Frustration - Isn't That a Feeling?

(My) Life can be very frustrating at times, and these times can last longer than I think they should. My life can seem so fucking frustrating that I’m giving the 828 Blog its first unambiguous curse word. I use that word because I’m often in the thick of feeling frustrated. But I’ll save my own boo-hoos because I want to talk about what I see as my Father’s frustrations.

Dad had a calm and steady presence, most of the time. His movements seemed measured and moderate, unlike Mom’s, whose motions were determined and energetic. He seemed that way whether he was hoeing the garden, cutting your hair, or rocking a baby. It was his nature.

His family life surely tested that temperament. His twelve kids started arriving in 1943 and kept coming until 1960. The math is that approximately every 15.70 months Mom delivered a baby, or in one instance, had a miscarriage. We know Dad (and Mom) believed that “the Lord will Provide” and that birth control for Catholics back then was “Rhythm Only.” A consequence of this belief was that their family grew and grew.

I don’t remember what Dad was like when the family was small, but when he had a large and growing one, he was still slow and steady—until he exploded. These outbursts didn’t seem to last long because we kids cleared the room if we could, and when we returned it was over or he was gone. The explosions also didn’t seem to be at close intervals, but they did have an intensity that left me (and probably others) often walking on tip-toes lest we ignite that anger.

What better way to fuel an angry outburst than frustration. And what better to feel frustrated about than worrying whether you had enough money to feed and clothe and house your family. Or feeling frustrated about not having enough time to go to work and come home to do the many things required of a fix-it father.

Of course Dad never said he was frustrated with his situation – to me or to anyone else in the family except probably Mom. It was something you didn’t say to your kids back then.

So how do my frustration levels compare to Dad’s? Frustration is a feeling of being thwarted. Dad must have felt thwarted about never seeming to have enough time or money. That’s not why I feel frustrated. There are reasons our parents pushed us to become educated, and finances is probably at the top of that list.

 My frustration is in feeling that I am not able to get the projects I want completed. This is where Mom enters the picture. It was she who had the ambition that produced the many projects that needed doing around 828. Like Mother like son.

During college and afterwards, I worked as a carpenter and from that morphed into a Mr. Build It/Mr. Fix It. A Get-Er-Done kind of guy. Then I moved into civil engineering and became adept at the designing and planning end of construction projects—the mental side.

For the past 20 years I’ve wrestled with fibromyalgia and its symptoms of chronic pain/chronic fatigue/depression/ insomnia/mental fogginess. The wrong malady for someone who wants to “accomplish things.” It’s the wrong malady even when trying to do non-physical things like planning a vacation. Or writing a post for this blog. Or reading an insurance form. So that’s why I get frustrated.

But, Hey! I finished this blog post. And I’m not so frustrated now.



He's only a few months away from birth.

--Bob                                       

                    



A Mysterious Magnetic Force

"Why do reunions have to be so short?"

The Kerber family had a reunion recently. It was at a 4H camp; some of us brought campers or tents and others stayed in the 4H cabins, you know, five or six sets of bunk beds in a bare room. 

It’s the first reunion we’ve had in a while because we saw each other at the many family weddings that have occurred in the last few years. All 12 sibs were at the reunion, Dan through Gary. The spouses, too, and many of our kids and grandkids. They stole the show, the grandkids, who were just old enough to realize the fun it is to have a slew of cousins. Henry, my grandson, three and a half, said to his dad (Will), “Why do reunions have to be so short?”

Gray heads at early morning pinochle.

There were 62+/- of us, and we came from Ohio, Pennsylvania, Illinois, Kentucky, North Carolina, and Alabama. Most of our previous reunions were in the 1980s and ‘90s. Dad died in 1981, and shortly after that we had our first reunion, at a state park in Ohio. There were fewer Kerbers then, and we all stayed in cabins and did the usual reunion things—drink morning coffee, play cards, eat, watch the kids play, drink beer, sit around the campfire.

Our family has other ways of getting together besides reunions and weddings. Since 1986, the men in our family (brothers, brothers-in-law, and nephews over the age of 18, and a few male friends of the family) get together annually for a bachelor party. This started the year (brother) Fred and Julie were married. For the next ten or so years, in addition to playing cards and drinking beer, we’d sit around and talk about politics, ethics, and family happenings. After that, with the increase in numbers, the focus is more on playing cards, eating, and sitting around the campfire. 

So far, there have been only three funerals to bring us together. Nancy and Mark’s son

Family photos often attract an intruder.

Michael died at six months of age from a heart condition in 1984, and Dad in 1981 and Mom in 2008. At mom’s funeral everyone was there except Linda’s husband, Steve, who was sick at the time, and our niece Korie (John and Ellen’s oldest), who was living in Virginia at the time. It’s probably the last time that high percentage of Kerbers will ever get together again. Realizing this made me feel a little sad.

Why am I drawn back over and over to people whom I’ve known my entire life? What force pulls me to them? It’s not because we share the same beliefs or views or ways of life, for we are a diverse group of beings.

 Bob & Fred's birthday at a 1992 reunion

The magnetism that pulls us towards one another is family, of course, but why do families form such tight bonds? Bonds that conquer the divisions of our politics and our religions, bonds that surmount the physical distances between us. Not all families seem to have this same pulling towards each other. Are we Kerbers just lucky? 

Our family’s bonds weren’t formed just by us 12 siblings, although the (mom-enforced) caring we did for each other (older siblings feeding, dressing, reading to the younger ones) may have played a part in that closeness. These bonds were primarily instilled/incubated by our parents, George and Dorothy, who learned the value of closeness from their parents, who in turn learned it from …

This kind of family bonding probably goes all the way back to the days when families feared a saber-toothed tiger at the entrance of their cave. Mutual protection from the tigers drew them together. This part of the reason for family bonds is easy to understand. But is fear the only thing that draws us back to each other? Where do love and affection fit in? 

Mom and Dad taught us that 828 was our refuge, a place, both physical and non-physical, where we could find sustenance, comfort, and protection. That’s probably when the ties that bind us really took hold, and they continue to draw us back to one another. Family weddings are a fun way to stay connected, but it is the leisurely pace of multi-day reunions that allows me to feel those bonds, and to know that I am not alone.

--Bob