My parents got this way, a bit, after my sister and I went off to college. It was indeed endearing.
I'm in that middle phase between being an endearing youth and being an endearing elder. It isn't pleasant.
My parents mostly still hate each other.
Hey, our first empty-nest vacation this September. And here is what I learned: You know who vacations in the Upper Midwest in September? Fucking old people!
You know who vacations in the Upper Midwest in September? Fucking old people!
4: Be sure to get to the buffet by 5:00 or all of the creamed stuff will be gone.
I could have probably crossed out "in September" too without losing much accuracy.
It's nice that Stanley posted this for Iris, ca. 2026.
"and daddy finally painted the whole house and it was so endearing."
Hey, our first empty-nest vacation this September.
My mom & dad finally went back to England - mom was a serious Anglophile - in Sept./Oct of my second year in college (not sure why they didn't my freshman year). One of the things I'm most sorry she missed was the travel she'd been waiting for her whole life (come to think of it, she may only have left the continent those 2 times. Hmm).
I just found out that the window I carefully and confidently re-glazed still leaks. Fucking houses.
6: The hot white center of geezer-food America, the Bavarian Inn in Frankenmuth, Michigan. Where the whole non-hep world would be eating on a Thursday afternoon if the Nazis had lost the war. We stopped there on the 2nd day out based on the recommendation of a co-worker. As a consequence I ended up owing my wife 8 gazillion, 306 thousand and 53 forfeits and had to do as she said the whole rest of the trip.
Stanley, do you mind if I ask how old your parents are?
"and daddy finally painted the whole house and it was so endearing."
Seriously, could I have used the word "endearing" one more time? Hey, me: proofread more.
14: Indeed. Also home to this place which you lay have seen advertised on the road, Bronner's Christmas Wonderland. I'm surprised it didn't appear in American Gods.
17: It was sort of an emergency-ish visit, Will. And by "Will" I mean "jerkface".
Oh nothing, it just reminded me that somewhere up in my attic I have a Turing machine paying its taxes on time, giving my kids sober advice and driving a late model Buick.
And now Biohazard will show up and mock me or shoot me with an ancient firearm or something.
16: Your parents are closer to my age than to my parents age.
Oh, my grandparents are super young. Both of my grandmas were something like 17 when they had my parents. I think this issue has come up before.
27: I'm older than nosflow (but not by much). Teo is young. destroyer was the youngest commenter I was aware of, but he seems to have fallen off the map. Comment now young people!
There are 75 years between my dad's birth date and my son's.
I'm younger than Stanley, but my parents are actually older than his. Odd.
Wow, that's crazy. I'm like, a year older than Stanley, and my parents were born in '45 and '51. Grandparents in the teens.
Are we to believe that different people had children at different ages? Inconceivable.
Specifically, my parents were born in '47 and '51. Grandparents in the teens.
Are we to believe that different people had children at different ages?
Different children, even. What a world.
33: The difference in age is just surprising, that's all! Most of my friends had similarly "old" parents.
We do love our little children, stanley, parenthetical, teo. All of them....so cute!
I think Po-Mo is younger than me, too, if memory serves. Maybe NickS, too? Not sure on that one.
But yes, I've often had the youngest parents among any group of friends and by far the youngest grandparents. My people like boinking and were pretty Catholic about it until my generation, is my explanation.
Stanley, yes, your parents are closer to my age than to my parents' age, but what's weird is the way you sound like you're infantilizing them. Dude. They may be commenting on blogs right now in a way you would completely not recognize.
Just saying.
Your dad going on about the lamp might be him having no idea what you're interested in. Or not. Maybe your dad has been 55 since you were born.
#3 must be one of my children. I've been lurking here all these years and never recognized her until now.
he way you sound like you're infantilizing them
Really? What specifically made you react that way?
I recently helped my mom make a blog for a work-related project. She "confessed" she'd found and been reading my blog, which was no big deal for me. She could also easily click through to here, which, again, no big deal for me.
42: Yeah, no, sorry. I'm not putting myself well. Maybe Stanley's dad is cute in an old-and-endearing way, but Stanley should realize that his parents at that age are really probably pretty robust people.
?
I don't know how to say this. Don't be amused by your 55-year-old parents! Good lord, they are not simpletons. Somehow Stanley's post seemed to frame them that way.
