Breathe
I finished my project with some twenty minutes to spare before the deadline (I winged it, but boy, was it stressful!) so here's a little tale of the Theater of the Absurd that I call my life.
I know this is a bit of overshare, but last night I was talking to Carrie on AIM and I realized I haven't told the whole story to a single soul and today is the fourth anniversary of the one time in my life when I hated my father.
A few details to be aware of first.
My mom died when I was three and a half. I have the best dad in the world. He's very passionate and has a big heart, and a lot of time it rules his head. He likes people, and people like him, he has empathy and all those other things I lack and I've seen him give his coat to a poor man and other such things that I cannot explain, but they make up the man he is. He's sacrificed a lot for me, and worked hard to help me go to college, and he's always been extremely loving and supporting and it's always been us against the world. We're best friends.
OK now.
On my grandma's 81st birthday we were going to have a big party/family-reunion type of gathering at her house. It was the week before my very stressful sophomore year finals, but I couldn't wait to go because I adored my grandma and while I never cared for the extended family, I couldn't wait to see my Dad and my step mom, whom I also love and adore.
My dad insisted on picking me up from the train station. When I got in the car, there was a nice lady there and my dad introduced her to me and she was nice and I was nice and we started chatting and she was telling me she'd heard so much about me, etc. For the first leg of our car ride, I thought she was one of my dad's co-workers who had relatives in the area and hitched a ride with him (it's a four hour drive to my grandma's. We've had fellow passengers before to pass the time). I don't remember when exactly I realized something wasn't right, but by the time we got to our destination, it became pretty clear that my dad and this lady were... together... for lack of a better term. She acted as if I knew this. She acted as if everyone at the family reunion knew this.
I've never seen my Dad be so... puke-worthy boy with a crush-like and coddling with anyone and I was too stunned to react. So we ate our birthday cake and my grandma and my aunt (the only people in the extended family I actually liked) did their best to keep spirits jolly. I was the epitome of a cool and collected lady and I clung to my grandma, showering her with affection, more so than I usually did. After my dad and his... mistress left to buy something, the clan gathered around me, bombarding me with questions:
"Who is this woman?"
"What happened to your step mom?"
"Is she pregnant?"
They expected me to know. You see... they'd all accused my father of being a liar in the past. And even when I was as young as 6/7, I stood up to them and wouldn't allow them to talk that way about him and I hated their guts. And there I was.
The awkwardness did not diminish after the guests were gone and I was left to fume in silence. I had a bunch of books with me and I locked myself up in my Dad's car, listening to the radio and reading in an attempt to escape her desperate attempts at bonding with me and talking to me about her daughter who went to my old high school, etc, etc, etc. I just wanted that weekend to be over. She came and sat with me in the car and I kept my nose in my books, until she said: "Your dad told me you did so great on your drivers ed test. Congratulations. You should drive us back home, get some mileage."
Erm... Another little detail I should have mentioned at the beginning was that I went to college in the city and had no need and no desire to drive. My dad got me to take drivers ed that summer, but I sucked at backing up (still do) so I failed the first test. I most definitely did not have a drivers license, but for some reason he'd told this woman I did.
So I grabbed the keys, looked her in the eye and said:
"Let's go for a ride."
"Now?"
"Now."
I floored it by the time we were out on the road and I was doing all sorts of Nascar tricks up and down the hills. She looked sick and about to puke and she got even greener when I told her:
"I don't know what my dad told you, but I failed my test. I don't have a license."
I could have gotten into a lot of trouble, but dammit, it felt SO GOOD. (Just in case you're horrified as you're reading this...rest assured, I'm not traumatized or anything. In fact, I'm laughing. It's like an old memory that amuses you after years and years...)
I don't think I spoke more than ten words to any of them that weekend. I talked to my grandma, but it was just scratching the surface on the volcano ready to errupt in me because I didn't want to hurt her.
You see, aside from being a wonderful father, my Dad has always been a very loving son, her favorite.
I did tell her something I felt for about six months after this incident. I never felt like an orphan after my mom died because I didn't remember her and I had my Dad and all was right with the world. But in that moment, I felt like I had lost both my parents and I was all alone in the world.
Little did I know that it was about to get better. I dreaded going home for the holidays and facing my step mom, but I had to. When I got there, she hugged me tight and said: "I'm so glad you're feeling better, I was so worried about you."
My dad had told her I was sick and he had to come see me. He took off and didn't go home for a week and when he came back, sold her some BS story about how I'd been hospitalized and he was by my side, but I was all better now. I don't remember what I said, I just mumbled some lies and went along with it because:
a) I didn't want to hurt her
and
b) I didn't want to lose my family. Again.
So after that, I didn't go home for six months and only offered monosyllabic answers everytime my Dad called and tried to reconnect with me. I never told anyone about how he'd manipulated me into covering for his adulterous ass. I couldn't.
When I finally had to go home for the summer, my godmother (my dad's confidante), told me my dad's mistress was out of the picture, they'd broken up months ago. I've never heard from her again, but there was one question I wanted to ask her: if she ever did to her daughter what they did to me.
I wrote my dad a loooooong letter and we never talked about any of it. Ever.
We're still friends and I still love him and the one thing that helped me forgive him was the thought that soon he'd be gone forever and I can't spend whatever time we've got left together hating him.
He's still my Dad and I still love him more than anything in the world. I just don't trust him anymore and I never will again.
Whoa, that felt good. Crap, I'm late for work.
