day wore on), so that the family-friendly atmosphere could be maintained. I agree that a family-friendly atmosphere should be preserved for the public good, but the vast majority of people can and do drink responsibly so just leave us alone and let us booze at big events!

We were perched on the grass in a park on the south side of Sydney's twisty harbour (seriously, look at a map: I've never seen a port/harbour with so many coves, bays, inlets, promontories, peninsulas and creeks – it's mesmerising). I brought my friends from the farm days in Renmark to meet my uni chum Mark and his friends, and even bumped into my old colleague Sebastian from when we door-knocked together in Melbourne 9 months previously. It was a good group and a great firework display, with excellent views of the bridge, but a long arduous walk/bus journey home through the packed city.

On New Year's Day, I returned to stay with Adele and her family, also with Sara and her family, for a very homely get-together in Jervis Bay, involving feasts, soft beds, crab-infested mangrove walks and cute boat trips up creeks and bays. I then flew to Brisbane for another little getaway, deciding I had spent about $1000 less than I had anticipated in India & Nepal and so could afford more travelling before the dread-inducing job hunt began again. My long and short-term future seemed very uncertain at this point (long-term future still hasn't been sorted out, and probably never will). I was able to relax nonetheless, and immediately warmed to Queensland's capital and largest city. It seemed more spacious with wider streets and lower-rise buildings, like Adelaide but with greater charm, while also being friendlier and slower-paced than Sydney. It certainly felt like the Sunshine State on first impressions. Adele and I walked the Brisbane River with its summery Southbank swimming pools providing family fun and adding to the holiday atmosphere. The GOMA (Gallery of Modern Art) had some pretty cutting-edge exhibits, like a 22m-long Tongan mat, a scarily realistic large pensive woman in bed and a giant arch of cardboard boxes one inside the other getting progressively smaller, while West End was a cool neighbourhood with a more international and backpacker vibe (I spent a couple of nights here later). Mount Coot-tha provided a panoramic view of the city from the west; there were also some nice walking tracks and Turrbal aboriginal art designs in the surrounding forests.

Aboriginal Australia, away from well-worn narratives of horrors at the hands of European settlers in the past 230 years, is a mysterious, diverse and fascinating culture to explore. Or more correctly, cultures, since there were more distinct Aboriginal 'nations', speaking over 300 languages, on the continent when the First Fleet arrived in 1788 than there are countries in the world today. Only around 3% of the population of modern-day Australia is considered indigenous (Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders), and there are only token remnants of Aboriginal culture in the main cities: an occasional sign-post, some hiking tracks, information boards. Here are some of the oldest continuous human cultures in the world, believed to be at least 60,000 years old, and discovering more about them is definitely a high priority during my time here.

Talking of culture, we paid a visit to the Castlemaine-Perkins (XXXX) Brewery, my third brewery tour in Australia! XXXX isn't my favourite of the extensive Aussie beer selection but a classic one nonetheless and well advertised (“well you wouldn't want a warm beer!”) Just on the beer note, Australia does have a surprisingly good and extensive collection of beers, especially pale ales. My favourites are Little Creatures, James Squire 50 Lashes, Kosciuszko and Lazy Yak. Try them some time (they have some in bars in the UK too, e.g. Sheffield Tap).

In the following days, I had the chance to catch up with a few friends from my previous travels, such as Hanna, who I worked with as strawberry-pickers in the Huon Valley; and Gaby from the Loja period; as well as Alex Dodd, also from Loja days: we had a barbecue in his apartment and travelled with a few others down to Burleigh Heads on the Gold Coast. Though not able to match their high level of several-dozen kick-ups in casual beach footie, it was an amazing spot to jump in the waves and watch the professional surfing.

By the time I was leaving Brisbane, I'd decided to make my way back to Sydney by land for a sort-of-roadtrip before completing my plan of finding a job in Sydney and saving up. I hitched a ride down from Brissie to Byron Bay with a cool Kiwi surfer called Bertus I'd found on one of the Facebook backpacker groups. I actually had nowhere booked for Byron, and began to stress about it as we drew nearer and I saw how packed it was. 'I'll just sleep on the beach', I'd told myself before... But the reality of that is harder and more unpredictable than it seems, unless you're a more confident, battle-hardened outdoorsy adventurer than I currently am. I was warned of druggies, drunk backpackers, cold, animals and police, and suddenly became really desperate for a hostel bed. I traipsed from one to another, even trying the most garish and unashamedly wacky & backpackery of backpacker hostels, but there was no room at the inn. Finally I did discover one very new whitewashed and spacious refuge called Byron Bay Beach Hostel, where the manager even gave me a random discount (still $45, the most I've paid for a hostel in Oz). In spite of my immense relief, the extremely hot/badly ventilated rooms and the incredible rudeness of a giant group of French-speakers in not making any effort to speak to me when I joined them outside, marred the evening considerably. To those who haven't travelled in Australia or seen The Inbetweeners 2, Byron Bay is the most popular and bigged-up traveller resort in the whole country: famed for its chilled-out hippie vibes, artisan soul, party culture and great beaches, it's a must-see for anyone travelling the east coast. Unfortunately, I simply wasn't in the mood. However, the coastal hike up to the lighthouse (via Cape Byron, the most easterly point in mainland Australia) was excellent. The guided tour of the lighthouse itself was bizarrely run by a group of charming Americans in their 60s/70s!

