Fell On Black Days.
I've been in a very dark mood the past couple of days. We went to discuss preparations yesterday with Eric's venerable Grandma B, about whom I have spoken before (we're having a small mostly-family party at her house after the bat mitzvah, which Eric and I are solely responsible for setting up/arranging/cleaning up after) and I cried in front of her, which I hate doing, when she decided she wanted to talk about Eric's father.
Grandma B valiantly tried to squash my beef with Eric's father, insisting that he didn't mean it personally and that I shouldn't take it personally, and trying to shift some of the blame onto his wife, but that just doesn't hold any water with me. I didn't fucking ask him to convert, or to kiss a Torah, or to do any damn thing except give three hours out of his lousy fucking life to support me and something I have wanted almost *my* entire life, and he couldn't do it. Furthermore, he didn't have the balls to tell me to my face, or at least over the phone, that I wasn't worth that much to him, so you know what? Fuck him.
He's still my father-in-law and I will still attend family events that he deigns to show up at, and I fully expect him to discharge his grandfatherly responsibilities to my children, but it will be a long, long time before I can ever forgive or respect him again. Grandma B thinks I am "too emotional" and "taking this too personally," but then, I have always thought she and Eric's father are not nearly emotional enough and seem to take nothing at all personally, so I suspect this may be repression and denial simply a cultural difference. Now I wish I had pursued finding a rabbi to marry myself and Eric so I could have found out my father-in-law's true colors sooner and spared myself a lot of pain after coming to trust and respect him over the years.
And through it all, I can't help thinking how overjoyed my first husband's (Jewish) parents would have been about my having a bat mitzvah; hell, they both attended temple for the first time in years to see my conversion. AND they probably would have even paid for the party.
P.S. I heard the same song from my previous entry (Rush's "Distant Early Warning") AGAIN today at the gym. O fate, why must you torment me?
P.P.S. There was a small light moment yesterday when I had to explain to Grandma B the meaning of an exotic word she had heard her cleaning lady use. The word? Cholo. LOL
Grandma B valiantly tried to squash my beef with Eric's father, insisting that he didn't mean it personally and that I shouldn't take it personally, and trying to shift some of the blame onto his wife, but that just doesn't hold any water with me. I didn't fucking ask him to convert, or to kiss a Torah, or to do any damn thing except give three hours out of his lousy fucking life to support me and something I have wanted almost *my* entire life, and he couldn't do it. Furthermore, he didn't have the balls to tell me to my face, or at least over the phone, that I wasn't worth that much to him, so you know what? Fuck him.
He's still my father-in-law and I will still attend family events that he deigns to show up at, and I fully expect him to discharge his grandfatherly responsibilities to my children, but it will be a long, long time before I can ever forgive or respect him again. Grandma B thinks I am "too emotional" and "taking this too personally," but then, I have always thought she and Eric's father are not nearly emotional enough and seem to take nothing at all personally, so I suspect this may be repression and denial simply a cultural difference. Now I wish I had pursued finding a rabbi to marry myself and Eric so I could have found out my father-in-law's true colors sooner and spared myself a lot of pain after coming to trust and respect him over the years.
And through it all, I can't help thinking how overjoyed my first husband's (Jewish) parents would have been about my having a bat mitzvah; hell, they both attended temple for the first time in years to see my conversion. AND they probably would have even paid for the party.
P.S. I heard the same song from my previous entry (Rush's "Distant Early Warning") AGAIN today at the gym. O fate, why must you torment me?
P.P.S. There was a small light moment yesterday when I had to explain to Grandma B the meaning of an exotic word she had heard her cleaning lady use. The word? Cholo. LOL