I grew up with a strict mom who did not let me out of her sight very often. There were very few friends with whom she allowed me to spend time. This often made me feel lonely and isolated. So I made friends with my toys and my cartoon characters. Snoopy was one of my best friends. The Peanuts Gang felt like my family and I actively engaged with all of their adventures.
Thirty-five years later, I sit on the couch after my 2nd divorce. I am, once again, consoled by my group of fictionalized friends as I watch The Great Pumpkin. And I am struck by Linus’ faith. Linus explains to me (again) that the Great Pumpkin will rise out of the pumpkin patch that he thinks is the most sincere. He is trying to convince the Great Pumpkin that his patch is the one to visit because, “you can look all around and there is not a sign of hypocrisy.” He claims that his beliefs and actions are in harmony in his pumpkin patch, so that the Great Pumpkin needs to show up. And Linus is content with waiting for him. As long as it takes.
One year ago, my nine year old stepson, Fred, wrote a letter to Great Pumpkin. Every year his mom allowed him to exchange some of his candy for something non-edible and longer lasting and this year he asked the Great Pumpkin for a mini-trampoline.
I was given the directive to locate and purchase Fred’s new toy. And I was told I had to have it ready in two days. I voyaged out to the only place that had one in stock. Walmart. This did not excite me, but I did not want to let my 9 year-old down. I was thrilled to find one with a jump counter because Fred had fun competing against himself and others.
I came home after a long day at school and put it together while Fred’s mom was with a “friend” [I later realized it was most likely a date - we were allegedly monogamous]. I set the mini-trampoline up in his room with a note written from the Great Pumpkin. I used my left hand to throw him off my track.
He woke up the next morning and was ecstatic. He asked if I was the Great Pumpkin: I softly denied it and he chose to believe me. He was not ready to give up on magical beings in his life. I think he needed them so he could feel hope in what was otherwise a very painful childhood. He could not wait to tell me how many times he could jump in one session.
At 11:07 AM, Fred ran to his dad’s car. He was eager to start their weekend together. I felt the pit in my stomach grow and I could taste the sour acid at the back of my throat. I looked at Fred’s mom, my wife, and judging from the look on her face, I knew it was going to be a long and unpleasant weekend. She immediately started to yell at me about how distant I had been all morning. How she couldn’t rely on me. And how upset she was that I didn’t leave enough lights on for her when she arrived home the evening before. She was also furious that I had already gone to bed before she got home. I tried to explain that I was tired from my week and she had not communicated with me all night nor given me an estimate of her arrival. This set her off into a deeper rage about how I don’t care about her and I never put her feelings first. This went off and on for most of the day. I wish I could say this was not typical. And even though I now realize it was her trauma coming out sideways onto me, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
I finally fell asleep after she had exhausted herself into a slumber from all of her rage. I celebrated the relieving silence and was grateful to give my brain a break. But then I was jostled awake to the sound of loud noises from the first floor. I took off my sleep mask, looked at my phone, and discovered it was only 2:34 AM. I put on my robe and stumbled down the stairs without my glasses on. My dog, Walter, was at my heels. The smells of popcorn, olive oil, and chocolate filled my nose.
My wife was bouncing and bouncing and bouncing on Fred’s trampoline. She informed me that she had eaten too many calories that day and needed to burn them off. When I requested a break from the bouncing because it made it difficult to sleep, she responded in a rage. She threw something at me (not the first time), but it was a misfire and, instead, it hit Fred’s trampoline and broke off his jump counter. His prize gift had not even survived 24 hours in our chaotic house.
At the time, I was unaware of how my heart, like the jump counter, was also starting the process of breaking off of my body. I tried to fix both my heart and the trampoline with glue and tape, but these were poor adhesives for items that were beyond repair.
Fred came home the next day and was, predictably, devastated. I tried to console his tears the best I could. I was sincere about my love for him, but my love toward his mom was breaking off harder than the jump counter did. My disengagement became difficult to ignore. I could no longer pretend that her punches to my body and to my heart would ever heal. I had nothing left to give. So I went through the motions, but my heart wasn’t in it anymore. My empathy and compassion were drying up as a result of her continued violence toward me.
This meant that the chances of the Great Pumpkin ever visiting our house of insincerity became less and less.
Months later, I finally built the courage to end the relationship. My 2nd wife and her kids moved out and I started to build my own pumpkin patch. My therapist and my friends helped give me the necessary tools to increase my self worth, so that I could avoid abusive relationships and stop recreating my childhood trauma. I battled my co-dependent upbringing, and I learned the difficult lesson that sacrificing my needs for other people did not actually help anyone. I had been raised to take care of emotionally abusive humans, so I had to begin the arduous task of rewiring my brain.
I know if I remain patient that the Great Pumpkin will bring me my true love. And since I won’t allow myself to stay in abusive situations anymore, I know that, someday, the Great Pumpkin will finally give me the healthy and consistent love that I deserve.
Linus and I will wait for as long as it takes.