Stanley should realize that his parents at that age are really probably pretty robust people.
What makes you think he doesn't? The post isn't about how they're old, it's about how they're in love with each other.
parsimon, my first reaction upon reading this post was that I sincerely hope my kids some day feel this way about me. If they'll be infantilizing me in the process, well, then, dress me up in a onesie and draw me a bottle. Seriously, Stanley, I think it's incredibly sweet and makes me think you love your mom and dad. They're very lucky.
But people in love with each other ARE amusing. Isn't that more the point of the post?
They're adorable. As people in love, at any age, should be.
Don't be amused by your 55-year-old parents! Good lord, they are not simpletons. Somehow Stanley's post seemed to frame them that way.
Or maybe, given what others are saying, you just (mis)read it that way.
I mean, he doesn't even say they're old.
Pwnorioles are endearing *and* amusing.
They're adorable. As people in love, at any age, should be.
Are you new here?
Okay, I give.
It's cool. I'm really happy for my parents, is all. And they were definitely doing me a favor today. So any infantilizing would most certainly be pointing my way, except we have a very good relationship as adults and friends who help each other out.
51: Eh, I read it somewhat your way as well, but I think that's how it often swings between children and parents. To some degree, I have mutually-infantilizing relationships both up and down the ancestor chain. Comes with the territory a bit, I'd say.
My parents are younger but my grandparents are older than Stanley's.
Everyone's a baby! You're all my cute widdle baby commenters, yes you are!
Are you new here?
Just feeling charitable to the human race today.
I consistently talk about my parents in the way Stanley does here; they regularly amuse me. It's nothing to do with them being old or incapable or doddering; just, that, well, I like them. They're endearing! I mean, the two of them had a race to see who could hull 20 pounds of pistachios off their trees fastest. That's cute.
I have a really hard time helping my mom with computer-related issues, in part because I am so used to her being incredibly skillful and knowledgeable and I find it just so damn weird that she doesn't know how to resize a browser window. So I get frustrated quickly and give up. (I'm such a brat of a child.)
46 - All the better if they infantilize you for the very same reason.
25: Mock? Never. Snicker a bit, yes, as I reach for the Vicodin.
Having the kids out of the nest made its flimsy construction much more apparent. The divorce followed not long afterwards. Strangely enough and I would have never predicted this, she and I get along far better now than we ever did before.
When the infantilizing gets to the point of diaper fetishes, though--well call me close-minded but I just don't think you you should be thinking about your parents that way.
Off to run!
42: my lawn, it infantilizes. Let me show you it, before you get off of it.
58:
I consistently talk about the kids these days in the way Stanley does here; they regularly amuse me. It's nothing to do with them being young or incapable or clueless; just, that, well, I like them. They're endearing! I mean, the two of them had a race to see who could text 20 pounds of pistachios off their trees fastest. That's cute.
This thread seems to have gone in kind of a weird direction.
Let's talk about corn, what my people call maize!
Or wait let's talk about how ari totally, totally lies about his nonexistent social life!
68: Why not? Tomorrow I'm off to the heart of cornness.
Let's talk about corn, what my people call maize!
Pop, flint, dent, or flour?
I mean, I do, sure, but I'm not sure about the specific context.
71: speaking as somebody who has had actual drinks with you at an actual bar, you totally do. Unfogged, she is the chopped liver?
65: Yeah, if that's supposed to make me feel bad about myself or something, it doesn't really work. I comment in a similar way about becoupled friends of my own age, too. If someone said something like that about me and a partner, I'd feel loved.
I do understand JP's comment, but I think that's a reflection of how families work.
Now, go get me my pacifier!
More seriously, bullshitting with idiots on the internet might be a terrible hobby, but it is a hobby.
I'm hurt. Bullshitting, is that all it is to you?
76: Oh, that's true enough. But the last thing I want is to encourage, in any way, my students to start looking for on the internet.
I mean, I do, sure, but I'm not sure about the specific context.
This, presumably.
Maybe NickS, too? Not sure on that one.
I'm older -- I just turned 33.
I'm actually kind of liking my mid-thirties, for what it's worth.
I probably could have been quicker with that.
75: Sorry, Parenthetical. It wasn't about you per se. I thought the substitutions were instructive. Ari's right in 66, though; while it's too late for a snack now, I'm off.
I'm kind of looking forward to getting old.
