Brandon Stanton's Blog, page 38

“I think very early in their marriage she had a flirtation with...

“I think very early in their marriage she had a flirtation with one of her coworkers. My father was livid. But instead of leaving her, he decided that he’d make her miserable. He moved our family back to his hometown, far away from everything she’d ever known. And every year the treatment got worse. He felt threatened by her. It wasn’t just that she looks like a movie star. That’s part of her appeal, but it’s so much more. She has this love of people that you can feel. And it draws people to her. Dad could never compete, so he diminished her whenever he could. My mother wanted to be an actress when she was younger. And Dad loved to tell the story of the first time he saw her perform. He called it ‘the most ridiculous thing he ever saw.’ It was clear that Mom missed her old life. Her nostalgia was a constant presence in our house. So many times I’d find her singing an old song, with tears in her eyes. As if she was mourning something she’d lost. Finally at the age of 58 she found the strength to get a divorce. She moved back to Sao Paulo. And slowly her joy began to return. She began to visit with old friends. She joined a chorus. She enrolled in university, and during the first week was elected leader of her class. During this time we became very close. I was so inspired by her transformation that I wrote a play about a woman who had reclaimed her spirit. We raised funds for the production. And I asked my mother to be the narrator. Not only did she accept, but she threw herself into the role. She insisted on memorizing her lines, even though they were meant to be read. But during every rehearsal she forgot her lines. Not once did she get it right. We begged her to read them, but she always refused. ‘I’m not a narrator,’ she’d say. ‘I’m a narr-actress.’ On the night of the performance the entire theater was filled. My mother had even forgotten her lines during the sound check, so I was shaking with nerves. But my fear melted away as soon as the curtain came up. The room grew very still. My mother looked the audience in the eyes, and delivered her lines perfectly. She was so calm. And confident. Like she’d finally arrived in the place she was always meant to be.”

“Carl was there since the beginning. His name was on my birth...

“Carl was there since the beginning. His name was on my birth certificate, even though he wasn’t my biological father. He’d also been a drug addict. But he quit when I was born, and my mother kept going. She tried her best, but she was in so deep. Always high. Always passed out. When I was six years old she abandoned us for three months. Carl was left to take care of us by himself. And the night my mother finally came back, they got in a real bad fight. And Carl decided to walk out the door. For so long he’d been my only stability, and now he was gone. It was survival mode after that. There were days when we didn’t eat. And before long DHS placed me and my brother into foster care. We lived with a mean older lady that treated me like Cinderella. I couldn’t go outside. I was forced to clean. One night she made me cook a pot of rice for the whole family, and she thought it was too salty. So she made me eat the whole thing. Thankfully Carl went to court and got visitation rights. Every other weekend he’d come pick us up. And I think that saved us. She knew he was watching us, so it kept things from escalating. He promised that as soon as he could afford a place to live, he was going to come get us. And that’s exactly what he did. We moved into a two bedroom house. And for the first time in our lives we had stability. Homework had to be done. Everyone had to eat at the dinner table. We played board games every Friday night. And on weekends we went to every parade in Philadelphia. Carl wasn’t an emotional guy: no hugs, or kisses. But he was there. He got us through. He’s 79 now. And only recently has he started to say ‘I love you.’ He says he doesn’t know how much time he has left. So I want to give him his flowers. He wasn’t a perfect man. I’ve never asked him to explain why he left us behind that night. But it doesn’t matter to me. Because he came back to get us. Even though we weren’t his biological children. He didn’t have to do it, but he came back. My other family members would always tell me: ‘We weren’t going to leave you there forever. We were going to make room. We’d have found a way.’ But they never managed to find a way. And Carl was the one who did.”

“My parents had just graduated from university when the Soviets...

“My parents had just graduated from university when the Soviets invaded Afghanistan. My father studied physics and my mother studied engineering. But neither of them were able to begin their careers because the fighting had become intense. My father was in danger of being drafted into battle, so they fled across the border into Pakistan. They had four young children, and it wasn’t an easy place to raise a family. Afghan children were not given access to proper education. So eventually my parents decided that something needed to be done. My mother was presented with an opportunity to travel to Canada as a refugee, but she would have to go alone. It was a frightening prospect. She’d never been away from her children before. And our youngest sister was only two, so my mother was terrified that she’d be forgotten. But she was willing to make the sacrifice. Mainly because she believed we’d be reunited after six months. The journey turned out to be much tougher than she imagined. She lived in a women’s shelter when she first arrived in Canada. But thankfully she spoke English, so she was able to work odd jobs and save enough to move into her own apartment. All of her extra money went towards a single long-distance phone call every other week. We’d all gather in our neighbor’s house, and each of us would get a few minutes to speak to our mother. She was struggling with depression at the time. But she told us that after those phone calls, she would be happy again for a few days. It was tough being away from our mother. But our dad never let us feel abandoned. Even though he worked full time, he always cooked our meals, and did our hair, and brought us to school. Finally in April of 1999 my mother was able to sponsor us. It was a three-day journey with many delays. And by the time we landed, my little sister was so tired that my father carried her in his arms. When my mother found us at the airport, she was overcome with emotion. She ran straight to my youngest sister, and asked ‘Do you recognize me?’ Three years had passed. My sister was now five years old. She was shy for a moment, but finally she was able to give a response: ‘Madarem asti,’ she said. ‘You’re my mom.’”

