It's been a rather thick 24 hrs.
And this will probably be a rather voluminous, remarkably unhumorous entry, so I'll understand if you skip it.
I arrived at my father's yesterday evening, the purpose of my visit being two-fold: to see my father and his/my family and to attend his second graduation from nursing school (w/an RN this time instead of LPN). I viewed it as a visit to his/my family b/c that is exactly how I have thought of this arrangement for the past eight yrs.
I moved out of my father's house at 16, shortly after he began dating the woman who is now my stepmother. For five yrs., I had lived in what can generously be described as a "character-building" environment. I had parented my parent and myself and acted as mediator between my father and the live-in girlfriend (who alternately detested and depended on me) he had before he got together w/Jenny. I had held together the household and entertained/cared for my brother who was visiting when the live-in girlfriend left and Daddy locked himself in his room for a week w/a shotgun. And I had been told so many times that I was selfish and ungrateful that I began to believe it. I must add the disclaimer that this period was NOT all unrelenting horror, but it was...challenging on a regular basis. So by the time I was 16 and my father announced that he and Jenny were planning to move WAY out of my school district and social sphere, I felt this was an opportunity to get out of what I had long realized was a situation unlikely to change, no matter how many times I negotiated, cried, or begged.
Daddy, I remember, accepted my notice w/surprising docility, considering the vociferous manner in which he had rejected all previous overtures toward separation. Jenny at one point said to me, "I just don't know how you can treat your father this way." I thought to myself, "Oh, you will."
So I moved out, and my dad and Jenny moved away. One yr. later I went on an awkward vacation to the beach w/them and my father told me while we were sitting in traffic that he and Jenny were expecting a baby. I was nearly 18 and I was going to have a new sibling. They got married a few mos. after the vacation and had another baby (an accident this time) two yrs. after my little brother was born. My contact w/my father's new family has been confined to my bi-yearly visits to Maryland, one in the summer and one around Christmas, during which I spend two to four days at my dad's house, generally sitting w/him while he watches television and attempting to interact w/the two ppl. I unfortunately refer to as "my dad's kids".
The stilted nature of these visits has mercifully declined over the yrs., due mostly to factors such as my littlest brother being one of the coolest, smartest kids in the world, making it much more enjoyable to be around him than when he was an ugly, unwanted (by me) baby and by my stepmother finally figuring out "how I could treat my father that way" and needing a comprehending, if not entirely sympathetic, ear (i.e., mine) to listen once in a while. Plus, Eli and I started buying her Herbalife stuff and telling other ppl. abt. it to drum up business for her, so that's been a bonding point. Jenny and I also share a love of 80s rock bands and hair straighteners, probably b/c she is only 10 yrs. older than me. (Don't freak out too much -- my dad was a child when I was born, so he's only 8 yrs. older than Jenny.) But I still, right up til this evening, thought of this group as first my father's family and only secondarily, perfunctorily as my family, too: my dad's/my family.
I have continued to love my father w/the unfailingly devoted adoration one sees in small children, old dogs, and religious fanatics. Through it all, I have loved my father deeply and unreservedly. I'm 24 yrs. old and I still call him Daddy, for fuck's sake. I think the normal reaction to our rather turbulent relationship during my formative yrs. would be outright hatred or at best a cool regard, but I, who have known for so long exactly who and how my father is, still love him as I did when I was five yrs. old and I cried for hrs. b/c my mother won custody in the final divorce (when she wasn't around, of course). In some ways, this is a blessing, as it means I am generally not surprised or hurt by anythg. he does to me (e.g., rarely calling [unless smthg. is WAY wrong, of course], never visiting, forgetting my last three bdays) and I am able to maintain a v. amicable relationship w/him, which makes me happy. However, having so thorough an understanding of both my father's behavior and his mental state -- and how his behavior so often contradicts and distorts how he really feels -- makes it extraordinarily painful to hear my stepmother talk abt. how my father behaves toward her and the children, to watch him drive himself deeper and deeper into depression and further away fr. the ppl. who love him most, and to know that -- despite his formidable intelligence, his Renaissance-man like aptitude for everythg. he decides to do, and, deep down, his desire to love and be loved -- my father is never going to be happy and he is never going to get a strong enough grip on his own emotions and behaviors to stop and think abt. how he makes everyone around him unhappy.
