I don’t have any pictures of me and my dad when I was little or old. I’m sure there’s some around, but I don’t have any. Sometimes I wonder how much that lack of photographic documentation plays a role in my memories of my dad when I was a little girl. Or how much the photographs of me and my mom influence my feelings towards her and her role in my life when I was a young girl. Or how much did my unstable teenage years give me my childhood narrative that I live by today? My dad was an absent parent indeed, he left my mom, me, and my brother to fend for ourselves. That’s not totally accurate because my mom did kick him out! But that was no reason for my dad to abandon us too. When my dad left yesterday I was overcome by emotions, I cried which was something I wasn’t expecting to do. I felt sad like I would never see him again. Growing up he never did anything to hurt me on purpose. His bad parenting was a product of his youth and the way his parents treated him. My mom and dad both had very rough childhoods with terrible emotional support. They had no idea how to be psychologically healthy people. They both had shortcomings as parents in their own ways. I’ve paid for that in my life and I’m lucky I’m a strong person or I probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now. It was extremely damaging to me going through what my dad put me through as a little girl. I had no self-esteem and things just got worse and worse. But I don’t feel mad at him. I feel happy I saw him and wish we could spend more time together. So much time has passed and I made it through, I’m doing fine now. I don’t hold a grudge and I understand how difficult it must have been for both my parents. I have to believe deep down my dad had my best interest at heart and cared about me and Danny, he just got lost at sea.
Tag: dad
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Monday morning. Dad’s packing, Betty’s finishing watching The Best Little Marigold Hotel. Lindsey’s playing with Jack and Fiona in the back yard and Billy’s laying at my feet as I write for the first time in four days. “I’m just gonna stuff a bunch of shit in a box” my Dad said to Alan and I the other night. Betty said she didn’t understand how my Dad accumulated so much stuff, she didn’t buy that much stuff. “Isn’t that how my dad is?” I said. “Yeah” she said. It’s not things he’s bought though, it’s more like a collection of recyclables that might be used later. Jean and Bernie, my dad’s parents used to save everything too, pillow cases would be filled with plastic bags, recyclables used for storage, and food was rarely thrown out. Mold was simply cut off the ends of cheese. The other night my dad asked “Do you want to give this meat to your dog?” I said, “How old is it?” He has to try to remember, I probe him with questions and figure out it’s from last week in Reno. “It’s probably gone bad by now” I said.
He’s busy packing away, he’s my dad. He’s the same man he’s always been. When I put my arm around him the other night I could feel his bones, he has shrunk in height, and seems so little. I had a strange feeling as we stood there in the kitchen getting a picture taken, like a small bit of warmth and connection. He told Alan he thought Danny and I turned out to be really good kids. He would never say anything like that to us face to face. It’s sad because he lives so far away and I’ll probably never see him again. I think we all had a nice weekend, they weren’t bad houseguests at all. They were clean and quiet and Jack and Fiona really liked both my dad and Betty. I’ll miss them. My dad would be a good grandpa which is something I never thought I would say.
Patience is golden. It’s one thing I’ve learned from Jack and Fiona that has transformed me into another person. I notice this especially when I watch other people doing things with the babies. For example, our walks down to the park. My brother Danny and Alan have both done the walk with me and the babies. I think it took both Danny and Alan by surprise how slow the process was because both decided to pick up their baby they were walking and carry that baby up the hill much quicker than me. Every little pebble or piece of wood or spot on the asphalt needs to be examined. They will hold my hand and walk for a bit but then need to smell the flowers. When I disrupt this pace by pulling they just sit down on the ground. When I indulge them and take life at their pace letting them explore every nook and cranny they respond positively. It’s not easy and takes lots of patience. I made sure to have patience with my house guests this weekend. I made sure to have patience with myself too. That’s just as important. Having patience and cultivating the ability to call on my most patient self reduces stress and negative thoughts. It keeps the day running much more smoothly. We may not get to everything that needs to be done or go everywhere we want to go but at the end of the day we all feel a lot happier!
I think my dad is a very patient person.
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There’s two rules for the fake stream at the discovery museum, one, no climbing in the stream and two, have fun. I am in the process of getting Fiona’s shoes on and a few ladies are calling for my attention. Jack’s in the stream stomping his feet, I go over and take him out. He climbs right back in. My words “No, you can’t climb in the stream” mean absolutely nothing, it’s like I’m not talking at all. He gets pretty wet, but he’s not fazed. We go play in the outdoor tot area and I’ve never seen Jack have such a good time. He runs around climbing on the rope ladder, climbs up and down the soft steps, and plays in the tunnel. This is the highlight of the day because there’s a big dirty puddle inside! He’s so excited and so wet and dirty! Lucky I have a whole new outfit for him! My Dad and Betty are with us and it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. My dad helps watch the babies, he follows them, holds their hand when I tell him to. He’s gentle and surprisingly present. He’s very quiet and reserved. He’s still a free loader, but he’s definitely on his best behavior. Betty keeps him on his toes with her regular prodding. It feels strange to call him grandpa. But for the second time since my mom died I felt like a daughter, the first time was with Bruce when he came to visit. There’s something about that, I can’t quiet explain it yet, but it’s a place of comfort. Even though I have no relationship with my Dad. I’m sure he’ll ask us for something in the near future, like money, and he doesn’t get a free pass for treating Danny and I the way he did. But the visits not as dreadful as I imagined it would be.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 