Guilty

ORIGINAL POST DATE: 9/30/10

"Guilty" Duet by Barbra Streisand and Barry Gibb
Barbra:
Shadows falling , baby , we stand alone
Out on the street anybody you meet got a heartache of their own
(It oughta be illegal)
Make it a crime to be lonely or sad
(It oughta be illegal)
You got a reason for livin'
You battle on with the love you're livin' on
You gotta be mine
We take it away
It's gotta be night and day
Just a matter of time
And we got nothing to be guilty of
Our love will climb any mountain near or far , we are
And we never let it end
We are devotion
And we got nothing to be sorry for
Our love is one in a million
Eyes can see that we got a highway to the sky
I don't wanna hear your goodbye
Oh!
Barry:
Aaaaah!
Pulse's racing , darling
How grand we are
Little by little we meet in the middle
There's danger in the dark
(It oughta be illegal)
Make it a crime to be out in the cold
(It oughta be illegal)
You got a reason for livin'
You battle on with the love you're buildin' on
Together
You gotta be mine
We take it away
It's gotta be night and day
Just a matter of time
And we got nothing to be guilty of
Our love will climb and mountain near or far , we are
And we never let it end
We are devotion
And we got nothing to be sorry for
Our love is one in a million
Eyes can see that we got a highway to the sky
Barbra:
I don't wanna hear your goodbye
Barry:
Don't wanna hear your goodbye
Both:
I don't wanna hear your
And we got nothing to be guilty of
Our love will climb and mountain near or far , we are
And we never let it end
We are devotion
And we got nothing to be sorry for
Our love is one in a million
Eyes can see that we got a highway to the sky
Don't wanna hear your goodbye
Don't wanna hear your
And we got nothing to be guilty of...


When I was an adolescent in the early 80's, this album came out, the above lyrics being from the title track. We had a large family room that had been added onto our house in the late 70's, and within it was this large, grandly stylish, floor model stereo from Capeheart, shipped to us from England. (Back then, you didn't have the internet, and a hundred distributors across the globe. You ordered these things from a catalog and they came straight from the manufacturer.) It was a glistening, dark, richly stained wood, with all the bells and whistles inside; turntable that played 3 record speeds, double cassette deck with auto-reverse feature, a solid state AM/FM stereo receiver with a lighted dial, and the gem of it all, an eight-track player with automatic program changer!! In an age when TV's were getting smaller and more compact, stereos were turning into FURNITURE!


My younger brothers and I would sit on the black and white checkered sleeper sofa, all lined up in a row, and select our favorite albums (We had quite an extensive collection back then, everything from Carole King to Liberace, improved upon only by the arrival of rhe mid-eighties, and my natural teenage propensity to the purchasing of fine music from the era.) Culture Club never had such loyal fans. (That would be really funny if you understood that we grew up in a female-dominated household and that today both of my brothers are gay.) We would listen with pleasure as our favorite music surrounded the room in quadraphenic euphoria! I remember my youngest brother M, would rock back and forth againgt the back of the couch in time to the music. (This was not merely a musical response, but something I later realized he had always done.) My middle brother J would suck his fingers, (not the thumb or forefinger: the two in the middle), and I my thumb. (Yes, I sucked my thumb for that long, and worse yet, I still have under my pillow a worn-out concert t-shirt that is really just now rags). In fact, I call it my "rag", kind of like a remnant of my blankie in the old thumb-sucking days. At night when I awaken for any reason, my first instinct is to usually feel around my pillow area and make sure my rag is still there. It's comfort and relief to touch it's coolness, somehow, and I spend a minute soothing myself with its cool touch, before I tuck it back safely into its nook. It's like comfort, something that is always there, reliable, safe.


It never occurred to me until years later that an eight year old soothing himself by rocking violently back and forth against the couch was not normal behavior. I never realized back then that my brother and I, happily sucking our appendages, were way past the age to have been doing that kind of thing. It was what was normal in our house. Strange how confining childhood really is. We were already messed up in the head and we didn't even know it!

Our parents have led us on what would now be considered a textbook road of dysfunction, all the way even into adulthood, upon which, we happily trod, and now all have our badges and scars to show for it; failed marriages, failed parenting attempts, identity confusion, etc. We had it all back then, substance abuse, child abuse, spousal abuse (my mother beating my father, not the other way around, as was so succinctly explained to the S-ville police dept. as they questioned my brother M for details about his call one evening, and as he then replied "I know what the hell I mean, now just get down here!" He was only about ten then. Geez, we were really screwed up.