When I went to live w/Daddy when I was 11 yrs. old, it was under the pretence that he was going through a rough time following the departure of my first stepmother and needed someone to be w/him to help him get through it. I realize now that my father will always be going through a rough patch and will always want someone w/him to help him get through it (which explains the series of wives and girlfriends). And even though I also realize that it was completely inappropriate to charge a pre-adolescent child w/the job of seeing her father through a hard time, I still cannot help but feel, in the v. farthest reaches of my heart/psyche/whatever, that I failed him.
This occurred to me late last night, after my stepmother and I had finally said goodnight following a long and varied conversation. We discussed my plans for the next few yrs. and my brother (the older one, my full brother, the one traditionally thought of as MY brother) and I listened to the sounds of my father eavesdropping in an uncharacteristically un-stealthy manner that leads me to believe that he wanted us to know that he was there, listening to Jenny tell me abt. their marriage in terms that were sufficiently vague, but were well understood by me, the person who probably knows my dad better than anyone else. We also talked abt. my other siblings, the ones even my grandparents seem to forget are part of the family just like me or Trey. And it was at this point that my dad's/my family began to become simply my family.
As I've said, I love my little brother beyond description. He is just the funniest, cleverest, cutest kid in the world. And he loves me, too, which makes it a lot easier to love him than, say, my youngest sister who has spent the past four yrs. refusing to let me approach her. Even as a baby she would cry when anyone but Jenny held her. I've always heard stories abt. how smart Elizabeth is, how articulate she is, how cunning she can be (hee hee!), but all I ever saw was a whiny twit hiding behind her mother for days at a time while I visited. Initially, it appeared that this trend would continue when Elizabeth denied me a hello hug and instead buried her face in Jenny's knees and shook her head in vehement refusal. But then she just stopped. She started talking to me and showing me thgs. and laughing and making jokes that I would think a four yr. old wouldn't even understand, let alone formulate. My stepsister, too, underwent a sort of transformation in a matter of mins. She has been for so long my incongruous foil, it's really quite embarrassing to admit, considering that she is 12 yrs. younger than me and not nearly as smart. But she shares Elizabeth's cunning and has always known which buttons to push to make me want to push her out of a moving vehicle. But on this visit she was almost immediately engaging and interesting and where in the past she would say or do thgs. to make it clear that I was not in a place that was my home (like the time she tried to get Jenny to say that my old cat who still lives w/my dad belonged to her and "their" family and not to me), this time she made a real effort to include me in the group. Making fun of my dad w/her was a handy "in" for me.
As I surveyed Joseph's disaster of a room (so like mine!) and heard him beg to be allowed to sleep on the couch (just like me when I was his age!), as I watched Elizabeth shake her tiny booty while she danced to White Zombie (just like me!) and eat only three bites of her mini-pizza (again!), and as I looked at Lynn's artwork and recognized that she may not be as intellectually smart as me or Joseph and Elizabeth, but she is exceptionally gifted in her own way, and esp. when I heard fr. Jenny how hurt Lynn is every Christmas when my grandparents send presents and cards for Joseph and Elizabeth, but not even a hello for her, I felt an entirely new set of emotions emerge: belonging replaced separateness, enjoyment supplanted obligation, and a desire to protect and foster pushed out tepid apathy. I was finally able to identify the ways in which these ppl. are MY family.
And now I am more worried than ever abt. my father and his...ways. My brother (Trey) and I are basically functional adults, but we bear significant reminders of the events of our less-than-ideal childhoods. While not all of these marks were left by our father (my mother could take up a whole other blog entry [don't worry -- I'm not planning to do that]) and not everythg. he did was harmful, the effects of the less positive aspects of Daddy's approach to fatherhood linger. I often tell ppl. that I am crazy and they always laugh it off or deny that they've seen the signs, but I think that's a combination of politeness and of my well-honed ability to hide the insanity. I do not want what I am or what Trey is for my siblings. I am left in the odd predicament of wanting to protect Joseph, Elizabeth, and Lynn fr. one of the ppl. I love best in this world.
And so I have gained a family and paradox in one day's time.
