Nature and Nurture - The Formative years - Part 1

How did I become who I am?

I believe its mostly nurture or the situations I lived through and learned from that moulded my views. Deep down there is a set of beliefs I still subscribe to but sometimes for the life of me I can't help but be what I've become. This is how I lost my wife. I knew I had to change, I knew I was destroying our marriage, but I couldn't stop. I suppose that's called addiction.

What am I addicted to?

I used to believe I was addicted to sex and specifically the pursuit and conquest of married women. Then I thought I was addicted to being bad. Reflecting on my myself though I realise that the sex is just an avenue, a pathway to exercise my addiction. I believe now that I'm addicted to making myself unassailable - Like John Malcovich's characted in Dangerous Liaisons - I need to be able to say 'it's beyond my control'. But then in being able to say that, like his character I exercise control so I am actually addicted to control and more specifically I am addicted to not giving away control by surreptitiously taking control.

So long as that's clear *)

I grew up in a very male environment. My mother died when I was young and I have no sisters. My father owned an auto electrical and panel-beating business. He was a very imposing man who solved most problems head on. He loved us but it was never expressed in hugs or words, more rewards and nods of approval. He understood success as a tradesman does, through the effort of hard labour and in that he and my brother found a common bond. I, on the other hand, became more interested in using my head than my hands from early on. He never discouraged me but more than once and increasingly as I got older I saw his inner struggle with trying to understand the value of what I did and struggling to honestly appreciate what he didn't understand. We were the wealthiest house in a generally poor street. My father loaned money to a lot of people and they paid back! We had the only swimming pool in the street.

Our neighbours were a younger couple. We rarely saw the husband, who I think was in something like sales or insurance at the beginning. His wife was a teacher, a dainty elegant woman who stood out in a street where every other wife had either stayed at home, had numerous children or that certain aged look about them. I couldn't at the time conceptualise how it came to be, or what she saw in him, but my father was fucking her every chance he got. Years later as my world expanded and I could see beyond my boyish realm, I'd realise that almost everyone in the neighbourhood knew and I would see more clearly how she was so alone.

Her daughter who I will call Sally (because she had the bubbly energy and contagious smile of Sally Field - A special note, I like movies as you've probably guessed and I tend to characterise people according to similarities with personalities or characters. I would appreciate if someone could tell me if that is annoying or not allowed?)

Sally became my best friend very quickly. Like her mother or probably because of her mother she displayed an elegance that no one else I knew had. She danced and looked beautiful when she danced. Like any young boy I quickly fell in love, even though she was three years younger and I spent untold hours understanding those feelings next to my radio or the old cassette player listening to crooners lecturing on love.

My brother the remaining influence in my early life emulated my father but not as well. Where dad had a natural power over people, due to his size, power, those looks he could give and knowing the power of authoritative silence; my brother quickly became the street tough guy. I know dad had been in lots of fights, but in my life I know personally of only two incidents. My brother on the other hand was constantly beating up someone or the other, occasionally police would bring him home and he did spend more than a night cooling off in jail. It was annoying him as a brother as I soon realised that there was little basis for communication. He knew a few things and even those were mostly wrong. I made the mistake once or twice of correcting his ignorance and I regretted it as I'm sure a lot of younger brothers who question their older brothers will.

The first time I saw sex I was pretty young. My brother called, or rather yanked me and took me out to the workshop in the back. Stacking a few tyres or something he told me to look inside with him. There was Sally's mum and my dad. I remember the glazed look she had as my father had her bent over the workbench and rode into her. As I watched, my ears started picking up the empassioned grunts from the both of them and the slapping of flesh. He looked monstrous over her.

I felt guilty talking to Sally later and shyly greeted her mother from across the fence, probably staring too hard.

I spent a lot of time with Sally, seeing a confidant and a shared interest in the less, as I thought at the time, banal side of things. She would wait for me with her friends and I would walk her home every day. Once a few of the neighbourhood thugs wanted something, I forget what, but I remember the fear in them when I said I would call my brother. I resented that with all my perceived superiority I could not protect Sally or myself and that I needed to invoke my brother.

I was convinced that Sally and I would eventually marry and that we were meant to be.

Then of course things changed.

I spent a holiday away from home at an english academy. It was a gruelling three weeks but I learnt a lot and saw the world grow. There was so much more I could do.

We left for home about in the early afternoon and on the two hour drive back all I could think of was Sally.

My father wasn't home but my brother's car was there (You'll notice I have not associated him with a character)

I think I knew when I saw her bag on the lounge floor but still I insisted on knowing. Listening at the door I could hear the sounds I'd heard before from his room. (As I got older my brother delighted in letting me know how incredible he was with girls. He would tell me who he was going to be fucking and tell me to listen at the door. Sadly I often did). Still I resisted the knowledge.

I took his cigarettes from his jacket and went out into the front yard, I sat on the grass and smoked incessantly, my eyes fixed on the door. I must have smoked about 5 and my throat was raw. When Sally came out, she wasn't smiling which I did notice, and eventually saw me she seemed paralysed then hardened right in front of me "I've got stuff to do. See you later" was about what she said as she walked away, trying to look aloof, or not caring - I did not know which at the time.

I went in the house to confront him. Honestly I believed virtuous purpose would empower me and I could 'take him'.

I'll finish part 2 later if I can.


Is this interesting to anyone? I find it usefull for myself as I chart what to do next and learn to accept who I am. Are others in the same situation or have you been moulded by events like I think I was?


So much to know.

Vincent