All right, young commenters. We got all the old folks to go to bed. What was The Master Plan again?
I'd love a snack, but of course all I have is beer.
Wait, I don't have any better. Crap. On to yelling at 77.
84: I understood what you were trying to do; it's that the substitutions didn't suddenly make the statement or that style of talking about people offensive to me, or make your point clearer. I'm discussing something that I see as an unalloyed positive - I like my parents. And like most people I like, they occasionally amuse me. I suppose we just disagree.
What was The Master Plan again?
Stay up until 3 without doing anything productive, I think.
88: Hope I get old before I die!
Any "beer"! Dammit. Beer is better. I should stick to watching Mythbusters.
33 got insufficient pun-related appreciation. You're endearing to *me*, JP.
I got to speak to a class of fresh-faced college students today. They were extremely sweet and well-prepared. It was a real pleasure.
It's also a real pleasure to not be them, and to finally have my chronological age and mental age pretty much in sync. Thank you, wonderful adults who promised my teenage self that this would happen!
There should be more Repo Man allusions. Always already.
4,95: But think about the dirt that you'll be wearing for a shirt!
93: Go get sushi and not pay.
I thought it was nosflow's thing to walk out on restaurant tabs.
You eat alot of acid, ari, back in the hippie days?
102: Every living creature on earth dies alone.
My parents were born in '52 and '54. Just to help complete the comparison for those of us who are approximately the same age.
They're adorable. As people in love, at any age, should be.
This reminds me of a recent disagreement I had with someone over whether Pushing Daisies was a good TV show.
Also: I had way too many drinks tonight.
OH GOD I'M THE AGE MY MOM WAS WHEN I WAS BORN!
106: Technically, but the Health Department said that it was a 'cluster' and that I shouldn't make anymore potato salad.
This reminds me of a recent disagreement I had with someone over whether Pushing Daisies was a good TV show.
What side were you on? I have to admit that I rather hated it. (I can only handle adorable in certain contexts. Kittens, mostly.)
110: I like it. I'm open to the possibility that this means I have bad taste. I'm generally not a fan of the sentimental or adorable, but the show seems smart enough to make it acceptable. Or maybe Anna Friel just short-circuits my brain.
OH GOD I'M THE AGE MY MOM WAS WHEN I WAS BORN!
I had this moment (on the mom thing) at 24. My older brother's was 22. I'm my dad's me-birth age, at 27. It's a weird thing to realize.
OH GOD I'M THE AGE MY MOM WAS WHEN I WAS BORN!
I'm 6 years older than my father was when I was born.
I've got 2.5 more years until I'm the same age as my mom when I was born. 2 years until I'm the same age at first marriage. Past 30, apparently, I'll be late to the game.
I've got a while until I'm the age either of my parents was when I was born.
Huh, I passed that age nearly ten years ago without a backwards glance. Maybe it's all complaining my mom has done over the years about how her ambitions were crushed when she became pregnant with my brother and felt obligated to marry my father.
I wonder if these numbers track with economic class and some gender stuff. I've always felt like I was in the lower-class-origin cohort of the population of Unfogged. I'm in the first generation of males in the family where the males routinely attend university. I have a B.A. My grandpa, dad, and uncles do not.
The women attended university in my mom's cohort, and they're almost universally teachers or nurses. There's a speech pathologist in the mix, now that I think about it.
117: It could be. I'm the product of my dad's second family, and he had no college education, just Navy training. My generation was the first to go to college on that side (but all three of his children did go). His first kids were born at a much earlier age (at the most, mid-20s, but I don't have an exact sense).
With my mom's side, my grandfather was the first college educated one (but the only one of his generation, the rest of the boys remained on the farm), and my mom has a graduate degree. I foiled her plans to go on to get a Ph.D.; she had me at 30.
My parents were born in '18. But I'm older now than when I was born. I need a drink. Who hid the Geritol? Where are my glasses?
117: Maybe? None of my parents, grandparents, aunts, or uncles have a college degree. Though I have aunts who had children when much younger than my parents were, and uncles who never had children. So within my family the age of having children seems pretty scattered.
I wonder if these numbers track with economic class and some gender stuff.
I suspect they do, yeah. My family's been solidly middle class on both sides for quite a few decades, and we've had 35-year generations for just as long.