And this will probably be a rather voluminous, remarkably unhumorous entry, so I'll understand if you skip it.
I arrived at my father's yesterday evening, the purpose of my visit being two-fold: to see my father and his/my family and to attend his second graduation from nursing school (w/an RN this time instead of LPN). I viewed it as a visit to his/my family b/c that is exactly how I have thought of this arrangement for the past eight yrs.
I moved out of my father's house at 16, shortly after he began dating the woman who is now my stepmother. For five yrs., I had lived in what can generously be described as a "character-building" environment. I had parented my parent and myself and acted as mediator between my father and the live-in girlfriend (who alternately detested and depended on me) he had before he got together w/Jenny. I had held together the household and entertained/cared for my brother who was visiting when the live-in girlfriend left and Daddy locked himself in his room for a week w/a shotgun. And I had been told so many times that I was selfish and ungrateful that I began to believe it. I must add the disclaimer that this period was NOT all unrelenting horror, but it was...challenging on a regular basis. So by the time I was 16 and my father announced that he and Jenny were planning to move WAY out of my school district and social sphere, I felt this was an opportunity to get out of what I had long realized was a situation unlikely to change, no matter how many times I negotiated, cried, or begged.
Daddy, I remember, accepted my notice w/surprising docility, considering the vociferous manner in which he had rejected all previous overtures toward separation. Jenny at one point said to me, "I just don't know how you can treat your father this way." I thought to myself, "Oh, you will."
So I moved out, and my dad and Jenny moved away. One yr. later I went on an awkward vacation to the beach w/them and my father told me while we were sitting in traffic that he and Jenny were expecting a baby. I was nearly 18 and I was going to have a new sibling. They got married a few mos. after the vacation and had another baby (an accident this time) two yrs. after my little brother was born. My contact w/my father's new family has been confined to my bi-yearly visits to Maryland, one in the summer and one around Christmas, during which I spend two to four days at my dad's house, generally sitting w/him while he watches television and attempting to interact w/the two ppl. I unfortunately refer to as "my dad's kids".
The stilted nature of these visits has mercifully declined over the yrs., due mostly to factors such as my littlest brother being one of the coolest, smartest kids in the world, making it much more enjoyable to be around him than when he was an ugly, unwanted (by me) baby and by my stepmother finally figuring out "how I could treat my father that way" and needing a comprehending, if not entirely sympathetic, ear (i.e., mine) to listen once in a while. Plus, Eli and I started buying her Herbalife stuff and telling other ppl. abt. it to drum up business for her, so that's been a bonding point. Jenny and I also share a love of 80s rock bands and hair straighteners, probably b/c she is only 10 yrs. older than me. (Don't freak out too much -- my dad was a child when I was born, so he's only 8 yrs. older than Jenny.) But I still, right up til this evening, thought of this group as first my father's family and only secondarily, perfunctorily as my family, too: my dad's/my family.
I have continued to love my father w/the unfailingly devoted adoration one sees in small children, old dogs, and religious fanatics. Through it all, I have loved my father deeply and unreservedly. I'm 24 yrs. old and I still call him Daddy, for fuck's sake. I think the normal reaction to our rather turbulent relationship during my formative yrs. would be outright hatred or at best a cool regard, but I, who have known for so long exactly who and how my father is, still love him as I did when I was five yrs. old and I cried for hrs. b/c my mother won custody in the final divorce (when she wasn't around, of course). In some ways, this is a blessing, as it means I am generally not surprised or hurt by anythg. he does to me (e.g., rarely calling [unless smthg. is WAY wrong, of course], never visiting, forgetting my last three bdays) and I am able to maintain a v. amicable relationship w/him, which makes me happy. However, having so thorough an understanding of both my father's behavior and his mental state -- and how his behavior so often contradicts and distorts how he really feels -- makes it extraordinarily painful to hear my stepmother talk abt. how my father behaves toward her and the children, to watch him drive himself deeper and deeper into depression and further away fr. the ppl. who love him most, and to know that -- despite his formidable intelligence, his Renaissance-man like aptitude for everythg. he decides to do, and, deep down, his desire to love and be loved -- my father is never going to be happy and he is never going to get a strong enough grip on his own emotions and behaviors to stop and think abt. how he makes everyone around him unhappy.
