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Parents just don’t understand

Okay, so it’s really horrifying when you figure out that your parents are crazy, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I mean, at least it was for me. Recently my mother broke both of her feet (that is an entirely different story), but the point being — she is laid up in a wheel chair. I went to visit her at my parents’ house with my son, Eli, about 3 weeks ago, and walked into what was the trailer trash nightmare from hell. I mean, my parents have never had a clean house, as hard as my mother has tried to clean up after the maelstrom which is my father, but this place was so bad, I was looking for immediate reasons to go home, and I did not want to have my son there. He told me he had to go to the bathroom, and when I took a look at the state of theirs, I hesitated. Let’s just say, I couldn’t tell if it was a toilet or a botanical experment. So, I freaked out, left, and fretted for several weeks, until I decided to go clean up my parents house (with the help of my amazing wife — she rocks the free world). This last weekend, we spent 2 of the 3 memorial days trying to create some sort of normalcy in the Archer hovel. We cleaned, we stacked, we boxed and we threw away. I say we put out an amazing effort, and when we left, the place was almost just dirty. Of course, the car parts out in front and on the porch and everywhere else was not helping the illusion, but that’s for another time. The first day my dad was in shock I think, but by the second day, he was angry. Angry at me for throwing his shit away, and when I say ‘shit’, I don’t mean ‘stuff’ — I really mean shit. Shit like broken ceramics, a stereo that I broke when I was five, clothes that will never fit him, and who knows whatever phantom crazy shit he thought up. The point being — instead of being grateful, my father now won’t speak with me. My dad also drug my mom into the mix, and turned her around from being thankful, to being pissed at me and paranoid I threw away all of her things. So my parents are both lunatics. My dad needs therapy, basically, and has a retentive personality that I swear is born from his own childhood, being the son of man who moved his family all across the 48 continental united states every six months, so permanence is something that he had to acquire for himself. I guess I understand — cleanliness is something I had to acquire for myself — as well a sanity. so, I’m trying to not let this affect me too much, and talking to my other relatives helps. The sad thing is, as much as I would like to help them get to a normal place, they will never get there. We cleaned their house, and within a month it will go back to looking the way it did before. And now, I am sure I am cut off from being able to help them. They are crazy.

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