There are some complications, though, and interactions between class and gender. Some branches of my dad's family have fifty-year generations (in the male line). Those are the people who stayed on the farm.
Oh yeah, and I think my father's family took a few steps backward in economic class between the Civil War and the Great Depression. I'm pretty sure we had some college educated ministers in there, and they often point to a fine manor house that used to be in the family in Kentucky. But going that far back probably doesn't help anything.
Both my parents went to college, as did both of my grandfathers and one of my great-grandmothers.
the age of having children seems pretty scattered.
Oh, wildly so. I have a cousin whose uncle is younger than her (by a wee bit). That takes context ("look, everyone was boinking Catholic-style twenty years later"). Same result.
OH GOD I'M THE AGE MY MOM WAS WHEN I WAS BORN!
At a week shy of my 41st birthday, I am now exactly the age my father was when he died.
I think my father's family took a few steps backward in economic class between the Civil War and the Great Depression.
Mine definitely did. They owned slaves and stuff, and at least some members of the family are said to have attended Stanley's alma mater. None of my direct ancestors that I know of, though.
Interesting. My background is upper-middle-middle class or so; all my grandparents went to college and in some cases it goes much further back; and my parents had me in their early thirties.
My great-great-grandfather was born in 1848. He was 35 when my great-grandmother was born. He died in 1935.
125: Not to ignore your impending doom or anything, but it seems that you and I are almost exactly the same age. This news changes everything, I know.
I'm just trying to imagine living through that kind of change.
There was just a big series in The Economist regarding the decline of global fertility which I'm pretty sure had all sorts of fancy data and graphs proving that educating women and improving economic status leads to more space between generations.
I mean, being twelve when the Civil War broke out and living to see the New Deal. Think about that.
and at least some members of the family are said to have attended Stanley's alma mater
Really? That's great.
My family stayed true to Europe, until the potatoes gave out or something and something happened in Poland and also something happened with some Norwegian Jew who became a logger in Quebec, learned french, married a Blackfoot and emigrated here (which all sounds like a fodder for a Decemberist's song). One starts to see the appeal of genealogy research.
Blackfeet. Unless the person's foot was actually black.
Really? That's great.
Yeah, the older brothers of the great-grandfather I mentioned in 128. He would presumably have gone there too, if the war hadn't intervened.
And Teo, what about being born the year before the moon landing and living long enough to see the end of the American empire? And also hovercars? That's got to count for something, right?
One starts to see the appeal of genealogy research.
I find it really interesting, although I haven't done any of it in a while. There's definitely a point of diminishing returns after a while, though.
134: Or was a French colonist in Algeria.
happened with some Norwegian Jew who became a logger in Quebec, learned french, married a Blackfoot and emigrated here (which all sounds like a fodder for a Decemberist's song).
My father's family has a legend (I've never bothered to look into the veracity of the claim) that in the 1830s one of the upstanding scions of the family wandered into Canada with the fur traders, brought two Crow sisters home with him to Georgia (presumably under some sort of duress). Fast forward some years and a brother arrived and tried to take them both home, but one had married her captor/rescuer (the descriptor is highly dependent on who is telling the story) and refused to go home.
who is telling the story
And let me tell you, all of them tell it way better than I just did there. Jeeze.
137: Learning that my last name means, roughly, "dumb hick from Germany who now lives in Poland and is looked down upon", I'm sure the best news of family oratory history is gone, but I comfort myself by assuming it's rich with stories I'll never know, but which rich stories are rich nonetheless.
you and I are almost exactly the same age.
A mere seven days apart, it appears. Sagittarian Monkeys, we.
113 is exactly right. For me.
65 is really funny.
One need not wait until the kids are out of the house to start acting like that.
In other news, I'd be thankful to be reminded, at appropriate occasions, not to go drinking with Europeans.
In other news, I'd be thankful to be reminded, at appropriate occasions, not to go drinking with Europeans.
Don't they buy their rounds?
I tried to post in the immigration thread, so I'm checking here to see whether it's me, or whether that thread isn't accepting new comments, or something that wants me off of Unfogged's lawn.
Your comment posted, Doug. In triplicate.
It's not them, OFE, it's me.
131: It seems like a lot of places are discovering that fact. Hasn't this been known and more or less established for at least a decade?
