Gruß vom Krampus (Greetings from the Krampus)

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Krampus knows who is naughty.  Oh, yes he does.

When it comes to holiday mythology, Krampus is a blast from the Bavarian past.  Those pagans had some pretty weird myths that persist even to this day.

Today the common wisdom is we don’t want to scare little Jimmy or Janie around the holidays, and heaven forbid we use anything involving Christmas gifts (or the absence thereof) to bribe children into good behavior.  We wouldn’t want to give the little critters nightmares or saddle them with performance anxiety, now would we?  We just want everyone to get his or her 12th place trophy, so nobody has to endure any of the humiliation that is rightfully deserved when one’s performance completely sucks.  That goes right along with that old standby,”Stay behind with the rest of the class,” and all of that happy PC horseshit that has put most of the American educational system squarely in the shitter.

homeschool-domination

Because a parent with the motivation to home school won’t take your shit, or your excuses, kids.  If I had to do it over again…I would not have subjected my son to public schools (even though they weren’t quite as bad then.)

Heaven forbid we do any damage to his or her precious little self-esteem- even if by sheltering children we consign them to a life of mediocrity and allow them to become habitual freeloaders and whiners and just plain people who suck.

Back in the dark ages (rural Ohio in the 1970s…) it was more than OK to hang the fear of no Christmas gifts over children’s heads.  You could scare kids in any way imaginable  to make them behave, as long as it didn’t leave any marks, bruises or bleeding that would be visible in public.

He knows when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’re awake.

He knows when you’ve been bad or good…and he’s here for your soul to take!

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Ok, so I may have confused Krampus with Freddy Krueger (I did have quite a thing for 80’s slasher flicks back in the day) but it’s sort of the same concept.

I can agree that keeping a child in a constant state of terror has its disadvantages, especially when one factors in stress-induced illnesses, but as far as behavior control goes, you can’t beat fear.  I spent most of my childhood scared shitless of virtually everything, but the upside was, I was quiet and didn’t cause trouble.  I was mortally afraid to cause trouble, because in my world even cutting a popcorn fart would bring down the Wrath of God.   In my mother’s economy farting was considered a sin that you had to bring to Confession.  Really. Farting.

The bad thing was that I got in trouble even for doing things most parents would consider “right” – such as hiding in a corner reading and trying to remain invisible so I wouldn’t get the shit beat out of me by my sisters and the neighborhood kids.  Most parents would be delighted if their children were quiet and unobtrusive to the point of blending into the wall.

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I got really good at making myself scarce. It is a valuable skill even today.  Especially today.

Of course, as in all things, balance and moderation is the key.  It disturbs me that the message to kids today is that no matter what you do, we just luv, luv, you anyway, and we think you’re fantastic and excellent and perfect, even if your only skill is sucking up valuable oxygen.  Nobody ever dares to tell a child his or her performance sucks even when it clearly does. When parents and teachers purvey the 12th place awards and all that feel good nonsense, it sends a message loud and clear that ending up being 40+ wearing Hello Kitty jammies and playing video games in your parents’ basement is a perfectly viable path to pursue.

My parents took the opposite extreme.  They took the noblesse oblige narrative to a level unheard of today.  I got the constant covert message that, “You suck even when you excel, because you can do better.”  I got grounded and lost basic privileges for “B” grades, for instance.

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Most of the time this works out for me.  Unless someone wants me to do something I utterly hate, or anything late at night.

Moving in Stereo, Noblesse Oblige and the Double Standard

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It’s so easy to blow up your problems
It’s so easy to play up your breakdown
It’s so easy to fly through a window
It’s so easy to fool with the sound

It’s so tough to get up
It’s so tough
It’s so tough to live up
It’s so tough on you-

“Moving in Stereo”- The Cars

If I had to guess, I’m not the lone ranger as far as anxiety issues go.  In the middle of the shit storm there is nowhere so alone, especially when I’m surrounded by people and I have to maintain a professional, cool façade no matter what.  I am one of those people who is never more alone than when I’m in a crowd.  Dealing with people is twice as difficult when all I want to do is run and get away from them.