OK, I'm rereading and laughing. That's a good thing, right?
I know this is a bit of overshare, but last night I was talking to Carrie on AIM and I realized I haven't told the whole story to a single soul and today is the fourth anniversary of the one time in my life when I hated my father.
A few details to be aware of first.
My mom died when I was three and a half. I have the best dad in the world. He's very passionate and has a big heart, and a lot of time it rules his head. He likes people, and people like him, he has empathy and all those other things I lack and I've seen him give his coat to a poor man and other such things that I cannot explain, but they make up the man he is. He's sacrificed a lot for me, and worked hard to help me go to college, and he's always been extremely loving and supporting and it's always been us against the world. We're best friends.
OK now.
On my grandma's 81st birthday we were going to have a big party/family-reunion type of gathering at her house. It was the week before my very stressful sophomore year finals, but I couldn't wait to go because I adored my grandma and while I never cared for the extended family, I couldn't wait to see my Dad and my step mom, whom I also love and adore.
My dad insisted on picking me up from the train station. When I got in the car, there was a nice lady there and my dad introduced her to me and she was nice and I was nice and we started chatting and she was telling me she'd heard so much about me, etc. For the first leg of our car ride, I thought she was one of my dad's co-workers who had relatives in the area and hitched a ride with him (it's a four hour drive to my grandma's. We've had fellow passengers before to pass the time). I don't remember when exactly I realized something wasn't right, but by the time we got to our destination, it became pretty clear that my dad and this lady were... together... for lack of a better term. She acted as if I knew this. She acted as if everyone at the family reunion knew this.
I've never seen my Dad be so... puke-worthy boy with a crush-like and coddling with anyone and I was too stunned to react. So we ate our birthday cake and my grandma and my aunt (the only people in the extended family I actually liked) did their best to keep spirits jolly. I was the epitome of a cool and collected lady and I clung to my grandma, showering her with affection, more so than I usually did. After my dad and his... mistress left to buy something, the clan gathered around me, bombarding me with questions:
"Who is this woman?"
"What happened to your step mom?"
"Is she pregnant?"
They expected me to know. You see... they'd all accused my father of being a liar in the past. And even when I was as young as 6/7, I stood up to them and wouldn't allow them to talk that way about him and I hated their guts. And there I was.
The awkwardness did not diminish after the guests were gone and I was left to fume in silence. I had a bunch of books with me and I locked myself up in my Dad's car, listening to the radio and reading in an attempt to escape her desperate attempts at bonding with me and talking to me about her daughter who went to my old high school, etc, etc, etc. I just wanted that weekend to be over. She came and sat with me in the car and I kept my nose in my books, until she said: "Your dad told me you did so great on your drivers ed test. Congratulations. You should drive us back home, get some mileage."
Erm... Another little detail I should have mentioned at the beginning was that I went to college in the city and had no need and no desire to drive. My dad got me to take drivers ed that summer, but I sucked at backing up (still do) so I failed the first test. I most definitely did not have a drivers license, but for some reason he'd told this woman I did.
So I grabbed the keys, looked her in the eye and said:
"Let's go for a ride."
"Now?"
"Now."
I floored it by the time we were out on the road and I was doing all sorts of Nascar tricks up and down the hills. She looked sick and about to puke and she got even greener when I told her:
"I don't know what my dad told you, but I failed my test. I don't have a license."
I could have gotten into a lot of trouble, but dammit, it felt SO GOOD. (Just in case you're horrified as you're reading this...rest assured, I'm not traumatized or anything. In fact, I'm laughing. It's like an old memory that amuses you after years and years...)
I don't think I spoke more than ten words to any of them that weekend. I talked to my grandma, but it was just scratching the surface on the volcano ready to errupt in me because I didn't want to hurt her.
You see, aside from being a wonderful father, my Dad has always been a very loving son, her favorite.
I did tell her something I felt for about six months after this incident. I never felt like an orphan after my mom died because I didn't remember her and I had my Dad and all was right with the world. But in that moment, I felt like I had lost both my parents and I was all alone in the world.
Little did I know that it was about to get better. I dreaded going home for the holidays and facing my step mom, but I had to. When I got there, she hugged me tight and said: "I'm so glad you're feeling better, I was so worried about you."
My dad had told her I was sick and he had to come see me. He took off and didn't go home for a week and when he came back, sold her some BS story about how I'd been hospitalized and he was by my side, but I was all better now. I don't remember what I said, I just mumbled some lies and went along with it because:
a) I didn't want to hurt her
and
b) I didn't want to lose my family. Again.
So after that, I didn't go home for six months and only offered monosyllabic answers everytime my Dad called and tried to reconnect with me. I never told anyone about how he'd manipulated me into covering for his adulterous ass. I couldn't.
When I finally had to go home for the summer, my godmother (my dad's confidante), told me my dad's mistress was out of the picture, they'd broken up months ago. I've never heard from her again, but there was one question I wanted to ask her: if she ever did to her daughter what they did to me.
I wrote my dad a loooooong letter and we never talked about any of it. Ever.
We're still friends and I still love him and the one thing that helped me forgive him was the thought that soon he'd be gone forever and I can't spend whatever time we've got left together hating him.
He's still my Dad and I still love him more than anything in the world. I just don't trust him anymore and I never will again.
Whoa, that felt good. Crap, I'm late for work.
OK, I'm rereading and laughing. That's a good thing, right?