As it happens, this "Guilty" album was one of our all-time favorites. Released in 1980 by Barbra Streisand and Barry Gibb, it had a story-like quality, with all the songs seeming to be tied together in this theme about this couple who find one another, perhaps under circumstances in which they should not be falling in love, lose one another, long for, and rediscover one another, after they come to the realization that they cannot help the way they feel, and they "have nothing to be Guilty of"...I won't go into how my brothers loving this album by a showbiz chick and a male falsetto should have also been telling in regards to things to come.


It occurred to me, then, only just today, as for some reason I was reminded of this song, that that is how we lived our lives. We sat, happily engaged in our various comfort rituals, swept away into a world where it was okay to feel things and find happiness, and where there was nothing to be guilty of.


Sadly, in our reality, we lived just the opposite. Feelings were banned in our house, not that you would get beaten for crying, but that being verbally abused and degraded repeatedly and habitually was so frequent that you learned to become steel and contain those feelings, until eventually you didn't even actually feel them at all.


The one emotion that was allowed to thrive, however, was guilt. We were constantly blamed if there was an item missing in the house, for sneaking too many snacks from the kitchen, if the Pope died, if the car wouldn't start. Somehow it was something we did or didn't do that started this enormous chain reaction and caused the whole world (and our mother's anger levels) to spin off its axis. We were also brainwashed into carrying the guilt for actual things we had done, like broken a dish, accidentally set a trash can fire, (yes I know that's extreme, but we were kids. Kids do stupid stuff), and that guilt was magnified, like being arrested for littering and going on trial and being found guilty of murder, and serving a life sentence. The harrassing and reminding never ended. It would be pulled out and used like a weapon at strategic times, never expected, but always wounding. We had no privacy. Several times I remember my mother holding my private journals filled with poetry in her witchy hands, reading aloud what I had written and mocking it in front of the whole family. My brothers would laugh and laugh, but they were only doing it because that is how you earned love in my house, by siding with my mother, no matter what wicked, evil thing she was doing to another of us. You befriend your jailers. That's how you get extra privileges.


By the time I was sixteen I had had enough of it, and had set my jaw against them both. I was going to live my own life from now on, and keep my decisions private from anyone but myself. If I was told not to go somewhere, I went anyway. If I was told not to talk to a certain friend, I would ride ten miles on my bike to visit them and say I was somewhere else. The truth is that they didn't care. Since I was now unruffled by their behavior, the quest was useless to them, because pain was always the desired result, and I hadn't any left.


This stubbornness, of course, ended up causing more trouble for me later in life than it prevented. It was only when I softened my heart to the calling of God upon my life that my life began to change, and I'm not referring to merely "being saved". I did that when I was eighteen and still lived a screwed up life well into my early thirties. I mean when I finally, slowly, began to realize the TRUE love of God, the love that He placed there, already inside of me, to share and give, and be refilled over and over again. That is why I give no man or woman judgement because of their choices. Much of what I see in the world that most would consider base, or evil, or sinful, I have done in one way or another, or purposed it in my heart, even if I never acted on it.


What I realized today is that, even still, even now, after evidence upon evidence of God's love and mercy upon my life, I am still living much of it feeling "Guilty". I feel responsible for the consequences of each one of my choices, which is not a bad thing when soul-searching, but to the degree that I cannot ever fully enjoy the good things in my life. I never allow myself to be imperfect in any task, and when I find myself in impossible situations where I could do nothing but fail, I somehow believe it is my fault.


I lost my job yesterday, and found myself sharing with some close friends about how guilty I was feeling for letting down so many people, since my leaving, while not intentional, was caused by some compliance issues I was having. Suddenly, after the end of all these exchanges between us, I stopped and said, "Wait a minute! I'm not guilty! I am NOT guilty!" I worked a string of long, hard years at this job, years of literally, blood, sweat, and tears. I took the best care of my patients that I could. I tried my best to look out for their needs in the best way I knew how. I was kind and friendly to my co-workers. I was respectful of my bosses (until the very end). I did everything I could to do what was expected of me, and still enjoy my job. The fact that there were a few small issues (and they were small, but just not to them) that we couldn't agree upon in no way makes me a loser, or the one at fault!


It seems I've been on this kick lately grooving to sultry love songs from the 80's and relating them into broader relationships beyond that of just a man and a woman. You can have a relationship with your boss and a relationship with your job itself. It's still a relationship, still requires maintenance, upkeep, repair, and sometimes a severing if there can be no agreements. Leaving any relationship behind causes grief, in all of its many stages, at different times, in different order, and at differing levels.


I have left behind yet another chapter in my life, and I was told I should be reticent for the things I simply could not do, but you know what I think? I think "(I) got nothing to be 'Guilty' of!" Nothing at all!