We spent this weekend at my parents house because of my son's birthday. He'll be two on November 2. He had a lovely time visiting his grandparents, as did my husband. I didn't have a lovely time. My visit brought up issues with my father that I had almost stopped feeling... I had buried them somewhere deep inside my grown-up, clinically observational, detached self.
My father is always happy to see my son. He is affectionate, attentive and very present. My son adores his grandfather. I have always felt an indefinable distance when I approach my father. Oh, after I came back into their lives after a five-year self-imposed hiatus he was much more approachable, demonstrative even. But this weekend, some of that old discomfort resurfaced. My disapproving, unlovable father had reemerged.
For example, we were watching
Boohbah because it is one of my son's favorite television shows. My father sat on the sofa and in earshot of me, my son and my mother said, "This is stupid." I suddenly felt like I was six years old again. My face burned with shame. My heart ached with sadness and my stomach lurched with anxiety. I can't believe how much those three words hurt me. I quickly stepped out of my feelings. I resumed the role of Mother and told him that I would appreciate it if he would keep his comments to himself, as it's one of my son's favorite television shows. Inside, I wanted to scream at him for tainting my son's joy, like he had tainted my own with his indifference and disdain.
My father has always been rough with me. I can't remember him ever being gentle or tender as a child. I always got the rough slap on the back, for praise. I wouldn't consider it physical abuse, rather I feel he wouldn't allow himself to be gentle with me. Perhaps he treated me like a son because my brother was disabled. I do not know. I do know however, that I'm nearly 29 years old and I do not like to roughouse any more. So, you can imagine my surprise when my dad "punched" me in the arm, as punctuation to a joke. I was startled and, quite frankly, my arm hurt. I asked him to please not hit me. Twice. He never looked at me and did not apologize. He just kept right on doing what he was doing.
Right now, I feel incredibly sad. Sad for the emotionally stilted relationship I have with my father. Sad because what I thought was becoming a vital, feeling relationship is still weighed down by the trappings of the past. Oh, I know that it was just one weekend and that two years of rebuilding my relationship with my family and all the positive things that accompany that aren't flushed down the drain because of one weekend. But, old hurts are the most painful; old shame, old sadness, old loneliness are the deepest.
My father is morbidly obese and has been most of his life, excepting his tours in Vietnam. He is diabetic and has high cholesterol. He's approaching sixty and I don't think he'll make it to seventy. My time with him is incredibly limited. I don't want our relationship and the remainder of our years together to be framed in "what never was."