As long as we're talking about Poles, Norwegians, and Blackfeet, though, it was this:
LB is right, at 79 [wherein she said that the thing to do was tear down the fences and the walls and let 'em all in]. It says so right by the big statue:
Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!
Have we, collectively, forgotten?
150: Strange. It didn't show up for me before. Well, anyone with a sufficiently magic wand should please feel free to wave the duplicates away.
I'm sort of amused by the infantilizing bit. I have a friend who is highly critical of his father's weight and who recently chastised dad in the middle of a restaurant that no he could not order the latkes because he is diabetic and that is bad
Same friend recently hung some family portraits painted by his mom. I commented that I was really moved by the penetrating sadness in the faces. He responded that mom could be pretty melodramatic sometimes.
That, my friends, is infantilizing your parents. Being moved by their rekindle love? That is simply endearing.
you guys, I don't want to post this as a post because mumble mumble Narnian police mumble, so instead I'm hijacking this with the single longest comment of all time.
I got a worried phone call from the boyfriend of one of my NA sponsees the other day. He said he couldn't get her to pick up her phone, and she needed to get up to get on her flight out of the country. I thought he seemed a bit overwrought for her just not answering the phone, but whatever. I tried her a few times and couldn't get her, so I helped him contact the hospital ward and ask the nurses to go check on her. They responded that she had checked out as a patient yesterday and was no longer their problem. This was true to an extent, but I also knew she'd pissed off each and every one of them at some point, and they were being bitchy about it. Finally the boyfriend just returned to the hospital, and I was on the phone with him when they walked into the room together and found her blue and cold in the hospital bed. He broke down, and was asking them if she had a pulse, and all that. He hung up eventually in distress and a few minutes later someone I know from the hospital called to say she was dead.
Boyfriend had spent the night with her in the hospital bed, and he admitted (to me, and to the doctor) they had been doing heroin together, but said he kissed her goodbye in the morning, kissed her hair, and that he didn't think she could have been dead then. He lied to the cops that she must have ODed on a combination of valium (her pill bottle in the room was empty) and beer, which they had been drinking.
She was supposed to leave the country the day before. She was going to go from Vietnam, where her family is, to a year-long rehab in Southern California. We had high hopes for her. She had stayed clean for four months before relapsing about a month ago, but she seemed committed to the idea of going to a rehab for a long enough time that she could really get her shit together. Through a combination of flakiness and the hospital not managing to get her medication in time she arrived at 3:00 for a 3:20 flight, which she obviously missed. She had called me from the airport, all enraged at the airport staff, who were demanding $100 to re-book her for the next day. She didn't have the money, and I was torn about whether I was going to close my store and go bail her ass out of trouble for the millionth time. Luckily, because she was a beautiful young woman, some nice person at the airport ponied up the dough and she got re-booked. So she went back to the hospital, demanding to stay in one of the guest rooms, on the grounds that it was their fault she had missed her flight, and they OKed it.
Now, classic addict logic kicked in here, and she figured, one last night to see the boyfriend and get incredibly wasted. She had the connections to get heroin, and he didn't, which she was using as leverage in their fucked-up relationship. He wanted to leave her but this was the irresistible hook. She herself hadn't used heroin in like six years, this was all about him. And the getting wasted, OK. So, overdose or tragic suicide, who knew? The latter seemed more likely since she was alive when he left her.
But then I was comforting him the next day as he sobbed on my shoulder, and I wanted to reassure him, so I said, there's no way she was dead when you left. I have actually kissed a dead person before (my grandmother, whom I was with when she died at home), and I'm telling you, they don't seem at all like alive people. Definitely something missing there. And he said: that was just what I told the police. When I woke up in the morning she was cold against my back, and her face was twisted and blue. So I went around gathering up all the drugs and needles and stuff and left to dispose of it all, and then I started calling you.
Now I'm like, fuck? You were just making me part of your bullshit alibi? But the Narnian prisons are no jokes, and I thought, well, surely he'll flee the country now. Once he's out I'll tell everybody. He told me he was taking off for Cambodia at 6 am 2 days following. (A modestly intelligent person would have gotten on a bus to Johor right then, but he didn't, and you know why? Because he still had more drugs to use up! Fucking moron). But then I reflected some more, and talked to my husband, who is more ethical than I am, and said, what should I do? So I told my friend from the hospital, and she told the doctor. I haven't really talked to the family in depth yet. The funeral was today and the sound of a mother sobbing over the coffin of her dead child is the single most heart-rending sound, and if I never have to hear it again it will be too soon.
