no_hypocrisy
no_hypocrisy's JournalDonald Trump and his mental disintegration
There are two major issues: Donald Trump and his proposed policies -- and Donald Trump and his mental deterioration in front of us. I wish to examine the latter. It comes from personal experience.
My father was weeks away from turning 92. A widower living on his own terms in his house. He eschewed my offers of assistance, even when I moved in with him.
In his past life, he was a commendable physician, a cardiologist. He kept his patients alive into their 90s. He could do the NY Times crossword puzzle in pen. Articulate. Read books constantly.
By the time he was in his 90's, there were definite changes in mental capacity.
First, he stopped paying his bills. There were a multitude of stacks on the dinette table. I offered to cut the checks and have him sign them. He refused. I asked what his plan was and he responded that his estate attorneys would pay them after his death. And they remained unpaid.
Next, he had to have a dog. Not take care of it, but just wanted a dog. He drove to a puppy mill, chose a puppy, and came home. He didn't walk it. He had a neighbor walk the dog, but the dog held it in and shit all over the house. His dog ruined a $40,000 Persian rug that my mother had treasured. I bent over to pick up dried shit and he actually yelled at me and told me to leave it where it was. Well, you get the idea. And he didn't feed the dog a recommended diet; she got whatever he didn't finish eating. And he left the dog in his car in the summer when the interior temperature was in the high 90's. Bystanders in parking lots called the police and he told them to mind their own business; his dog was fine.
Finally, his driving. He shouldn't have. He got into a multitude of fender-benders. The reason why he flew under the radar with the DMV not taking away his license was he paid off the other drivers in cash to avoid tickets and insurance. And fixed his car. His driving was atrocious. I personally watched him back out of our driveway and position himself the wrong way in the lane and stayed there for minutes. I was holding my breath. His driving was his undoing, literally. He rear-ended a van at a gas station. No seatbelt, no airbags. His chest hit the steering column. He refused medical attention and got three tickets. And kept it a secret for a week when he sustained a heart attack from an undiagnosed partial aortic tear from the accident. And he died. I had to do detective work to discover all this.
My point: my father was in no shape to live alone, have a dog, and/or drive -- and certainly not to run a country as complicated and powerful as ours.
Even if Trump promoted my views and positions, I wouldn't want someone who exhibits all the confusion and mental detachments that he does to run the country, period.
It's not because he's old. He just isn't competent.
I knew a "Trad Wife".
She was my law client, and this was about 15 years ago.
She was married (obviously) and had five children in quick succession, ages 3 to 9, three girls and two boys.
Child Protection removed her children and put them in foster care. And the agency was desperately trying to terminate parental rights in order to allow adoption by the foster family.
My job was to get the kids back. As if that were the easiest part.
I discovered that she was a victim of domestic violence, and her husband controlled her physically, mentally, psychologically, and emotionally. And Child Protection first ignored that fact and denied her services for assistance. Later CP used the DV as justification to terminate her rights because she let it happen.
Her husband was a throwback Catholic, meaning Scalia and Opus Dei would be too liberal for him. He kept my client confined to the home they were renting. She and the kids only left when they had to see a doctor. He refused to let them to school, even parochial school. He was the head of the house in every way. And she gladly went along with him with no complaints.
And there's more. Not only did the husband keep my client pregnant and lactating for a decade, but he also forced himself on her sexually, including anal sex (which is used by some men for the illusion of total submission). And he hit her.
The reason they came within the radar of Child Protection was one night he strangled her. She called the police, and they arrested him. And he convinced her to drop the charges. And then he convinced her to leave the state when the investigation of the kids and the family commenced. Child Protection caught up with them and arrested him until he told them where he hid the kids.
So, I was delivered a client who was near catatonic. She could barely talk to me and to the therapist. I knew we couldn't move forward without deprogramming her. We moved her to her mother's home in another state. When she and her husband went to court, it wasn't together. I kept them separated, even preventing him from following her to the restrooms.
We had a DV hearing, and she didn't want to go to testify because she was afraid of him. We coached her enough to be in the same room with him.
I became a social worker as well as legal counsel. I got her one of the best therapists on domestic violence. My client was receptive. She filed for divorce. She got a vocational certification. She did everything the caseworker for Child Protection demanded.
And the Court returned her kids. And she and the kids have nothing to do with him since that time.
BTW, my client "won" partially because all representation was free/pro bono and I was "between jobs" at the time and could afford to dedicate all the time needed.
My father dedicated much of his life to control me. If he couldn't control me,
then he was dedicated to destroying me.
Yet, there he was at age 91. My mother/his wife had died 11 years prior. My sister and brother were living far away from him. I was maybe 20 minutes away, happily in my own apartment with my own life.
And he was failing physically and mentally. And just as mean.
I considered letting him reap his karma, dying alone in his home.
But I then considered trying to assist him. Not because he was my father, but because he was my mother's widower. She wasn't there and somebody had to do it.
I moved into my old bedroom. I went to work and returned to his home. This went on for a number of months.
He died because he caused a rear-end collision, didn't tell me or my siblings. And he had a partially dissected aorta, which caused his heart attack.
I didn't cry at the hospital. I didn't cry at his memorial. I didn't cry returning to my childhood home.
All I know is that I did the right thing for the right reason.
In 1975, my sister just turned 16 and discovered she was pregnant
with her 20 yo boyfriend. Never thought to use birth control.
I was leaving for college and she confided in me.
And I helped her get a LEGAL abortion.
Forget the boyfriend. Minimum wage/HS degree/no money/no brains. It was all on me.