“He never told me much about his childhood. I knew that his...

“He never told me much about his childhood. I knew that his parents were alcoholics, and he left home at a young age. He arrived in America with only $20 in his pocket. He started as a dishwasher at Little Caesar’s. Then worked as a server at Denny’s. But by the time I was born he was driving a taxi. I have no memories of him being with my mother. They divorced when I was two years old, and immediately she had a baby with another man. She wasn’t able to care for a child at the time. So my father stepped in and adopted the boy as his own. That’s how it’s been for as long as I can remember: me, my dad, and my brother. We knew that Dad wasn’t my brother’s biological father. But it wasn’t something we spoke about, or even thought about. He treated both of us the same, which was strict. He made sure we finished our homework the moment we came home. And if we didn’t, he had no problem taking away the PlayStation. But he spoiled us too. We never had much money. The three of us shared a single bedroom growing up. But all my classmates thought I was rich. Dad would sometimes pick us up early to take us on trips to Disneyland. We had all the latest video games and DVD’s. And I was the first kid in my school to get a cell phone, mainly because he wanted a way to check up on me. Right now I live 2,400 miles away, but Dad still sends me texts every day. He tells me ‘Good morning.’ And always says ‘Goodnight.’ He sends me care packages with my favorite potato chips, that you can only get in California. He’s actually way more affectionate than me and my brother. He gets his feelings hurt if we don’t call him back right away. And he’s always saying that we don’t give him enough hugs. I think it comes from his childhood. Recently he told us the reason for adopting my brother. He said that when he was a young boy, his parents also moved away. So he knows how it feels to be left behind. We just want to take this chance to thank him for everything he’s done for us. And to acknowledge how hard the road has been. And to honor the sacrifice he’s made. We also want to celebrate my brother’s adoption. Because on June 18th of last year, they finally made it official.”

(8/8) “I finally confronted the son of a bitch when I turned...

(8/8) “I finally confronted the son of a bitch when I turned eighteen. One morning I looked in the mirror and said: ‘I’m not a kid anymore. I’m going to do it.’ He was dying of AIDS by then. But I didn’t care, I got aggressive with him. I got in his face and asked: ‘Why me? Why did you pick me, man?’ And you know what that sick asshole told me? He said: ‘Because I loved you.’ That creepy fuck. I was only nine years old when I met him. But even then I knew it wasn’t right. I knew I shouldn’t be alone with our sixty year old neighbor, who smelled like alcohol. Even today the smell of Colt 45 brings me back. Brings me back to that room. I’ve played it over and over again in my head. ‘Just get out of there Ryan. Go home and tell your old man. He’ll put an end to it.’ But the shame was so heavy. It was just so heavy. I wasn’t held down. It wasn’t violent. That’s why it messed me up so bad. It left me feeling so ashamed. Really, really dirty. And it just kept happening. I didn’t know how to stop it. Day after day. Over and over. Until finally when I was thirteen we moved away from the neighborhood. I was finally free. But you know what that son of a bitch did? That sick fuck. He rented an apartment right next to my mom, and trapped me all over again. I couldn’t escape. He was giving me liquor. And by the time I was fourteen he was giving me cocaine. And I just dove right into the drugs. Because they were my only escape. Sometimes I hate myself so much. I’ll look at Red, and I’ll think about all the trauma I caused him. But I was a good kid too once. Not an academic or anything, but a good kid. I liked school. I enjoyed making people proud of me. I think I was happy. I remember having feelings like that, before the abuse. But afterwards nobody was proud of me anymore. There wasn’t anything left to be proud of. So I just burned down the rest of it. Burned it down with heroin and crack until I was finally forced to face it. Because if I didn’t, I’d lose my son. And that’s what I want you to know, little man. All this stuff that happened to your dad. It almost killed me. But you came along and saved me. Because I always loved you more than I hated myself.”