I told the father that the boyfriend had been lying to the police and everyone, and that if he wanted to hear the whole truth he should talk to me. Why do I know everything? Because boy genius just kept calling, and calling, and calling, to tell me still more horrible details, like how she was sleeping in his T-shirt and it was the only thing he had to wear, so he had to take it off her body to put on.
So now lots of people think she committed suicide--probably her parents too--and I know she didn't. She had tried before, and she left a note. The valium are all gone because dumbshit took them. She just wanted to get high and she misjudged. I'm like morally certain of this, and it makes a big difference. Surely it makes a difference to her 9-year-old brother.
Dumbshit has kept calling and I have been rejecting his calls except one I took by mistake, in which I learned that the cops (who had been calling and calling him) finally convinced him to come down, just for a little talk, and he went, and they took his passport. Dumbass!
I guess I have to tell the parents, that's clear. I have an atavistic urge not to snitch this guy out, but I don't owe him anything. But should I call the cops? I damn sure don't want to talk to those people. I think I'll just wait, and if they call, I'll tell them everything. And it was my money. My motherfucking money that she got out of me by saying she wanted to buy a present for her little brother and for her mom's birthday, which was the 19th. She used those two crisp 50s I handed her, with the bland face of Yusof Ishak staring from them, to buy drugs, and now she's buried in the peculiar jungle soil of Narnia. Red clay, basically. They don't fuck around in Narnia so after we were done throwing our flowers and handfuls of dirt down into the hole they brought a big earth mover over with its dozer full of red clay and dumped it into the grave.
Oh man, alameida. I wish I could come up with someting more useful to say than just that I am sorry for your loss. Please don't spend time thinking about the money. You know full well how convincing an addict can learn to be. And she'd have gotten the money somewher in any case. I have no idea. What I'd tell anyone in your shoes. Honestly, I don't think there's a wrong answer. So, so sorry.
I know you're right but somehow it keeps bothering me. I feel better after the funeral, actually. I'm packing up all the stuff from her room that she was renting tomorrow, so the parents don't have to. makes me feel useful, anyway.
I know. And I know telling someone they shouldn't fixate on this. Or that doesn't much help. You are a good soul to. Help pack up her things and to be thinking of everyone's needs.
Given Aslan's views on controlled substances, could boyfriend be looking at a date with the gallows?
no, because he hasn't been caught with x amount of drugs. but caning and a long time in a jail where they don't have beds, just rush mats on the stone floor (like what the fuck is this, the three fucking musketeers?).
I guess that Narnia takes "getting medieval" rather literally. Still, rush mats and stone would seem preferable to a long swing from a short rope, even if it falls in the category of thanking your Higher Power for small favors.
Hope the encounter with the police goes well. I'd imagine it'll happen fairly soon (as soon as they check his cellphone and discover all those calls he placed)...
I'm like morally certain of this, and it makes a big difference. Surely it makes a difference to her 9-year-old brother.
YES.
As for the rest...I don't have words. Hug your family, and take a deep breath, maybe.
Surely it makes a difference to her 9-year-old brother
My experience with both. Addiction and suicide is limited. But I can imagine an emotional space in which suicide would be easier for the loved ones to bear than overdose. It is easier, I think, to feel deep contempt for addiction and harder to feel that way about suicidal depression. If it were my own sibling or child, suicide would let me direct much of the blame at myself, which seems somehow more comforting than directing it at the person I just lost. If that makes sense. Really, I'm just back to saying there is no wrong answer her (and no right one).
Oh, alameida. I am so sorry. Like Witt said, hug your family. I have little idea what is the next right thing here. I do think packing up her stuff is a kindness to her family.
Holy crap. I'm sorry, Alameida.
But I can imagine an emotional space in which suicide would be easier for the loved ones to bear than overdose. It is easier, I think, to feel deep contempt for addiction and harder to feel that way about suicidal depression. If it were my own sibling or child, suicide would let me direct much of the blame at myself, which seems somehow more comforting than directing it at the person I just lost.
I don't think this is universal. Our buddy in college committed suicide, and lots of my friends were furious with him for doing that to his parents.
