I Think You Need to Know – A Letter to My Mother
So, hopefully when you’re reading this, you’ll be more calm and reasonable, and that maybe reading my entire thoughts at your own pace will be better than making assumptions after you interpret my logic word per word as I talk.
I’m sorry about what I said yesterday, but there wasn’t a thing I said that I didn’t mean. I’m sorry that I will not be going tomorrow with your friend Rolando Vela to go job searching because of the circumstances of what happened today, my illpreparedness and my overall feelings of this process. No sense in forcing a situation to happen, especially one that involves me, about me, that makes me feel uncomfortable. I think what is also needed is a greater explanation of what happened today, what went wrong, why, and how I felt because of it.
It first started Monday, the day after we had a pleasant (and delightfully short) session of coffee and conversation. I called you back close to noon after I received your call about your friend Rolando Vela, the PR Manager at your work and a friend of yours I believe, of which I assume you have shared your stories about me and my abilities, accomplishments and current situation. In doing so, you captivated Mr. Vela and gained his interest in my well being, especially in regards to my pursuit of work and my lack of employment. It was a nice gesture of him. I am very grateful that a person that I don’t even know is willing to help me in a time of idleness and healing.
But that’s just it. I don’t know him. Call me whatever you want: ungrateful, immature, lazy. Whatever. But the truth of the matter is that I don’t know Rolando Vela, as great of a person he may or may not be, as well as the variety of other names you put before me of who you know personally, through a friend or a friend of a friend. And that makes me uncomfortable.
So, although I appreciate his willingness to help Monday, especially after talking to him once, on the phone, and the hasty return of possible job vacancies and/or openings Tuesday, I was really caught off guard by all of this. When I said that I didn’t mind it if Rolando would help me find a job, that was me appeasing your ever increasing willingness to try to help me out. I think sometimes that you try to help me as much as you can, especially when I don’t ask for your help, because you can’t always help me for those time in which I do ask for your help, perhaps to make up for those deficiencies. I also went along with this arrangement because I figured, what harm can become of this? It shouldn’t be all that difficult. We’ll just take things in stride. No worry. Well, that wasn’t the case in this instance, I think.
When you called me today at around 4:00 P.M., I had just finished eating some lunch. I woke up early, 7:30 A.M., so as to drop off my father in order to drive myself to my psychiatric appointment with Dr. Collier at what I previously thought was a 10:00 A.M. appointment. In actuality, it was scheduled at 11:15 A.M. No matter. Better to be ready earlier than later. I also had to call Princeton and played phone tag between the university’s health center and Dr. Collier’s office, signed releases and had information faxed from one place to the other. So, when you called me today, I had just finished the end of a semi-productive day in which I had made plans for, and had not expected for anything else to come about. You called me, informing me of a Lisa Lopez, and an ensuing number to call, a Mr. Duncan Sr., not to be confused with plain ol’ Mr. Duncan, Rolando’s official title, and Nat Lopez and his title, President of the Hispanic Chamber of Commerce in Harlingen. This was a lot of information to take in. A lot of names of important people; I have no idea who they are and what it is exactly that they do, especially those in which you could not verify their official job titles. Even worse, some of the players in this game did not even know what you or Rolando were trying to work out. It was all ‘behind the scenes’ so to speak.
I called First Community Bank, like you asked me to, because although you insisted that I go immediately to their office in Harlingen, I was not ready to make any sort of formal first impression. I had not shaved for a couple days. I had not ironed any shirts or slacks presentable for an office environment. I did not have a copy of my resume, nor a working printer available to print said resume nor the time to tailor my resume specifically for a consumer banking position. But still I called, as unprepared as I was, just to inquire about this situation, to at least talk to this Mr. Duncan Sr. that wished to speak with me and lend a hand at a capable individual in look of work, and possibly arrange a more formal meeting in which I could sit down with him, clean shaven, dressed sharply, resume handy, a smile on my face and an open palm ready for a firm, business handshake.
