Third generation parentally-abandoned child.

It feels like a million years since I've posted anything about Ponysboy. TBH I'm in over my head! There is so much to wrap my arms around with this project, and I am in it alone.  

Now, couple that with the fact that as I uncover more about Ponysboy, I learn more about the family I came from, and it's not pretty. It's sad, and bleak, it's depressing and sometimes really upsetting. I am a third generation parentally-abandoned child. 

Ponyboy's father went to live with an uncle when he was 6, after the death of his mother. He grew up had a family and abandoned all of them, only to do it two more times after. Ponysboy followed suit, first with my older half-siblings, then me, and then my younger half-brother, who got the double whammy of being put up for adoption by his abandoned mother. Only there was no death, no scenario of a man left to care for children all alone and not knowing what to do. These men just walked out. 

Now, let's look at my mother's side of the family. My mom told me she never remembers living with her father, because he left after she was born. She swears she was two, but the math isn't there. He left to start a new family, and from that gave my mother three half-siblings she did not meet until she was nearly 30 years old. And then he went and lived with his girlfriend and left them behind. 

My mother spent her life idolizing a man who was nothing more than a cad. Her only real memory of him; she was 5 or 6 and he showed up to visit. Took her to lunch, they window shopped, she admired a dolly, and the next day it was delivered to her. She never saw him again, but she had the doll. 

I sit and I think about it all and I wonder WHY. Why did everyone make up stories to make it seem better than it really was?  

My mother still idolizes her father, but she's angry with me for choosing to try to write about mine. It's tough to look back at your family's history and see generations of women stuck trying to hold it together while their husbands just feck all. I had to explain to my mom why it was her grandmother would hide her cash in the hems of the curtains - her husband was a gambler, if she didn't hide the money he would lose it in a card game.  

My great-grandfather actually bet and lost the home he built for my great-grandmother. It caused her to have to pack up her three children and leave everything and everyone she knew to chase him to a new town and start over. 

On a good day the stories can be somewhat amusing. On a bad day, it’s all too much to take in. 

So, I will close by saying, this project is not over, just slow moving. Maybe one day Karin will talk to me about our father and help me piece together some of what she only knows from him. Until then, I will prod along, keep digging and deciphering any and all clues in Searching for Ponysboy.