(7/8) “We got married on a Thursday to keep the cost low. We...

(7/8) “We got married on a Thursday to keep the cost low. We rented out the conservatory at Como Park, and just invited our families. Red stood next to me while we exchanged vows. And Lizzie looked perfect. She wore the most beautiful fitted dress. At our reception we danced to ‘Through The Years’ by Kenny Rogers, and I still like to send her those lyrics at random moments. Just to remind her how much I love her. It’s been almost two years since the wedding, but we’re closer today than the day we got married. I think we’d both say that. All of us would, Red too. The three of us are like a pack, with each member getting an equal vote. And it works. Life is good. Life has been so good that it makes me nervous. It comes so naturally to Lizzie, being happy. She makes it seem easy. But feeling good doesn’t always feel good for me. Something doesn’t seem real about it. When you have a trauma history, you keep looking for that hurt over and over again. And there’s this strange part of you that wants to be hurt. Because it’s what you know. It feels comfortable. Comfortable is not being loved. Comfortable is not loving myself. Even this interview makes me nervous. I keep thinking: who am I to share my story? What makes me so special? Who am I to marry a woman like Lizzie, who tells me that I’m worth it every day. And who am I to have a kid like Red, who loves me no matter what. After everything I’ve done to him: all the drugs, all the trauma, all the times I’ve messed up. He’s still right there. Loving me up. That’s the nice thing about a child. They love you no matter what. They don’t need to know where you came from. Or what you’ve done. Or what’s been done to you. But one day I’m going tell him. When the right moment comes, I’m going to tell him what happened to me. Just so he’ll know. All the drugs, everything, it had nothing to do with him. It was me. It’s because I was damaged. It’s because of what happened to me when I was his age.”

(6/8) “On summer nights we’ll sit on the back deck and look out...

(6/8) “On summer nights we’ll sit on the back deck and look out over our little piece of nature. We have a vegetable garden. And a forest filled with poplar trees, which have that beautiful white bark. There a little Japanese Maple named Bob, after Dylan. And we hung up nine birdfeeders, so there’s usually a lot of birds. Common little birds, mostly. But we’ll get cardinals, and blue jays, and the occasional pileated woodpecker. It’s amazing, really. That two people who lived such wild lives could land in such a peaceful place. Neither of us have ever owned a house before, so we lean on each other. Lizzie’s good at some stuff. I’m good at others. It hasn’t always been smooth, between those two especially. In the beginning Red would pull me aside if he needed to share something. And Lizzie can be a little stern. That’s how she was brought up, so she’s a big believer in discipline. We’ve had some disagreements about that, but never any blow-ups or anything. Whenever I saw something I didn’t like, I’d wait. I’d let it play out. Then we’d talk about it later. And Lizzie was right about the discipline, so I’ve got to give her credit. Red has really blossomed: honor roll, student council, that’s all work she did. One hundred percent. I had never even looked at his grades before. Which is embarrassing to admit, and I was completely wrong about that. But I didn’t know any better. I’d been a drug addict my entire life. I was kicked out of high school. I just didn’t have the tools, so Lizzie stepped up. And Red responded. Those two have such a bond now. There are things he’ll share with her that he won’t share with me. Last week Lizzie was asking him to do something, and he said: ‘I’ll do whatever you want Mom.’ It was the very first time he’d used that word. We tried not to make a big deal about it. We just let the moment pass. But that night we were getting into bed, and we asked each other: ‘What do you think? Did he mean it?’ Lizzie thought it was just a slip. But I’m not so sure. He never took it back. ‘And besides,’ I told her. ‘You’re doing all the things that moms do.”

(5/8) “I called Lizzie after Red went to sleep. I didn’t tell...

(5/8) “I called Lizzie after Red went to sleep. I didn’t tell her it was the end, but I think she could tell it was heading in that direction. She was a little hurt that I was taking Red’s side. And she reminded me that we were the adults in the situation. But at the time I was thinking Red’s opinion is all that matters. Because this is all for him, right? He’s the reason I’m sober. He’s the reason I’m getting my life together. He’s the little carrot keeping me on track. And then there was the guilt. How could I ever make up for the first five years of his life? I felt like I owed him so much: more time, more attention, more of whatever he wanted. I told Lizzie that I didn’t think we could stay together. But she stayed the course, just like she always has. She said we’d work through it. ‘It was too soon,’ she said. ‘I just met him too soon.’ We let a few months go by before we tried again. I think our next hangout was at the zoo. Then we began to visit her place together. I’d be sure to prep Red in advance whenever we had an activity planned, so he’d never be caught off guard. So it would never seem like Lizzie was trying to take over. I was hopeful that a little time would do the trick. I thought: ‘If he could just see her like I do, then he’ll fall for her like I did.’ But it didn’t quite work that way. It was slow. One night I was talking to Lizzie on the phone, and he asked to say ‘hi.’ Then she started babysitting for him every once in a while. Lizzie kept pushing things along. She had this whole plan to move in together after she finished her degree. But I kept trying to slow things down. A lot of times I’d use Red as an excuse, but it was more than that. I still felt like I didn’t deserve her. I felt like the closer we got, the more she would know. And the less she would love me. But Lizzie stayed the course, because she’s Lizzie. And she was smart about it too. One day she brought Red along while she toured some townhouses near his school. And they chose a place together without even telling me. That night he came home all excited, and he’s telling me: ‘Let’s move, let’s move, let’s move!’”