When I went to live w/Daddy when I was 11 yrs. old, it was under the pretence that he was going through a rough time following the departure of my first stepmother and needed someone to be w/him to help him get through it. I realize now that my father will always be going through a rough patch and will always want someone w/him to help him get through it (which explains the series of wives and girlfriends). And even though I also realize that it was completely inappropriate to charge a pre-adolescent child w/the job of seeing her father through a hard time, I still cannot help but feel, in the v. farthest reaches of my heart/psyche/whatever, that I failed him.
This occurred to me late last night, after my stepmother and I had finally said goodnight following a long and varied conversation. We discussed my plans for the next few yrs. and my brother (the older one, my full brother, the one traditionally thought of as MY brother) and I listened to the sounds of my father eavesdropping in an uncharacteristically un-stealthy manner that leads me to believe that he wanted us to know that he was there, listening to Jenny tell me abt. their marriage in terms that were sufficiently vague, but were well understood by me, the person who probably knows my dad better than anyone else. We also talked abt. my other siblings, the ones even my grandparents seem to forget are part of the family just like me or Trey. And it was at this point that my dad's/my family began to become simply my family.
As I've said, I love my little brother beyond description. He is just the funniest, cleverest, cutest kid in the world. And he loves me, too, which makes it a lot easier to love him than, say, my youngest sister who has spent the past four yrs. refusing to let me approach her. Even as a baby she would cry when anyone but Jenny held her. I've always heard stories abt. how smart Elizabeth is, how articulate she is, how cunning she can be (hee hee!), but all I ever saw was a whiny twit hiding behind her mother for days at a time while I visited. Initially, it appeared that this trend would continue when Elizabeth denied me a hello hug and instead buried her face in Jenny's knees and shook her head in vehement refusal. But then she just stopped. She started talking to me and showing me thgs. and laughing and making jokes that I would think a four yr. old wouldn't even understand, let alone formulate. My stepsister, too, underwent a sort of transformation in a matter of mins. She has been for so long my incongruous foil, it's really quite embarrassing to admit, considering that she is 12 yrs. younger than me and not nearly as smart. But she shares Elizabeth's cunning and has always known which buttons to push to make me want to push her out of a moving vehicle. But on this visit she was almost immediately engaging and interesting and where in the past she would say or do thgs. to make it clear that I was not in a place that was my home (like the time she tried to get Jenny to say that my old cat who still lives w/my dad belonged to her and "their" family and not to me), this time she made a real effort to include me in the group. Making fun of my dad w/her was a handy "in" for me.
As I surveyed Joseph's disaster of a room (so like mine!) and heard him beg to be allowed to sleep on the couch (just like me when I was his age!), as I watched Elizabeth shake her tiny booty while she danced to White Zombie (just like me!) and eat only three bites of her mini-pizza (again!), and as I looked at Lynn's artwork and recognized that she may not be as intellectually smart as me or Joseph and Elizabeth, but she is exceptionally gifted in her own way, and esp. when I heard fr. Jenny how hurt Lynn is every Christmas when my grandparents send presents and cards for Joseph and Elizabeth, but not even a hello for her, I felt an entirely new set of emotions emerge: belonging replaced separateness, enjoyment supplanted obligation, and a desire to protect and foster pushed out tepid apathy. I was finally able to identify the ways in which these ppl. are MY family.
And now I am more worried than ever abt. my father and his...ways. My brother (Trey) and I are basically functional adults, but we bear significant reminders of the events of our less-than-ideal childhoods. While not all of these marks were left by our father (my mother could take up a whole other blog entry [don't worry -- I'm not planning to do that]) and not everythg. he did was harmful, the effects of the less positive aspects of Daddy's approach to fatherhood linger. I often tell ppl. that I am crazy and they always laugh it off or deny that they've seen the signs, but I think that's a combination of politeness and of my well-honed ability to hide the insanity. I do not want what I am or what Trey is for my siblings. I am left in the odd predicament of wanting to protect Joseph, Elizabeth, and Lynn fr. one of the ppl. I love best in this world.
And so I have gained a family and paradox in one day's time.
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