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"You were right, Memo. We have met before." (The Natural)
I have fond memories of my grandmother. A whole treasure trove of them. Mary Virginia "MerG" (Meadow) Parr, who I only ever called "Missus" for reasons that are their own story, was a force to be reckoned with. The daughter of a real-life Scarlet O'Hara type, she was like a force of nature in everything she did... including her failings. I remember Missus as strong, bold (in a sweet, Southern sorta way), driven, loving, adventurous, fearless, generous... but also controlling, cruel, depressed, calculating and terrifyingly mentally ill.
My grandmother became another person when she drank vodka (beer and wine weren't a problem), when she was uber-stressed or when she took certain legally prescribed pharmaceuticals -- or maybe it was a combination of the three. It wasn't like she had a different identity, but she certainly had another personality. She'd say things that were mean and meant to leave deep wounds. She'd make decisions out of spite that left the whole family quaking in fear every holiday. As her "favorite," I was almost always responsible for babysitting her in these situations while everyone else tried to enjoy dinner. For as long as I remember until I was at least 14, this was a regular occurrence. At 14, I had enough and stood up to her, and by passive extension, to everyone else. It wasn't long after that, my grandmother's doctor retired and her new doctor reviewed, and was appalled by, the cocktail of drugs she was regularly taking! He remarked at how, in combination, would cause great harm to her mental state and bring on episodes of mood changes and psychosis. She was in much better shape after that.
In between these nightmare moments, my grandmother took me to movies, shopping, to special lunches and dinners and, my very favorite memories, for overnight fishing excursions on her cabin cruiser! I could tell you so many wonderful stories about her, as I have before and will again, but that's not what this entry is about. It's about surviving emotional abuse and becoming a warrior because of it.
Recently, a valuable volunteer for the Austin 48HFP has come under fire from the local filmmaking community. Sam is charming, ambitious, talented and very sweet to your face. He's gotten in trouble before for cheating and he promised me that he'd participate no more, but only assist and volunteer. His assistance was priceless! I'd heard other stories and even seen screenshots of his cruel behavior to others, but since it didn't effect me, I felt it was not my place to get involved. Everyone has bad days.
Sam broke his promise to me last year. He participated in the San Antonio 48HFP and tried to cheat, but his Team Lead wouldn't allow it. She confided her concerns about him to me in private and tipped me off to a pre-written script he planned to use for the Four Points Project, the final competition of the year, which is run nationwide online. I asked her to send me any proof she had so I could bump it up the ladder, if the need arose. I never got it. However, another team's lead also tipped me off and she DID send me the script! Sam bragged online about recruiting Ben Stein for his film, but I didn't believe him. He's braggadocios. I kept hoping he would rethink his choice and follow the rules. About a week after Four Points, the City Producer for that project posted a picture of Sam and Ben Stein, boasting that Stein had voiced a character in an animal film. I'd scanned over the script and it was an animal film. I had no choice but to turn him in, though a part of me hoped maybe his submitted film was significantly different from the script. The Four Points CP confirmed it was exactly the same. We were both heartbroken -- her because this was a contender for Best Film, and me because it was proof that Sam lied to me. I wasn't surprised... which was all the more heartbreaking.
HQ put Sam on probation, allowing him to participate, but not be judged, for two years. I fought for that, instead of a permanent ban from participation. I still hoped he'd learn from this. He has not. Again, not surprised, but disappointed that he let me down, once again. Rather than be thankful for the probation and remember his promise, Sam went on the attack. First, he attacked one of the filmmakers, Chris, he was working with on an independent film. Chris, a former 48HFP team lead, reached out to warn me before he wrote an email to HQ turning Sam in for cheating. His warning was vague, so I didn't know what he was planning and didn't have time to explain that Sam was already on probation -- a fact no one had publicized because, frankly, it wasn't deemed necessary. Sam began trying to blacklist Chris and it was working, so Chris reached back out to me for help. I made a public announcement about cheating and outed MYSELF as the catalyst for Sam's probation. Sam then tried to attack me.
It started when I congratulated him on a reported move to NOLA. He got nasty. Heh... fine. I got politely pointed about his bullshit. He attempted to strike back and enrage me. I'm sorry, sweetheart... this isn't my first rodeo. I kept paring the blows, striking back gently and wishing him all the best.
Now, I'm being flooded with sympathy for his abuse and congratulations for my remarks. I feel a little sociopathic in that my greatest joy is the renewed respect for me and for the Austin 48HFP. This feels like a tool I can use to my advantage in the future. I don't feel wounded. I don't feel heroic. I feel like I've skated through another case of #SameShitDifferentDay. I'm disappointed in Sam, but I'm not grieving. Sam is not my grandmother. He's not my best friend. He's not my ex-husband. I can find other volunteers. It may take three of them to do what Sam could do, but that's only a mild irritation. I'm walking away from this man unscathed, because we've met before.