(4/8) “With Red I focused on consistency: same thing, same time,...

(4/8) “With Red I focused on consistency: same thing, same time, every day. That’s one of the things I learned in parenting class, the importance of structure. So we kept a tight schedule. Wake up. Eat breakfast. Go to school. I even asked his mom to call at the same time every night. And the routine seemed to be working. His grades were improving. There were less visits to the principal’s office. And even though Red’s an introverted guy, he was becoming a leader in the classroom. The teachers told me that whenever he had a good idea, the whole class would start grooving with him. His behavior wasn’t perfect of course. We were still working through some attachment issues, but that was understandable. Red had been separated from me and his mom at such a young age. And the idea of a nuclear family had always been important to him, even during the darkest times. It didn’t matter if his dad was on heroin. Or if his mom was in prison. That’s his family, and he’s fiercely loyal. Which is why I didn’t tell him about Lizzie right away. I never wanted him to feel like his mother was being replaced. So I let a few months go by. I waited until things seemed very real, and I suggested that we all go to the science museum together. Lizzie was excited to finally meet him. And she was so patient with him. We let him lead us around to all his favorite exhibits. There was a musical staircase, and the two of them played a little tune together. Both of them were laughing, and the whole time I’m thinking: ‘This is really, really great.’ In one exhibit there was a huge, robotic space dude. He was like five stories tall. And if you typed a message on a screen, it would show up on his helmet. Red decided to write: ‘Lizzie.’ We had no idea he was doing it. He went off by himself, and suddenly her name appeared in huge letters. It was super sweet. I couldn’t believe how well they’d hit it off. And as we drove home that night, I couldn’t wait to ask him what he thought. As soon as we were back in our little spare bedroom, I said: ‘What do you think? Can we hang out again?’ He didn’t even take a second to think. He sat on the bed, crossed his arms, and gave me a stone cold: ‘No way.’”

(3/8) “Lizzie and I got to know each other in that little world....

(3/8) “Lizzie and I got to know each other in that little world. My friends were telling me to leave it alone. They told me it wasn’t appropriate, and I should be focusing on my recovery. But with Lizzie I was like a teenager. I couldn’t help it. We started spending most of our shifts together. She’d help me cook. We’d do puzzles. Sometimes after Red went to sleep, we’d stay on the phone until early in the morning, just talking. Lizzie had been through some stuff too. She was recovering from an alcohol addiction, so we bonded over that. But her background was much more traditional. So it was easy to feel like I didn’t deserve her. Here I was, fresh off a horrible drug addiction. Living in my mom’s spare bedroom with my seven year old son. I had just about every red flag in the book. And then there was my trauma history. How are you supposed to explain that to somebody? I’d spent so many years on the street, I could quickly fall back into those patterns. I wasn’t violent or anything. Not even close. But I could get aggressive with my language and tone of voice. I couldn’t handle conflict. I’d just say: ‘Fuck it,’ and I’d walk away. One night we were hanging out at Lizzie’s apartment, and we started arguing over something stupid. It was nothing. But I got so angry that I started walking home. I lived almost 25 miles away. And this was January in Minnesota, so the last thing I wanted to do was leave. But I was frustrated, and probably a little scared. Scared to be falling in love. Scared of being abandoned. So I started walking through the dark. Lizzie got in her car and followed me. The snow was coming down hard. But she kept right alongside me, with the window down. She kept saying: ‘Come inside and talk.’ But I’m being stubborn. I’m not responding. And we went on that way for a few blocks. Not too far, but when it’s that cold—it’s pretty far. Finally I gave up and got into the car. And we talked it out. It was special stuff. When you’re broken like that. When you’ve been through what I’ve been through. To have somebody show you, I’m going to stay, no matter what. It’s really something, man. It’s special stuff.”