168: I know. Thus, no right or wrong answers. All anyone can do is be as compassionate as they can. Which is what I know alameida is doing. It's going to suck, badly, for awhile regardless.
Fuck, what a godawful snafu. So sorry, Alameida, remember to look after yourself and yours.
The two people I know who do the most work with the surviving family members of homicide victims say there is a very deep hunger to know what actually happened to their loved one. Even if it is horrific and upsetting, families very often really, really, really just want to know. Sometimes to the point of being willing to have the prosecutor make a deal with the offender so he can tell them exactly what happened.
I don't know if the same applies in the cases of accidental death, but I wouldn't be surprised.
Oh, man. Alameida, really take care of yourself. Help her family if you can, but don't overextend yourself.
I think I'll just wait, and if they call, I'll tell them everything.
Please do this, if nothing else, to keep yourself out of trouble. Lying to the cops when there's a body involved is bad times here, and god only knows what kind of trouble over there. By talking to your friend at the hospital and the father there's a good chance someone's going to or already has given this info to the cops.
Your friend is probably fucked. If it's not already obvious it wasn't a Valium overdose, the autopsy will likely take care of that. I would also guess that there's possibly either security camera footage/and or witnesses of your friend coming and going from her room.
I just want to let you know I'm on your side, Alameida. I can't really think of any comforting words or useful advice, but I figure a little show of support can't hurt.
Your friend is probably fucked.
Fortunately, it doesn't sound like he's her friend in any way at all.
Maybe you should talk with a Narnia lawyer. Just to be safe.
Telling them everything might be good advice or it might not be good advice.
A good lawyer would know.
Unrelated, one of my college roommates is living in Narnia.
Alameida, sorry for your loss and the troubled time ahead. Chin up, cry when you need to, and take it one day at a time. FWIW, I'll be thinking of you.
The title of this post is supposed to fit into the tune of "The Big Rock Candy Mountain", right?
I'm 27, same as several other people here apparently, and my parents were born in '46 and '50. So I still have a ways to go before I'm as old as they were when I was born. I'm actually less educated than much of my family. My father's father was a dentist and mother's mother a nurse, my father a lawyer and my mother a guidance counselor, but I only have a B.A. and don't plan on anything more.
Also, 174 is right.
The title of this post is supposed to fit into the tune of "The Big Rock Candy Mountain", right?
My family's upwardly mobile -- grandparents no college, parents some college, no degrees (but one professional career), and my generation has professional degrees. But we've had long generations all along -- both grandmothers, my mother, and me had first kids at almost 30. It's surprising how fast you slip a generation that way -- Buck's six years older than I am, but my grandparents were about the same age as his great-grandparents.
Oh gosh, Alameida . . .
I don't have any advice, just sympathy. That sounds awful.
That's ridiculously awful. Pulling something that shitheadedly irresponsible, bad enough; doing it there, crazily likely to endanger everyone nearby.
And lawyer sounds good, as does speaking to the consulate before you speak to the police. I would think they would need to know anyway.
Fuck, Al, I'm sorry. I'm sending good thoughts your way.
Alameida, so sorry you got caught up in this mess, and so sorry you've lost your sponsee. Not lying to anyone seems like a good idea.
long generations all along -- both grandmothers, my mother, and me had first kids at almost 30
/withers up and turns into a pile of pregnant dust
Since my parents moved, I've noticed what Stanley is describing more and more. Until about 14 months ago they had always had people/children/foster children living with them, but my brother and their foster son both finally moved out within a few weeks of each other, and then they moved down to Wales this summer. They have friends there, and they have met lots of people in their friendly village, but obviously they've had much more time together, and no responsibility for anyone else. They are so happy and relaxed and enjoying each other's company, it's lovely to see. (They were born in '45 and '48 - quite young when they had me, although their parents were old when they had them.)
Fucking hell, Alameida, what a nightmare. Condolences and good luck.
Heh. For Mom and my grandmothers, it was late -- my parents were older than any of my friends' parents. I, on the other hand, did feel like a bit of a pregnant teen hanging around in the playground; I'm significantly younger than the parents of most of Sally and Newt's friends.
The Breaths are not swayed by the winds of fashion! We procreate on our own schedule!
And Al; have you got an AA/NA sponsor? See if you can spread some of the stress onto them -- you need as much support as you can get.
