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