This was a lot to take in. It was a relatable tale, really. It’s about a girl and her brother growing up in the 1970’s & 1980’s when being a male homosexual was not accepted and free love and drugs were all around.
Astrid was 5 in 1974 and her brother Benny was 2. Astrid’s mom and adopted dad split up and eventually ended up on complete opposite ends of the country - dad in New York and mom in San Francisco. Dad was gay and fabulously flashy, Mom was a moody (extreme ups and downs) free-spirited-pot-smoking-hippie.
Astrid and Ben lived with Mom during the school year and then with Dad for the 3-month summer. The children had 2 completely different lives twice a year and never felt settled down, except the connection with each other. The only constant in their lives was their closeness to each other.
Astrid loved her dad something fierce. She was closer to him than anyone and he treated her like she was the most beautiful person in the world. She was his doll and model and “was better at being a girl than a girl.”
I don’t think I’ll ever forget what Astrid thought about her mother after she saw her mom with a few different men. Astrid wrote, “It seemed that the kissing and the holding hands, and everything else that goes along with being a couple, must be easily interchangeable from one man to the next.”
After reading that I thought about that for awhile and how I relate to that because I remember my constant need of being accepted by men and how I thought in order to be somebody I have to have a boyfriend and then everything will be ok and I can be normal. That stemmed from growing up with just my mother (dad left when I was 2) and her always having a different lover. I never thought about it until this book.
Toward the end of the book, Astrid wrote,
“My mother will be sixty-four this year, but she’s still thinking about who she wants to be when she grows up—she’s still coming of age, she’s still searching for clues as to who she really is. This trip to the Rabbi is par for the course for my mother, a quest to redefine herself once again.”
Her mother had constantly changing moods. Sometimes she’d be so happy that the kids would make her laugh over silly things, but the kids would never know if today was the day she’d laugh or the day she’d scream or the day she’d sleep all day. Her mom complained about how she does things for everyone else, but never does anything for herself. To me, I’d say her mom was pretty dang selfish and only thought of herself. I recognize this because my mom is the same way and always manipulating and playing on my sympathy and lack of self-confidence.
I am so impressed how Astrid was able to remember so many details about her childhood. I grew up with a brother who is 3 years older than me and I feel like the only thing in my life that remained the same was him. I remember bits and pieces of my childhood, but there is a thick wall built up so high that in order for things to be triggered out of my memories, they have to come out in dreams. I remember being molested by several different men at different points in my life and with a few it happened more than a several times; however, as time goes by I don’t remember that as vividly.
So, this book is about Astrid’s growing up, not mine, but at the same time it was about me and I’m sure a lot of people that read this are thinking the same thing.
Those Boomers sure did a number on us Gen X’ers!! At least I feel better that someone got it out in writing and still made it out alive and “normal”.