I have a complicated relationship with my father.
It’s hard to write about because it’s so tangled.
My mother made it clear very early that “you are your father’s” while my sister was “hers.” That started way before my sister was born. I was not wanted by my mother - got it - she was extremely straightforward with that.
So I fit into the ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’ stereotype. I was riding with him on his Harley since I was a baby. As my mother’s abuse grew, my father would get me out of the house early so we didn’t crack the eggshells of my mother & cause a war.
He tried.
Then it all stopped.
Several things happened that changed everything:
My brother was born when I was 8 years old (my sister was 3 then).
We moved into our house when I was 9 years old.
My mother’s abuse of me shifted into the highest gear possible.
So my father, out of self-preservation, started staying away from the house as much as possible.
As the depression took over my life, he didn’t understand it. We would have fights, screaming fights, with him telling me to “get over it” & me screaming that I can’t. I even left him pamphlets about depression & how those of us who live with it, cannot just get over it.
In all the movies, you see parents wanting the best for their children & pushing them to do better. Not in my house. My father was ecstatic when I got a job as a cashier at The Home Depot at 35 years old. However, the year prior, when I got a huge position at Harvard, he asked me how long would it take before I fucked it up.
My father has called me a failure, useless, worthless, and a host of other demeaning things from my 20s until today. As much as it derails me faster than anything, sometimes I do wonder if he even realizes what he is actually saying or how much they hurt.
There were good times.
I have his intelligence…I just took it to the next level. We both got in trouble - by the same math teacher, 15 years apart - because we do a lot of the work inside our heads. It was quite a challenge for me to show my work in math. I was a mathlete & used to solving the equations quickly. I was in advanced math my entire life. But this one teacher in high school, who taught my father & didn’t like him, was convinced I was cheating when I didn’t show my work. I switched out of that class.
I have his sharp, quick wit. We’ve had fun battles of comebacks throughout the years.
We share a love of Star Wars, Star Trek (the original), Indiana Jones, Jaws, and The Twilight Zone. We can quote all of the original Star Wars films as we saw them together in the theater & rewatch them all the time. We did see most of the Star Trek movies together & all of the Indiana Jones movies, until the last 2. We agree there is only 1 perfect Jaws movie & the sequels are all crap. We have seen all of the Twilight Zones & discuss them at random.
I rode with him all over on his Harley. He would bring me to school on his bike since I was in elementary school & I was the “cool” kid on those days. I went to Harley bike rallies with him before I was even 5 years old. We were even in Easy Rider magazine in 1979.
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We are both fascinated by ghosts & especially the ones who were in our house. My 6 foot, 3 inch, Harley biker, firefighter dad was a skeptic at one time. But when we moved into our house in 1983, and he saw the deceased elderly couple walk through the living room, the dial on the radio change to a different station, the cupboards open & close on their own, and random footsteps around the house when no one else was there - he became a believer. We would talk to the spirits in the house. They became upset when he was fixing the house up to sell in 2008 & the activity picked up to the way it was when we first moved in. The rest of the family would hide in their rooms, but my dad & I would investigate a little. We were scared too, to be honest, but wanted to know more about them!
I feel there are 2 relationships: my dad, who is loving & fun; my father, who is verbally & emotionally abusive.
Now, seeing him age, hearing him repeat stories he told 5 minutes prior, watching him move slower, his once strong & steady hands now shaking, I’m struggling. He calls me more often. But he often talks down to me on those calls. Making me not want to answer.
With my mother, it has always been clear - there is no love. I have no feelings toward her.
With my father, it’s messy. There is love in there…some confusion too.
I saw my dad recently. Just before Father’s Day. He rode his Harley from North Carolina up to NY. We met at my grandparents’ cemetery. He talked a lot about his own burial plans & that he’s not sure about getting a plot or being cremated. It was a semi-deep conversation that had us both pondering our mortality.
But only a couple hours later at dinner, he berated my life & said how my brother & him use my name in a derogatory way & everyone laughs. He didn’t see why that upset me. “C’mon, it’s funny!” No. No, it’s not. And the fact that he can’t see that is an issue. The few times I was speaking, he was watching people parking & commenting on them & never heard a word I said.
So this Father’s Day was spent writing this essay. Trying to focus more on the good times we had. Instead, it backfired a little. It brought up feelings of being an orphan. Having these 2 parents who had no idea how to treat their own child without abuse. It’s hard to think about. It’s sad to think about. And it feels like the truest statement ever.