I’ve written about my folks before, but since Shame the Beta Month took over University of Man, its inspired me to get into the finer details about my mom and dad, and how my upbringing wasn’t alpha or beta. It was a weird hybrid that confused me to no end.
My father was born Alpha. That isn’t in doubt. I have some idea of his upbringing. Large family, middle sibling (and a twin to boot), parents strict Eastern Orthodox; old school through and through. But, from the stories I’ve heard of him and those he has told himself, from the age he could talk he was a leader, a troublemaker and a no shit kind of guy. He works from when he gets in ‘till he leaves. Usually 10 hour days, not including the commute. When I worked for him, he’s a slave driver, and it gets shit done. When he got home, though, he didn’t bring the work personality home, not in the overt way. His parenting personality was a lot more mild. I rarely remember getting yelled at. I think he seriously hit me once, on the back of the head when I mouthed off to my mom. Otherwise, it would be stern words that would come out of nowhere if none of us would shut up, usually when he was trying to relax. It was a more laid back personality at home.
My mom was born, well, my mom. She is of strong opinions and she lets my dad know it more often than the rest of us. She doesn’t hold back which pissed me off to no end as a kid. I think it comes from the fact she is a brilliant woman who chose to have a family instead of go the career path of singledom and cats. She, like my dad, deal with the money side of entertainment production and usually end up keeping companies afloat when the creative side sinks it. I don’t know if she resents it now that she’s turning 50 or what. That’s the strange part. Her opinions are out there, her emotions aren’t, not often. She cried at my wedding. She nearly cried when I made a surprise visit last June. But most of the time, it seems like indifference. If I wasn’t so damn smart, I’d think she didn’t have any emotions, but she just doesn’t like to be openly emotional and the anxiety disorder doesn’t help that (makes her more frustrated). Neither of my parents like to be emotional, really. Laugh, complain, smile? Sure! But I’ve never seen my dad cry, ever.
With those two parents I should have mimicked some hard people, yes? No. When I was 5, a sister arrive. At 7, another. The games I played with dad, the boy games that would usually end up getting me bruised or smash something, disappeared. I had baby sisters. My usual all out boy self couldn’t be indulged as much. I did my best though. I believe we still have a video of my 2 year old sister jumping around and I jumping with her, and then just shoving her down for shits and giggles. She cried. I got scolded. When school came, my violence got me in trouble. I regressed. I dove in to politics eventually, having it replace social interaction and social learning. I’d quote things no one cared for. Read books no one else read. When confronted with women, I’d either run or think I was in love.
I don’t blame anyone for my beta history. I love my family, faults and all. When I did blame them years ago, it got me nowhere. I was still a beta sloth crossing the road one disgusting step at a time. I was so introverted and emotional that I thought I knew better than everyone, my head up my ass. So when I first came across Roissy in 09, I thought it was all bullshit. I have a wife, a good woman, no need for his shit ideas.
Then I was contacted by an MRA online mag for a political piece I wrote. They wanted my permission to publish it. No pay, of course. Sure, I said, and I tried to write more for them, but only my first piece, an attack on liberals for denying Male Studies, got through. I couldn’t write like they did, against women, talk if hypergamy and other strange words. I started to read Roissy again, then Roosh, then the RookieDC, then VK’s Empire, then Quest for 50, and so on. My mind exploded and resisted at the same time. All these things were new and strange and weird. But, I’ll just dip in, my marriage is fine…
…and then I was spending hours reading through their blog archives. As things tilted towards oblivion, I got more desperate. I read Athol Kay’s blog and everything he linked to, hoping for a miracle, trying all he taught. But, in my case, it was like offering a glass of water to a parched skeleton. Whatever her real reason, she had chose to end it way before I knew it was even in trouble.
And yet, the break up was the best thing to ever happen to me. After months of grief, going in holes I’d rather not speak of, I’m now hardened, experienced, mature and, most importantly, confident. That was my Shakespearean flaw. A lack of confidence. I was always told by friends and strangers I could do anything after they witnessed me, and yet I never stood up and did a goddamn thing I wanted without pawing over the implications. Now, I simply don’t give a fuck. And it does wonders for everything in my life.
I knew I had crossed the line last fall when after fucking my old high school girlfriend, who was with a guy at the time, she asked so very softly, “How many sluts have you had?”
I turned my eyes to her, smiled and said without hesitation, “Including you? 6.”
Still fucking her and she still hasn’t asked for commitment yet.
I knew I held the line when within 10 minutes of meeting a drunk chick in a Florida bar, I was offering my cock, and kept offering until her drunk beta orbiter ex-husband left, and she had to take her girlfriend home.
Alpha forever, brothers.