He Knew Nothing About Me.
My father knew nothing about me when I was growing up. By that I mean what I liked, what made me laugh, what made me sad, what hurt me, who my friends were, what my day was like, and how I felt about anything really. He didn't know that at sixteen years old I slept a total of maybe 4 hours a night because I worked until after midnight and came home and studied, then went to a 6am AP Biology class. He didn't know I baked to stay awake. That I worried about being able to afford to pay for my cheerleading uniform or that I was a cheerleader for the simple reason that wearing one five days a week was cheaper than buying school clothes because $6.75 an hour doesn't get you much. I was also saving for college. I knew I would have to pay. I was all ready told by my stepmother that we were cut out of my dad's will. I also did not smoke, do drugs or have sex. I was scared that guys would learn who I was and reject me. And winning homecoming when you're anorexic doesn't really help the ol' self esteem much. I stopped eating to get my dad to love me. That didn't work. But boy did other people think it was fabulous.
He is, as one friend said, just a man. Yet, he is the only father I have. Or ever will. And that sadness fills me to this day. He does not know how to love without conditions. He does not know how to be there or care or even give me a compliment. When he came over to my place that one time and Kelly said to him, "Isn't your daughter beautiful?" He just shifted uncomfortably and changed the subject. We were standing in my kitchen. He was drinking water. I can still picture the glass. I was uncomfortable, too. And sad.
I don't remember a time my father ever told me I was pretty. Or gave me a compliment. He said he loved me, but then he behaved otherwise. So hurt equaled love. Rejection equaled love. If he didn't like how we were behaving, he could just drop us off at home. If he wanted a babysitter for his new kids, he could lie and say he wanted to see me. Which he did. And I never babysat one other kid other than his other son and daughter during all my teenage years.
After we talked again this last time - 20 years after I graduated from high school, my dad seemed to have no recollection of anything. No empathy. No understanding. Of just how horrible our stepmother was to us. Of how much he hurt us or of the simple fact we were kids and needed him. My sister and I planned a lunch with him one day. She brought her daughter and magically, his son, Jonathan, showed up -- the kid I had to babysit. I told my dad before that time that I wanted to get to know him-- my father-- first. Before the whole reunion. I expected him to respect that. So much for boundaries. Lo and behold Jonathan showed up. Asked me stupid questions like I was on an interview or a date or something. It was awkward. We even ran into a guy I went to high school with -- which was even more awkard. Random "family reunion" being witnessed by another person I haven't seen in 20 years. Excellent. After Jonathan left, I asked my dad why he did that. He said, "Jonathan wanted to see you." Well what about what I wanted? Why hadn't he never cared about what I wanted?
I tried to get past that. Just like I tried to get past the fact he would talk to his other kids during the day when he paid for the minutes on his cell phone. And me? He only wanted to talk after 9pm. When it was free. Clearly, we gave each other different levels of importance. And that difference hurt. One time I picked up the phone by accident. I was having a hard time. I had just lost the job on "Ugly Betty" and was sad. That's when he told me to call him back when I could be positive. I sent him to Laura prior to that- magick lady, thinking perhaps she could heal him -- I'm not lying here - for me as well as for him-- but I wanted it to be between them. His experience. He did have a good experience. But we can only heal ourselves.
My dad probably knows me only from reading this blog. If he still does. I told him to read it if he wanted to know me - but the thing is, he only ever wanted to know me as it served him. So that is where I've failed myself. He is alone now. He wants love and he wants support. And I would be only too happy to give that to him. If I had ever gotten that in return. At my age in his life, he had everything I want now. I"m still trying to get it. I know he has issues, his childhood was not perfect, my mother was not perfect. And life for him is not either. But children are a responsibility. And they are love. But they're also children. And they require love. And they did not ask to be born. They were a choice.
