I was quite apprehensive of him coming to stay. Him and his new wife. She’s the one he married without telling anyone. The one who has apparently changed him for the better, the one he is faithful and devoted to, and… insert platitude here. But it was an enormous anti-climax. They stayed for 4 nights. Two lots of two. We went out for supper on the first and last nights. In between they travelled back to his birthplace. During the day they saw the sights of London. Conversation was small, careful, prosaic.
It has always been so easy to become frustrated with my father. To get angry and upset; my bookends of any encounter with him. As I realise again, that he doesn’t see me, he never has. And I am left feeling disappointed with myself as I avoid, defend and placate. It has been a continuous battle between the expectations I have of him and what, in reality, he is capable of. This man who told me in the carpark at Dunedin Airport, after my 37 hour flight home, that the reason my mother had just died was to punish him for his lyin’ cheatin’ ways. Yeah. That was all about you.
But during this visit, I felt different. I just don’t need his validation any more. I saw him for the slightly absurd man he really is: his opinions ill-informed, slightly bigoted, his identity rooted in an obsession with his beloved football team and a cold beer in the sunshine of his adopted Australian home. He seems happy. They have plans together, to build a house, the annual sojourn to Fiji. A fine life really.
I learnt today that in real life a happy ending is rarely a movie-style ‘happy ending’ or even the one you’d write yourself, given the chance. Sometimes it’s just about confronting the truth when it stares you in the face and understanding that it isn’t your fault, it may not in fact, be even about you. And then it’s about walking away without looking back. A few years ago, he asked the really hard questions. I had rehearsed that conversation a thousand times in my head and I was able to tell him my story. Of how it was, growing up as his daughter. That was his opportunity to hear me, to understand something of who I am becoming. But he yelled abuse and hung up. And somewhere a door closed for me.
The last thing he said to me at Heathrow this morning was ‘try to make this one work.’ Referring to my relationship. As I turned away, I locked that fucking door and stepped into the sunshine.
Image: Jen Lemen.
Comments
I had that conversation with my father (for very different reasons but the hubris is the same) 21 years ago and I have never looked back. He called me everything you’d expect any low-life to pull out of the bag but I knew no one else capable of hurling it at a daughter. But he was backed against the wall with the truth. He came out swinging.
I’m new here but DJan sent us over. I’m so sorry things can’t be salvaged, truly, but unless there is a true heart change followed by right behavior, sometimes all we have left of a relationship is what it could have been. And that’s not sustainable.
I can’t say it enough – you bloggies just rock. Thanks for hearing me.
I hope you wedged a very large chair firmly beneath the doorknob, too.
ooh thanks j9! that’s perfect!
That last line is just about the most perfect thing Ive read today.
Soda – the best explanation I’ve EVER been given on how to correctly pronounce the word “Maori” was around 13 years ago – I was told to think of it in similar terms to the word ‘mouldy’ (but replace the ‘ld’ with a rolled ‘r’). Up until then, my English (and, at the time, very Yorkshire) accent found it almost impossible to say without sounding like a complete cracker (and therefore not the best way of impressing my future Maori inlaws!)
;)
Hey sas I notice you using some Maori words here & there, are you Maori yourself or do Kiwis generally just use some of the words?
Also, when I was growing up Maori was always pronounced to rhyme with cowrie, but in the last few years its popular pronunciation seems to have changed to rhyme more or less with sorry – which one is correct?
Sometimes, people make our lives better, by being in it.
And others, well, they make it better by not being in it.
You’re extraordinary, darling one. I’m just sorry your father isn’t able to see it for himself. But it in the end, that’s not so important. All that matters is that the little family you’ve created for yourself sees it and cherishes you for it, which I’m certain they do.
It’s so very hard to let go of the need to feel wanted and loved by your parents. As much as we love them, though, sometimes they’re just not worth it. And that’s OK.
I’m glad you’re starting to heal that piece of yourself at last.
@J9 acceptance is absolutely where I am at! I am so blessed with a whanau that I adore – most of whom are no relation whatsoever. And you are right the trust thing is so important. I read somewhere that the ONLY thing that matters to kids, is does your face light up when I walk into the room? Do you SEE me? Do I matter to you. Alex & Cletus the Fetus have that in spades :) xxx
Fathers can be such colossal disappointments. In fact, family in general can. I guess the visit easily lived up to your expectations.
I completely agree with Sherri; ‘family’ isn’t so much about blood as it is about sharing our lives, being needed and being there for, seeing everything there is to see and loving it, or at least accepting it, anyway. It’s difficult to see our parents as ‘human’ (sometimes it makes them seem a little flat, or 2D, after worshiping the ground they walked on when we were small), and I’m sure I’m going to make some pretty big fuck-up’s myself, but regardless of the things we get wrong, I think it’s much more important to hand down to our children trust (in themselves, in ‘us’ individually and as a ‘tribe’), acceptance, and above everything else, love.
Kia kaha, my lovely :)
I was so worried when I first started to read this, I thought you were referring to your guy you just moved in with. Fantastic post, you really have a great gift for writing. I have never felt much connected to my family, the last commenter brings up a valid point about who we are related to. Finding a “family” who supports us when we need it, is what’s important, be it blood-related or not.
I’m so sorry that he couldn’t step up and be what you needed. But I’m also glad that you’ve realized you don’t need it anymore.
It’s hard to realize that just because you’re related to someone doesn’t mean they deserve to be in your life.
Beautifully written, as always. I’ve never opened the door to my father – well, perhaps a crack but have firmly shut it quickly again. To be honest, I can’t be arsed with him.