I think that was a good part of the reason why my health went south so quickly about 10 years ago.  I was pretending to be someone I wasn’t, and the façade couldn’t hold.

Thankfully I don’t get the panic attacks and what I call extreme anxiety spells terribly often anymore, but here in the past few weeks I have discovered that I am just as vulnerable to them as I ever have been.  Part of the solution, or at least a way to cope with anxiety in a healthier manner, seems counterintuitive: I have to admit to my vulnerability.  I have to realize when I’m trying to move too fast, do too much, or when I’m shouldering blame that doesn’t belong to me, and I’m not good at it.  My idea of boundaries is to be completely open or completely shut down, which I know isn’t healthy.   I’m one of those people who always feels as if I owe other people something, even when I don’t.

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When I was growing up I had the concept of noblesse oblige drilled into my head.  Because I was sickly and my medical costs were outrageous, I was made to feel guilty about that.  I was also made to feel as if my medical issues were my fault and that I had no right to complain if I didn’t have clothing that fit right, or if I didn’t have glasses when I needed them.  Because my medical issues were expensive, and I was painfully aware of it, I was the one who helped Dad out at his shop, and I was the one who did all the household chores when Mom had her back injury and was bedridden- while my sisters played sports (which I couldn’t do because of my health issues) and had actual social lives (which I didn’t have anyway.)

Because I had certain abilities, my parents and even (some) teachers held me to a higher standard than the rest of the kids.  I was expected to do without, to tolerate more, to do more, to be more, to accomplish more, and not just in my areas of strength.  I still remember my 9th grade algebra teacher almost throwing a fit at me because I truly struggled to get through that stuff.  Higher math did not make a lick of sense to me then, and it doesn’t make a lick of sense to me now.  I can get through basic math, and I can understand percentages and ratios, but that’s about it.   He accused me of “slacking” in his class (as in why could I get straight As in every other subject but his.)  The truth was that I spent a lot more time and effort trying to get a B or C in that class than I did getting straight As in everything else.

I got grounded for any grade lower than a B, regardless of the subject, while it was perfectly fine for either of my sisters to maintain a C average- across the board- without inviting scrutiny.  To her credit (even though she was a ruthless and sadistic bitch) my oldest sister, in spite of her average IQ, did manage to be an honor student (didn’t take much then, and takes even less now) and wormed her way into Miami University (one of the most expensive colleges in Ohio.)  Eventually she did graduate and get a degree, and a submissive husband from a wealthy family, but Dad pretty much ended up paying for a 7 year long bacchanalia.  Few women have ever had the tolerance for alcohol as Butterface.  Even when she ended up in jail for DUI (which she got out of, thanks to her future husband’s family’s connections) Dad put up bail money for her so she wouldn’t have to spend the night in jail.  He also made sure to point out to me that he would not do the same for me, as according to him, I “know better,” and she doesn’t.

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Granted, I was very clandestine with my high school/ college drinking.  Since I could only afford to go to a local technical college (all Dad’s money was going toward Butterface’s beer, and anything else she couldn’t get financial aid or her boyfriends to pay for) if I wanted to enjoy a fifth of MD20/20, I’d simply to go to a friend’s house, get blitzed, and crash where I partied.  Oh, and I did.  Frequently.

I don’t know why so many years later I get bitter about my past.  A lot of the things that happened to me weren’t fair, and I was held to a number of double standards, but it could have been a lot worse.

I can’t balance out the inequities of life, but I do need to end the guilt trips.  I’m tired of being made to feel guilty for taking up valuable oxygen, and I’m tired of believing that the only time I’m worth anything is when I’m overextended and burned out.  I’m also tired of taking the blame for others’ ineptitude, and feeling as if I always have to take up their slack.

I’m only human, and the gifts that I’ve been given have always been balanced with gaping holes.  I have some wiring that other people don’t have, but I’m missing a lot of wiring too.

What I gleaned from the double standards imposed on me was that it was perfectly OK for me to give and do to the end of my strength and ability, and not to expect anything in return.  To a point that’s OK, but perhaps my recent forays into the wonderful world of anxiety are sending a message.  I can only do so much, and beyond that, tough titty.

unwilling