Fight, Fight, Fight? by Caryn MacGrandle

I have two divorces under my belt. I’m not proud. I made bad choices. I didn’t have the support network nor the mental ability to thrive in the situations. But I had gumption. And I didn’t stay.

So here I am. 54. And starting over. 

It can be rather terrifying as motherhood and family has always been my focus.

After my recent second divorce, part of my stability plan was Land. The Blue Ridge mountains in North Carolina called me. The Appalachians. I spent a year looking. I had a list: unrestricted land, at least five acres, a water feature. 
I had several adventures on my own looking, but I will never forget the day I found it. I was with my son James, and I knew it right away.

Ten acres. A third of it a bog along a creek. Away from it all, but not ‘too away’ as it has a road running through it that leads to a partly developed mountain subdivision. 

Home. 

I can breathe.

I put it on Hipcamp. Sharing my mountain getaway with other nature lovers and helping to pay the cost.
Only the neighbors didn’t like that.
More times than not, when I was along the road, someone would stop and ask me if I needed help. It didn’t take long to figure out the mountain translation for this was ‘who are you and why are you here?’
And that is what they have been doing to my Hipcamp guests as well. The black man who stayed a week.  He took a walk on the road, and I instantly had three calls. 

“Do you know there is a straggly black man who claims he is staying on your land?”

Well, yes, if I were staying in the woods, I would look a little straggly, too.

The family of five with their dog packing up the car who had a neighbor stop and tell them there is a leash law. For their dog.  In the middle of nowhere.
No, there is not. I called.

And I fumed. Enough! Leave them alone.  hey are only trying to get away from it all. And Goddess knows there is enough to get away from these days.

I started venting out loud, “they messed with the wrong person.” Leash law.  Straggly black men.  Racist fucks. OMG. I got online, and I got their name. I looked through their social media and their websites. I looked up exactly where they live. Making trouble for me. You will rue the day. I have a community of 10,000, a platform. I am a writer. And I have lots of friends. I know where I am going next time. To Your House. To interrupt your privacy and sovereignty as you have been interrupting mine.

Fight, fight, fight.

“Mom”
“Stop it”
“You’re doing exactly what she is doing. Causing trouble.”

I turned around and glared at my 15 year old daughter.
Some seconds passed.
I took a deep breath.

I have taught her well.

Love, Love, Love

I called the neighbor. I had a nice talk with her. She said she had to go through the trail of fire, too proving that she was a responsible and reasonable neighbor but she knew it was not fun.
“It doesn’t have to be this way, you know.” I silently thought.

And I got it, too. Because several times over my adventures of looking for the land, I saw those places.  Trash everywhere. Chain link fences. Scary dogs. Meth heads. You don’t want these people as your neighbors. 

I know. Because my oldest son has been struggling.
With addiction.
It turned him into a monster.
Someone unrecognizable. Filled with anger. Screaming, spitting, fighting.

Fight, fight, fight.

His roommate started calling me. “I’m worried about Tim.” I started to get involved. Fighting the monster. Yelling. Screaming. “You need help!” “You’re throwing away your life!”
The monster screamed back. The neighbors called the police, and my son was arrested.

Fight, fight, fight.

Three weeks passed, and there was a second arrest. Bad choices in an altered state.
All of a sudden, my son was facing possible jail.

My second son James said he would come. 
My mother warned him. Do you know what you are getting in to? Drugs.  Alcohol.  Police knocking down doors. Fights. Staying out all night. A barely livable apartment. Craziness and mayhem. Protect yourself, don’t go!

But yet he came. 
And he stayed a month with his older brother. 

4am in the morning, and I hear James car pull into my driveway. Tim is high.  And a monster.
He has been fighting with his roommates who kicked him out. James has been driving up and down the highway trying to get him to calm down.  Tim is screaming and breaks the windshield. He hits James twice while James is driving.

Tim is unrecognizable. Screaming. Yelling. In James face, spitting. “I hate you so much.” “You are an asshole.” “All of you are.” “You are shit.” “Fuck you!”  “Fuck you!” “Fuck you!”

Fight, fight, fight

And James just stands there.
Letting Tim scream in his face. Who just broke his windshield. Who he gave up a month of his busy life to come save. 

Love, love, love.

And Tim calms down. And comes into my home. And lies on the floor, underneath my living room curtains and goes to sleep.

It works. Tim has gotten sober. He has come back after seven years of being unrecognizable, I see my son again.

Love, love, love.

They are mistaken. These people who think the answer is to fight, fight, fight. People who think that love and forgiveness and turning the other cheeks is weakness.
It is not.
Keep turning.

Love, love, love.