My grandmother became another person when she drank vodka (beer and wine weren't a problem), when she was uber-stressed or when she took certain legally prescribed pharmaceuticals -- or maybe it was a combination of the three. It wasn't like she had a different identity, but she certainly had another personality. She'd say things that were mean and meant to leave deep wounds. She'd make decisions out of spite that left the whole family quaking in fear every holiday. As her "favorite," I was almost always responsible for babysitting her in these situations while everyone else tried to enjoy dinner. For as long as I remember until I was at least 14, this was a regular occurrence. At 14, I had enough and stood up to her, and by passive extension, to everyone else. It wasn't long after that, my grandmother's doctor retired and her new doctor reviewed, and was appalled by, the cocktail of drugs she was regularly taking! He remarked at how, in combination, would cause great harm to her mental state and bring on episodes of mood changes and psychosis. She was in much better shape after that.
In between these nightmare moments, my grandmother took me to movies, shopping, to special lunches and dinners and, my very favorite memories, for overnight fishing excursions on her cabin cruiser! I could tell you so many wonderful stories about her, as I have before and will again, but that's not what this entry is about. It's about surviving emotional abuse and becoming a warrior because of it.
Recently, a valuable volunteer for the Austin 48HFP has come under fire from the local filmmaking community. Sam is charming, ambitious, talented and very sweet to your face. He's gotten in trouble before for cheating and he promised me that he'd participate no more, but only assist and volunteer. His assistance was priceless! I'd heard other stories and even seen screenshots of his cruel behavior to others, but since it didn't effect me, I felt it was not my place to get involved. Everyone has bad days.
Sam broke his promise to me last year. He participated in the San Antonio 48HFP and tried to cheat, but his Team Lead wouldn't allow it. She confided her concerns about him to me in private and tipped me off to a pre-written script he planned to use for the Four Points Project, the final competition of the year, which is run nationwide online. I asked her to send me any proof she had so I could bump it up the ladder, if the need arose. I never got it. However, another team's lead also tipped me off and she DID send me the script! Sam bragged online about recruiting Ben Stein for his film, but I didn't believe him. He's braggadocios. I kept hoping he would rethink his choice and follow the rules. About a week after Four Points, the City Producer for that project posted a picture of Sam and Ben Stein, boasting that Stein had voiced a character in an animal film. I'd scanned over the script and it was an animal film. I had no choice but to turn him in, though a part of me hoped maybe his submitted film was significantly different from the script. The Four Points CP confirmed it was exactly the same. We were both heartbroken -- her because this was a contender for Best Film, and me because it was proof that Sam lied to me. I wasn't surprised... which was all the more heartbreaking.
HQ put Sam on probation, allowing him to participate, but not be judged, for two years. I fought for that, instead of a permanent ban from participation. I still hoped he'd learn from this. He has not. Again, not surprised, but disappointed that he let me down, once again. Rather than be thankful for the probation and remember his promise, Sam went on the attack. First, he attacked one of the filmmakers, Chris, he was working with on an independent film. Chris, a former 48HFP team lead, reached out to warn me before he wrote an email to HQ turning Sam in for cheating. His warning was vague, so I didn't know what he was planning and didn't have time to explain that Sam was already on probation -- a fact no one had publicized because, frankly, it wasn't deemed necessary. Sam began trying to blacklist Chris and it was working, so Chris reached back out to me for help. I made a public announcement about cheating and outed MYSELF as the catalyst for Sam's probation. Sam then tried to attack me.
It started when I congratulated him on a reported move to NOLA. He got nasty. Heh... fine. I got politely pointed about his bullshit. He attempted to strike back and enrage me. I'm sorry, sweetheart... this isn't my first rodeo. I kept paring the blows, striking back gently and wishing him all the best.
Now, I'm being flooded with sympathy for his abuse and congratulations for my remarks. I feel a little sociopathic in that my greatest joy is the renewed respect for me and for the Austin 48HFP. This feels like a tool I can use to my advantage in the future. I don't feel wounded. I don't feel heroic. I feel like I've skated through another case of #SameShitDifferentDay. I'm disappointed in Sam, but I'm not grieving. Sam is not my grandmother. He's not my best friend. He's not my ex-husband. I can find other volunteers. It may take three of them to do what Sam could do, but that's only a mild irritation. I'm walking away from this man unscathed, because we've met before.