In one of the last few posts I did on “West of Mayberry,” I had a self-discussion (which is pretty much what all my full-on posts are) about how fair is it to expect someone to uphold a standard that you placed on them.
Anybody who was a regular reader knew that I was referencing my relationship with The Attorney.
Ever since, it’s been gnawing at me to figure out why I had sort of put him on a pedestal. It didn’t come from him. It was totally my doing. He just is who he is. If I imagined him even greater, then that’s my fault.
Whatever the reason I did it, I realized that it’s something I have done before with important male figures in my life.
I did it to my daddy. I did it to my brother.
I pushed them both up onto a pedestal, a place that, in hindsight, neither one was ever really comfortable being.
And they both fell.
And neither one was able to climb back on again.
My father couldn’t. And wouldn’t let my brother.
I realized that when the Attorney slipped, even just for a moment, it scared me that he was going to do it to me, too.
The fear was so deep in my bones that I only knew anger to protect myself.
I regret that now, because he needed my support, not my judgement.
Maybe it will come to me one day as to why I tend to make gods, idols, and heroes out of regular men. But as long as I continue to build pedestals for them, I have to be ready and willing to help shore them up when they wobble.
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