Jesus, al, that must be absolutely wrenching to go through. I'm sending good thoughts your way.
There are 75 years between my dad's birth date and my son's.
I hadn't thought about it this way, but about 70 between my mom's and my daughters', and 80 between my MIL's and my daughters'. Um, wow.
Yeah but, 79 years between my grandfather and me, at an earlier date. Is this conflicting evidence? Of course Dad would probably have settled down sooner if not for the little unpleasantness in the middle of the last century.
About 60-65 years between me and my grandparents. 48 between my mum and my eldest.
54-60 years between my siblings and my grandmother. 64 years between my mom and Hawaiian Punch.
the little unpleasantness in the middle of the last century.
AB's maternal grandparents had one child at the outset of the Depression, then waited until it was over to have another, not realizing it would be 10 years. Then the older sister married and reproduced young, with the result that my MIL is (I think) closer in age to her eldest niece than to her sister, and that AB is (I think) just older than one of her cousins once removed (did I use that right? a cousin who is one generation farther along than she is).
All of those caveats are in there because I can't keep track - it's so alien to my small immediate family (both my parents had just one sibling, as do I). Meanwhile, one of AB's cousins has married an older man whose daughter from his first marriage had a baby a month or two before the cousin and man did - she became a step-grandmother just before becoming a mother. That's more of a Jerry Springer-type situation, but regardless shows how screwy generations can be.
Meanwhile, Iris was born when her great-grandfather (my mom's dad) was almost 90, so medium-long generations there.
Unless Iris is atypically in a hurry to have kids, we'll be in our 60s before we become grandparents. If she waits as long as AB did, we'll be 70.
Uh, she'll be 70. I'll be younger, as I am now.
Alameida, that's awful. Talk to the cops, yes, probably. If nothing else, it will weigh on you forever and a day if not. The family deserves to know; what they tell the 9-year-old is up to them.
Alex (at 187) is absolutely right about talking to consular people before talking to the cops. Call them (6476-9100) and note the emergency number. If the police want to talk to you before business hours on Monday, call the emergency number, give the duty officer a run-down of what's happened, and say that you want to make sure that you can get consular assistance.
Given the circumstances you describe (particularly as they concern death and controlled substances), it might also be very smart to have a consular officer present during any conversation that you have with police. Narnia isn't actually required to allow this unless you're arrested, but I would expect if consular officers requested to be there, Narnia would not likely turn them down. At the very least, the local police would be on notice that the US Government is Taking an Interest.
There aren't a lot of times when I recommend playing the Goddammit, I'm An American card. This is one.
97.1: Thanks, but I don't think that word means what I think it means.
Condolences, alameida.
Also, parsimon, saw your bad news in the other thread, my apologies too. (And I wouldn't have been so pissy last night if I had realized, so sorry about that too.)
207: No worries. Too many people dying lately, though.
Watched, for the 1st time, Rachel Getting Married last night. Wonderful.
I think I may have been the first to read al's comment 155 at 4 AM. Well, not counting lurkers. My instant reaction was to ask a frontpager that it be deleted, thinking it might be dangerous or self-destructive. I suppose that's patronizing or infantilizing or something, but, ya know, al's SOs and stuff.
Anyway, all kinds of sympathy and understanding to those I know in Narnia.
I'm Bob, and I'm an addict.
[al] Sending sympathetic thoughts your way. Hang in there.
my mom says I should go talk to a consular official on monday, tell him/her the whole story, and then ask if I should be helpful to the narnian police or what. dumbass tried to call me at 3:45 am last night. I guess he's not in jail then, because in narnia you a) don't get a phone call b) can be held for 48 hours with no charges or any telling anybody where you are.
My instant reaction was to ask a frontpager that it be deleted
She is a front pager.
211: so, I mean, I think that's right: what you're contemplating, while right in any kind of normal society, is basically sentencing this guy (who is a junkie, and is a fuck, and has fucked himself, I think without question) to a lifetime of torture, terror, and pain. There are certainly times at which one would want to do that, but just for one's own peace of mind over the coming decades I think one would want to exhaust all available other options.
As I'm sure you know.
211: Your mom is so very right.
Please seriously consider having a consular official present any time that you talk with the Narnian authorities. You know as well as I do the kinds of shenanigans that police the world over like to get up to; they are less likely to do that in the presence of a representative of the hegemon.