I'd felt the need for a dose of a quieter life as a tonic to hectic east coast life, so I spent one week at a homestay found on the HelpX website. It was in a lush green corner of north-eastern New South Wales, near the town of Casino, at the farmstead of a couple called Sue & Keith. I met another English guy there named Cameron (from Swindon), who was studying in Melbourne, and enjoyed having a companion to share the adventures here with. Most activities were dictated by the incredible heat at the time, reaching 40 degrees but with suffocatingly high humidity levels. The shed-building work usually lasted only 45 minutes before we were all simply too hot to continue, and I can honestly not remember any time where I was sweating more than for this week, especially at dinner time when we'd just returned from a trip up to the 'internet cafe' hill (the only place nearby with phone signal) and sat down over hot food, delicious as it always was. Perspiration dripped from shirtless chests like rain during a monsoon, and I required multiples showers and 20-minute sessions sitting directly in front of the fan to remain un-cooked. Dinner time was also when normally-quiet Keith would unleash his strong views on many topics, from travelling to the state of the local government: he had particularly strong political views of a surprisingly bitter and right-leaning perspective for a man who had travelled so extensively, seeing Trump as the man to lead the free world and holding contempt for Obama, describing Zimbabwean dictator Robert Mugabe as a “mild version of Obama.” Fox News was seldom not on in the background with Bill O'Reilly and his “no-spin zone” an evening routine, more amusing than offensive for Cam and me.

We helped feed the myriad chickens, hens, ducks, geese, rabbits and guinea-pigs scattered in the junk-maze front yard. The amount of random stuff/junk surrounding the house was incredible. One day we were called upon to kill a sharp-clawed goanna (Aussie monitor lizard) that was caught biting the bum of a duck. That was a pain in the arse for everyone involved. It hid up a tree and refused to come down to face us. One day involved a funny 6hr roundtrip to the Gold Coast to pick up a spa and a water tank, which we were very worried about flying off, and spent a long time securing them on the back of the ute with ropes. We also had the opportunity to meet some of the long-term lodgers at the farm, some of whom were on drugs rehab and benefits. It was a good place to come to get away from it all (for them and me), and a different perspective on Australia to what I've normally been exposed to, meeting people at a different end of the spectrum to the city kids, high-flyers and international traveller circles.

Cam and I left the farm and headed down to Coffs Harbour on the train. Coffs has the unique privilege of being located at the point where the Great Dividing Range (Australia's only real mountain range) meets the Pacific Ocean to form a beautiful backdrop, topped off with a literally huge banana, a jumpable pier and picturesque harbour. We met a German guy called Jonas and two English girls (Becky and Helen) at the YHA, and together cycled around the surprisingly large coastal town, enduring some intimidating hills and a roaring motorway, but stopping for a dip to get hammered by the powerful waves, and then drinking goon (crap, boxed wine) at the hostel over cards.

The last stop on the Unexpected East Coast Adventure was the inland small-city of Tamworth, known throughout Australia as the nation's capital of all things country music and equestrian: “an antipodean Nashville,” as the guidebook described it. It was the busiest period of the year, as the annual Country Music Festival was beginning the day we arrived, and the streets were alive with the sound of (country) music: a few genuine cowboy and hillbilly types among the masses of pretend ones, dominated by middle-aged holidaymakers and committed locals letting loose with their families. We barbecued in the nature reserve beneath a baking hot sun with my friend Rose from other Aussie adventures, and went to see some lively performances (especially one band called Lonesome Train, led by an electric and skinny ladies'-man singer who seemed 20 years younger than he actually was). The festival was a lot of fun, and we met a few interesting characters. One was one of the aforementioned middle-aged Aussie let-loosers, whose kid stole my stool when I went to the bar; half-an-hour after what I thought had been a light-hearted altercation, (while he'd been sitting next to me the whole time watching the singers on stage) he casually said: “sorry about that before... but if it was 20 years ago, I would have smacked you in the mouth.” He then proceeded to drunkenly chat semi-aggressively, telling me anecdotes about a barman from Essex: “black as the ace of spades he was. Absolute tosser...” Something told me this guy was the real tosser! Another memorable night was when Cam and I got roped into a night-out with a bunch of 19 year-old locals shouting at the back of the bus (the kind of people you dread talking to you) and had to toss our bags into a bush on the way while holding the bus because otherwise we'd have to wait half an hour. It turned out to be a fun night out in this sparky little city.

I was worried but motivated upon my return to Sydney to stop spending and start saving. Putting a cashed-up bogan to shame, I'd spent a lot and was now in the hibernation, total-survival mentality where I write down exactly what I spend – including money given to homeless people – and rule my finances with an iron fist. It had been worth it, however, for this opportunity to finally explore some of the places most-discussed in backpacker circles and experience part of the Aussie east coast. Though a fun adventure, I didn't feel the east coast lived up to the hype, lacking a certain cutting edge or unpredictability. The best thing about it is the sheer ocean-beach-coastline scenery, which was boundless and inspiring, as well as the people I'd met (sorry for the cliché). I met some shit ones, too, though ;)

Back to the future: I found a job and I will talk about a more settled life in Sydney in the next blog entry, and perhaps more about Australia as a country, too.

Thanks a lot for reading! Scroll down for photos and the previous four articles.

Oliver