AmTaham = " m a h a T m A. "
from Chapter Eighteen: The Company One's Mind Keeps
" AmTaham never, as regards the three children of his that were female, sold them out to the holocaustic domination of the male – supremacist society that he so very, very easily could have. And, specifically, he did not, for the sake of his own glorification in their eyes or his colossal desire to be in his Truemaier grandsons’ lives, betray me, his own child, to the man Herry, who held the keys, literally, to AmTaham’s access to Zane, Jesse and Mirzah. He up and fell down dead, AmTaham did, on Monday, 30 March 1992, crossing into his so well – earned role of Righteous Ancestor without ever seeing or touching his Truemaier grandsons one last, promised time mid October 1991– rather than break his stance and pledge of loyalty to me, his own belovéd daughter.
So when Zane declared to us all that his History Day film subject was to be his most revered and belovéd Grandpa AmTaham, you can believe I was not at all surprised. Yet so, so pleased. And you can imagine that the Good and Wonderful Doctor Herod Edinsmaier was nowhere to be seen on the scene helping Zane to get any of this project’s undertaking accomplished either.
Herry, on the other hand, was up to next to nothing honorable, “ … sand upon bedrock.” “Some things” such as the apparently disembodied vaginas and breasts, the procrastination during and actual absence from his doctoring job, the procrastination during or, rather, the outright daily disappearance of his physique altogether from any of his labors of the fathering job, the neediness of his narcissism although of pillared prominence as a physician in the community, the passive aggressive silences, the intransigence and contrariness, the smutty and sluttish language alongside his voyeuristic use of pornography not to mention the vulgar, sexual spin Herry implied or actually verbally put onto everything including ordinary poems, perfectly correct vocabulary words on TV and in ordinary conversation, even on the verbiage with which he chose to address me or spitefully spewed in the spit that was his mother – fucking, spousal pillow talk and foreplay, his incessant smirks and snide, sarcastic retorts, his exhibitionism through the deliberate opening of the bedroom draperies, the wearing of blue jeans on the weekends with large butt or crotch holes in them and without any underwear on so that his hairy scrotum hung through as he walked or sat legs apart, his answering the Othello doorbell clad only in his equally holey skivvies and nothing else – without regard to who may be on the other side, his loathing of anything that smacked the least way sideways of homosexuality or lesbian and gay issues, his writings, the company he constantly kept who were both women and men with minds in as much need of repetitious, around – the – clock adulation and insatiable ego buildup as Herry’s head was. Herry groped (at least) Grace; an indecent liberty the frottage, his frotteurism is concealingly and subtly termed in ‘therapeutic’ circles. The fondling incestuously – and probably worse – of three little sisters, the bestiality.
I was just … some thing to be consumed, to be “ … used and humiliated.” Then – … then there was Herry’s crime of supplying pornography to kids, – to my Truemaier Boys! And, finally of course, the terrorism and torture of “ … the world’s oldest bias crime … ” –– the ultimate mother – fucking: the Good and Wonderful Doctor Herod Edinsmaier went after – and threatened them all with death – my Sons!
Dr. Herod Edinsmaier’s associations, companionships and behaviors are, indeed, sand upon bedrock. Of the most ancient, evil and diseased sort.
* * * *
I? I was accountable for turning the other cheek faaaaaar too far. A blind eye and two deaf ears, instead of just my usual entirely dead one, is really more of what it was I turned. A terribly common and often fatal female thing to do. Also a sand upon bedrock deal that may be changing somewhat.
Perhaps we women, as over half the human race that we are, are getting a little bit better about not permitting this to happen to us as much – particularly as we all finally acquire and really, really take inside ourselves the knowledge that forgiveness –— just like hope –— ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. As it has, for so damned long, been hauled out and hailed by the world’s male theologians as being. Gradually now, because of calamitous and deadly experiences such as being mother – fucked, not – forgiving but still living long, great and so – fulfilled lives is siphoning out onto the general populace, especially that majority portion of it which is female. Reference, for instance, the sagas and sentiment of Must You Forgive? Psychology Today, July / August 1999, recounted by Jeanne Safer, PhD.
What a mistake it’d been of mine to agree in June 1988, to let Herry have visitation with the Boys at his place every single weekend. Grievous, ‘permitting’ error on my part. Now I was living with this consequential experience once again – where I’d tried to be fair, to be kind, to ‘let’ shit just happen because I thought I should be ‘good’.
What is ‘good’ is now redefined. I wish someone’d’ve tutored me on this sooner so that I wouldn’t’ve screwed up quite so much all through the legalities that were to follow. Geesh, if I’d only known aforehand an itty bitty fraction of the generalities regarding legal stuff that I now know in hindsight! This is much of the matter – of – course, self – protection knowledge that Mehitable should have taught me as the Ancestor – in – Training mother that she was during my childhood, youthful adolescence and young adulthood. And did not. O, as a matter of fact, ferociously and zealously and specifically, it seems to me now, did not teach any of her female children! "
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