The woman who answered was Lisa Lopez, of whom you know and whom I am now aware that my Grandmother, too, knows. I asked her, with a slight stutter, typical for someone who is rushed and not completely aware of all the facts, if I could have a word with a Mr. Duncan Sr. (I didn’t even know his first name until tonight) to inquire about a possible job vacancy or meeting. She told me that she was unaware of any vacancies but said that a ‘new position’ may be made available. She also told me Mr. Duncan Sr. was on the phone and asked if I were willing to wait or be transferred to his secretary. To free Ms. Lisa Lopez up and to get closer to Mr. Duncan Sr., I politely asked to be directed to Mr. Duncan’s secretary, hoping that she knew something that I did not: that Mr. Duncan had an interest with me, that there was in fact a job available that I was possibly capable of doing, and what exactly was the job title, description and entailing functions so that I could be made aware.
I waited for Mr. Duncan Sr.’s secretary, but after 4 rings, gasp, her voice mail turns on, informing me of her name of which I could not remember and a standard description of what to do after the beep. I didn’t know what to do. Time was running out, and I couldn’t figure out whether or not I was prepared enough just to leave a message. I decided to take a risk, knowing what little I did about everything that was happening, and paced about my room trying to sell myself to a machine.
“Hi, umm. My name is Robert Campos. I’m calling to inquire to a…”
I couldn’t even remember Mr. Duncan’s name. I had dropped the piece of paper I had written on somewhere amongst the mess of papers near my television, and nervously, bitterly, choked up. I introduced myself about two and a half times, hesitantly name dropped Rolando and Nat Lopez’s names as fast as I could remember, and then hung up after asking if I could set up a meeting with Mr. Duncan so that we could talk about… something. I don’t even remember if I left my number.
I was embarrassed, to say the least. And also, who am I to ask to set up a meeting with Mr. Duncan, who I can only guess is the president of the small bank chain and who must be of some economic and business significance in the modest town of Harlingen. I’m just Robert Campos, a 19 going on 20 college student currently on break due to an emotionally driven past, an unstable family from both sides of the parent equation as well as personal legal, academic, mental and substance abuse problems, in varying degrees. Oh yeah, and don’t forget. I’m gay. Let’s not forget about that. Speaking of, I got tested for HIV/AIDS Friday, and I bet you can’t wait for the results.
So, how could this mess have been avoided? I mean the networking, job-finding one. Not my life mess. First off, we should have waited until you gave me a chance to meet Rolando so that I could form a relationship with him outside of merely the impersonal phone and Internet realm, so that I could get a feel for his personality (note that I’ve only talked to him that one time Monday, and only for about a minute). I wanted to better understand his abilities and degree of workmanship and connections, so that he could better guide and help me. But most importantly, I wanted to get to know Rolando so that it wasn’t just “my mommy” trying to get me a job. Or worse, “my mommy” doesn’t know someone, but knows a friend of a friend of a friend that can hire me. The greater the tangled web of connections, the greater the possibility there is for a collapse, especially if the relationships are spread thin. Take the 8 fired U.S. attorneys for example. Except here, no one is being fired for me. I think.
I know that several people in this world get hired because of ‘who they know’ and not ‘what they know’. I understand that. I don’t like the concept of it entirely, but I understand it’s importance sometimes, mainly when it is the person who is trying to gain something that uses his power and his knowledge of people and the underlying connections himself to better benefit his life and future. This also hit an unsavory chord in me as well. This wasn’t me. Not to say that I didn’t appreciate it. Not to say this was all you or all Rolando’s doing alone or that I had no interest in the idea entirely. But I wasn’t in control. It was all a bunch of “he said, she said”. Why? Because I didn’t know all the players in the game. Not physically, not personally and barely by name. I am very grateful that you both tried as much as you possibly could to get me into the workforce, especially a job that isn’t just in retail. But if I need help from you, Mom, I’ll ask for it.