All of this self discovery and self help and the ensuing pain has made me see that it's no wonder that Modern Love wouldn't buy my Ex-Convict piece. There is always an epiphany that occurs somewhere in the course of that column-- usually at the end. I never had one in that relationship. And as thus, the story is merely anecdotal. Me observing him and what he went through and how much I cared about him. And I completely failed to see how much he didn't care about me. Because all I wanted was for him to care about me. He, like my father, never knew me or really wanted to. They both wanted an out. And as soon as he got it, he was gone. And when he needed another one later, I was there. That is a role I can change and must change. Because that part is my fault. For pursuing things that have no hope of ever giving me anything close to what I want. And for fantasizing that they ever will.
He is, as one friend said, just a man. Yet, he is the only father I have. Or ever will. And that sadness fills me to this day. He does not know how to love without conditions. He does not know how to be there or care or even give me a compliment. When he came over to my place that one time and Kelly said to him, "Isn't your daughter beautiful?" He just shifted uncomfortably and changed the subject. We were standing in my kitchen. He was drinking water. I can still picture the glass. I was uncomfortable, too. And sad.
I don't remember a time my father ever told me I was pretty. Or gave me a compliment. He said he loved me, but then he behaved otherwise. So hurt equaled love. Rejection equaled love. If he didn't like how we were behaving, he could just drop us off at home. If he wanted a babysitter for his new kids, he could lie and say he wanted to see me. Which he did. And I never babysat one other kid other than his other son and daughter during all my teenage years.
After we talked again this last time - 20 years after I graduated from high school, my dad seemed to have no recollection of anything. No empathy. No understanding. Of just how horrible our stepmother was to us. Of how much he hurt us or of the simple fact we were kids and needed him. My sister and I planned a lunch with him one day. She brought her daughter and magically, his son, Jonathan, showed up -- the kid I had to babysit. I told my dad before that time that I wanted to get to know him-- my father-- first. Before the whole reunion. I expected him to respect that. So much for boundaries. Lo and behold Jonathan showed up. Asked me stupid questions like I was on an interview or a date or something. It was awkward. We even ran into a guy I went to high school with -- which was even more awkard. Random "family reunion" being witnessed by another person I haven't seen in 20 years. Excellent. After Jonathan left, I asked my dad why he did that. He said, "Jonathan wanted to see you." Well what about what I wanted? Why hadn't he never cared about what I wanted?
I tried to get past that. Just like I tried to get past the fact he would talk to his other kids during the day when he paid for the minutes on his cell phone. And me? He only wanted to talk after 9pm. When it was free. Clearly, we gave each other different levels of importance. And that difference hurt. One time I picked up the phone by accident. I was having a hard time. I had just lost the job on "Ugly Betty" and was sad. That's when he told me to call him back when I could be positive. I sent him to Laura prior to that- magick lady, thinking perhaps she could heal him -- I'm not lying here - for me as well as for him-- but I wanted it to be between them. His experience. He did have a good experience. But we can only heal ourselves.
My dad probably knows me only from reading this blog. If he still does. I told him to read it if he wanted to know me - but the thing is, he only ever wanted to know me as it served him. So that is where I've failed myself. He is alone now. He wants love and he wants support. And I would be only too happy to give that to him. If I had ever gotten that in return. At my age in his life, he had everything I want now. I"m still trying to get it. I know he has issues, his childhood was not perfect, my mother was not perfect. And life for him is not either. But children are a responsibility. And they are love. But they're also children. And they require love. And they did not ask to be born. They were a choice.
All of this self discovery and self help and the ensuing pain has made me see that it's no wonder that Modern Love wouldn't buy my Ex-Convict piece. There is always an epiphany that occurs somewhere in the course of that column-- usually at the end. I never had one in that relationship. And as thus, the story is merely anecdotal. Me observing him and what he went through and how much I cared about him. And I completely failed to see how much he didn't care about me. Because all I wanted was for him to care about me. He, like my father, never knew me or really wanted to. They both wanted an out. And as soon as he got it, he was gone. And when he needed another one later, I was there. That is a role I can change and must change. Because that part is my fault. For pursuing things that have no hope of ever giving me anything close to what I want. And for fantasizing that they ever will.
posted by jodypwrites | 1:57 PM
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