There were several considerations in my decision. First, she was too young to be a mother emotionally and psychologically. She wasn't even mature enough to engage in sex. Next, our father would have been off-the-leash with irrational anger if he knew about the pregnancy. Dad was more than a strict parent. He was the guard to the jail. I had been the Family Scapegoat who allegedly and regularly brought woe to the Family and my sister was The Golden Child. This crisis would have switched our statuses in the family. And part of me would have welcomed it. But I bailed my sister out. Finally, I thought of the proposition if the baby had been carried to term. As previously mentioned, my sister would have failed as a mother. Our mother was more than ambivalent about raising us and I'm certain she wouldn't have assumed responsibility for my sister's baby. Or the baby would have been quietly born and adopted. No good options. So, I gave more than $200 I had saved up over years to my sister. And she had a safe abortion.
Epilogue: My sister continued to go through a multitude of boyfriends, this time with BC. She married and discovered she couldn't conceive. My niece/nephew would be 49 next year. And having time to ruminate, yes, I'd do it again.
OWWWWWWWW!!!
Today I was a substitute teacher for a special needs kindergarten (five year olds). Their third day of school. Five boys. One teacher and an aide. I was an aide.
Two boys started fighting and it got violent. I broke it up by literally getting between them and pulling the smaller guy away.
And the smaller guy was still in combat mode. He repeatedly kicked me in the right shin. At least 20 times. Punched me. Scratched me. Hit me on the head and in the face.
I had to get him down the hall to the remedial crisis teacher. Still kicking me even when I was behind him.
I filed an Incident Report with the school Nurse.
I'm limping. Four big black-and-blue marks on my shin. It's really sore.
Other than that, with the exception of one of the five boys, all the children leaned towards throwing miniature cars at each other, constantly overturning chairs at desks, throwing things on the floor, turning off the lights, shouting, running in the classroom, and more.
My head is still spinning and I just took X-tra Strength Advil.
I've discovered that I'm a Sigma Female.
And damned happy that there's a niche where I fit.
In 1963, I was in Kindergarten.
The usual curriculum of playing, nap time, snack, puzzles.
And my Kindergarten teacher wanted to hold me back from going into the First Grade.
Now imagine: How underdeveloped do you have to be to be recommended to be held back and to repeat another year of Kindergarten? It wasn't because I was born past the cut-off date of September.
My mother confronted my teacher who discussed my situation with a Psychology 101 textbook on her lap. (It was her first year of teaching.) What made my teacher believe I was ill-suited for First Grade?
Well, for one thing, I couldn't skip. That's right, skip. I could walk, run, gallop, but I couldn't skip.
For another thing, I couldn't cut on the lines with scissors.
Mom (with her Masters in Child Development) pointed out that nobody taught me how to skip and it wasn't an innate skill you're born with. And as for the scissors, she didn't have them lying around the house as she had apprehensions that her curtains would be cut up. So, no experience, no problem.
My teacher dug in her heels and refused to let me go forward.
My mother appealed to the Principal, who was sympathetic but declared that he couldn't overrule his teachers. BUT, if my parents wanted to have my IQ tested and the score was adequate, he'd let that criteria determine my academic future.
So, I was hauled away to Mount Sinai Hospital on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. And tested by a renowned psychiatrist. And I scored highly. Not genius, but highly.
My mother immediately gave the results to the Principal, who passed me.
I didn't learn this story until well into adulthood.
My mother was my best advocate.
It's occurred me to the "real reason" why Republicans are freaking over
Tim Walz & Minnesota's providing free tampons to girls in public schools.
For the same reason my father freaked out about me using tampons 55 years ago: rupturing the hymen.
That's right. Parents more concerned about their daughters losing their virginity to a cotton wad than their hygiene.
And fathers (yes, fathers) could never be certain if their daughters are having sex before marriage or whether they're using tampons.
Girls would prefer tampons if offered that option over bulky pads.
Again, it's about control over girls' and women's bodies down to the minutia.
I learned from observing my father:
Money does NOT buy happiness.
You may be able to pay your bills without the stress.
You may have enhanced social status.
You may be delusional that you're more likeable and smarter than when you weren't rich.
But you're the same asshole you were before the money showed up.
Pay heed Jr. and Eric.
In 2014, my siblings and I had a similar experience. Dad had undiagnosed dementia at age 91. It was obvious. He stopped paying his bills and refused our help when we offered to cut the checks and he refused again. He was a recording loop of whatever he heard of FOX News. He let his dog shit all over the place, including our mother's $40,000 Persian rugs. And he yelled at me when I tried to pick up the dried shit.
He shouldn't have been driving. He had a number of fender-benders. (He paid them off ironically, to avoid tickets and to be reported to the DMV.) I saw him pull out of the driveway and start driving in the wrong lane. The discussion of taking away his keys came up but we all agreed that he'd go out and buy another car.
One day, he stopped for gas. And stepped on the accelerator instead of the brake. He rear-ended a van in front of him. Maybe 5+ mph. But his car had no airbag and he wasn't wearing a seatbelt. His chest hit the steering column. And he refused the ambulance. He took a taxi home as his car was totaled.
Dad tried to sell his wrecked car ASAP to get rid of "the evidence". But he died a week later. Because he refused medical attention and didn't see any of his doctors, he was undiagnosed with a partial aortic tear, meaning the aorta had somewhat separated from his heart and he was having a slow bleed into his chest.
One week after the accident, he had a terrible backache (which he didn't tell any of us about). He made an appointment with his massage therapist. And you guessed it -- the massage hastened his demise. He got home, had trouble breathing, called 911, but it was too late.
Jr. and Eric may be worried about intervention as their father might erase them from his Will. Got news for you Chumpies. Our father disinherited ALL of us. We should have tried to do more. We had the clues. But we were worried about "retribution". Little did we know, Dad already had his retribution.
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