And I think I should stress that last sentence as much as possible. I think that’s one of the things I wish for most now more than ever. The ability to be able to ask for your help whenever I really need it and for you to be able to help me during those times of need. Like with medical insurance. Legal matters. College funding. A place to stay if I ever need to get away. Or anything else that may come up. Exactly what I need, nothing more and nothing less. It touches my heart how much you try and try to be helpful on your own. To help me, Mani, cousins or what have you. But we all work in very different ways and have different needs that maybe are not the same needs of your own. And it is this difference that makes me believe, or actually understand now, why we don’t connect on the level that we do and what continues to perpetuate this dysfunctional relationship. You try too hard in things that don’t matter very much and not as much in the things that do. You think of brilliant ideas that may work for you, but maybe not so much for other ideas for other people. You understand yourself more than I do (possibly). Me, not so much. And maybe not so much for people more than just me.
I don’t want you to get discouraged, by all means. Nor do I want you be unrulishly stringent on placing boundaries, strictly applying my advice and never offering to do anything for me unless I specifically ask you to. But I do want to place some limits. I can’t handle certain aspects of you that haven’t changed since for as long as I can remember.
I don’t really like hearing about every new man you find attractive or nice that you spent time with, gay or not. I don’t like it when you laugh off something that you don’t really understand when I’m talking to you, and think laughing it away and being the “cute, little short woman” is enough. I don’t like it when you say that you are 100% better and that things are fine, but that you are not able to help me financially as Dad can. Or when you say that your life is great in some instances and that you are fine mentally and have no problems just because you aren’t on any medication, but then in other circumstances blame your currently evolved mental and emotional state as the reason why you can’t handle certain situations. I don’t like how you feel that you deserve certain things like pedicures, manicures, “getting pampered” or “spoiled” by other men, or even yourself, expensive meals and all. Not to say that I think you don’t deserve these things, but the way you talk about these superficial things and the people that give them to you makes me think that you’re shallow sometimes. Sure, we all can enjoy the finer things in life from time to time. But there’s a word called being nonchalant about things that I think you should try to learn and incorporate into your personality, especially when talking about things like your man friends, boyfriends and materialistic ventures (just in case the dictionary.com definition is too confusing, as it is for me a little bit, being nonchalant, pronounced non-sha-launt, is basically not getting excited about certain things, acting as if they are not of great importance, sort of like when a person does specific things all the time – the simple and the luxurious – they usually don’t talk about, or gloat about these certain happenings because they are not unusual to their everyday lifestyles).
I try to spend time with you because I love you. I try to make peace and try to amend our relationship so that it isn’t like the relationship between me and my father, or how it used to be (I don’t know how it is currently) in that all we would ever talk about is money and never really spend that much time with each other. A form of reassurance to my parents, even though I think it is not entirely necessary, but something I feel I should do. But it is clear to me now that the way things are right now between us aren’t entirely perfect. Two of the three last times we’ve really talked to each other ended up with me exploding, either by running away from you to get out of your vicinity, or by yelling. It seems that every time we spend time with each other, I get really angry for some reason.
That’s why I like to hang out for a just a little bit. A little dinner here and there. Conversation over a cup of coffee. Baby steps. So that one day, I’ll be able to handle you fully and completely. I’m already starting to get used to your life and current situation. I’m not trying to change your life or tell you what to do. I’m just giving suggestions as to how talk to me. How to understand me and what I think about. How much you can meddle with my life and where the line is so that I can say “when” or “too much”. And that line is here. Because you don’t want you to chase me away. I don’t want to dream about what it would be like if I could cut you off, or my entire family off after I graduate from college. I don’t want that. I don’t want to yell at you, but at the same time I don’t want to lie to you either. I want you to know the truth. I want to be able to want to spend a lot of time with you. Because I love you.
By the time you get to the end of this (here) you should have had a decent amount of tears coming out of your eyes. Your mascara is probably ruined. And worst of all, you’re probably at work, so that’s not good. But I just felt that you needed to know.
Love,
Robby
Update: My HIV results came back Negative, which is great. I suggest to all of my friends, people reading this and more that you should try to get tested every so often, every year to three years depending on how ‘active’ you are, whether or not you think you actually have the disease. It’s just good to get into that sort of habit and to be aware – to be proactive.
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