Divorce
May 18th, 2009 § 2 Comments
I haven’t talked to my dad for three months. He’s called a few times but I’ve ignored his call. I rationalized that if it were urgent he would leave a message, he hasn’t, so I further rationalize that the silence is okay.
My parents divorced when I was 1 1/2. This put my father at a huge disadvantadge for bonding time, as I’m sure my mom was dead set against leaving me as an infant in his care for the weekends. I’ve spent 31 years silently thanking her for this foresight. As I grew from a toddler to a teenager, the wedge between my father and I grew stronger. Each day I became less of a little girl and more like a woman; a precursor to my mom. In return, my dad grew even more uncomfortable in my presence and chose to spend his time with my brother. Together they shared an interest in sports and lack of interest in me.
Being a teenager marks a difficult period of transition. It’s a period of struggle to find independance marked by eye rolling, sassing and grunting to display displeasure and irritation. I was a pro at the eye roll. I think my face froze in a state of displeasure and, to this day, my relaxed face is not a pleasant one.
While I was a teen entrenched in a constant bicker battle with my mom, my feelings towards my dad were displayed with indifference. We avoided confrontation at all costs. There was a silent understanding between us that we would give each other space. Any talk of boys, life, feelings, dreams, and all topics related was off limits. We could however discuss, what was for dinner, how much money I needed for my trip to the mall, and what friends I could have over to help me survive the otherwise intolerable weekend.
Weekends at my dad’s house passed with excruciating pain. Time there moved slower and was steeped in solitude. While my dad and brother would spend hours away from the house at card shows and sports stores, I would spend the weekend on the couch watching television and eating myself into a sugar coma. I marveled at TV daughters and their TV dad’s. I would watch with meticulous attention as Bill Cosby cradled Rudy in his arms as she would rest her little head on his chest or as Mike Brady gave Marsha sage advice on boys and life. And, to make it even more impressive, Marsha wasn’t even his real daughter. TV dad’s didn’t match mine. My dad didn’t give advice, he didn’t talk to me past asking what I wanted to eat for dinner. My dad stayed distant from everything that made me his daughter. His duties didn’t extend beyond making sure I was fed, clothed and still alive by the time my mom picked me up on Sunday.
I always wondered how my life would be different if I had a healthy relationship with my dad, instead of being left to absorb the TV dad/daughter relationship, pretending that Mr. Huckstable was talking directly to me when he was offering advice to his children.
Father’s day is especially difficult because no cards match the sentiment I have towards my father. Most thank dad’s for their insight, their wisdom, their guidance. I need one that says I love you for buying me things when I was younger and for making sure I was sent back to mom’s unscathed.
We all struggle with parent issues and for the most part I have come to accept the fact that my dad and I will always remain at a distance. I love my dad because he is my dad but I feel like he knows little about me or who I am. I know he is proud of me because he is always excited to get my business card so he can show it to his acquaintances. “Look, my daughter is a Senior Vice President.” In my head, this scene plays out with the person asking pointed questions about me; what I like, my middle name, when my birthday is- my dad struggles to answer the questions, gives them my card and says to call to ask me the questions directly.
No matter how strained our relationship, I do know that if my dad ever needs me I will pick up the phone, check my voicemail and then call him back.
Thanks. I hope you are able to work things out with your father.
Thank you, I do too but I think what we have currently is as good as it gets.