Behind the Curtain

For those of you who know me know that I’m a fairly private person. And, that begs the question why I have a blog. Is it so I can share all manner of the boring and the superficial? If that’s true then what will make people come back to read? Am I really all that funny or am I only funny because the handful of people who actually read this blog on a regular basis are people I’ve known for awhile? Ok, who am I trying to fool, “handful” seems like a lot of people and I know that’s not true.

I read why, jerry, why and dooce today and both of them share things that are meaningful. why, jerry, why talked today about coming out to his friend and then having his friend come out to him. dooce talked about her life-long bout with depression a week or so ago. What do I talk about…cleaning out my closet.

So, my friends (all 3 of you), here we go with an attempt to not be so private.

For almost a year, my father has not spoken more than 10 words to me. I’m having a hard time with the shut-out but I’m learning to deal with it. I’m 35 years old and I’m done with bending over or bowing down. And, frankly, there’s been a power-struggle my whole life and I’ve finally found a foothold and I’m not taking the crap any more.

When I was 10 my mother died and prior to that she was sick for about 8 years. Sick–like I knew how to take care of bed sores when most kids were learning how to put baseball cards in their bike spokes. When she died, my father went somewhere else (emotionally) and we’ve seen neither hide nor hair of him since. He remarried less than 5 months later to someone he met right after my mother died. They are still married. And, I’m happy and grateful that I have both my step-mother and step-sister in my life. In fact I prickle when people ask me which sister is my real sister. They are both real.

Growing up was similar to being in a prison. For some stretches of time it was like being in the exercise yard—all sunny and relaxed. But a lot of times it was not so hot. The foot was on our necks a lot and for little reason. We didn’t skip school, we didn’t smoke pot, we didn’t wreck cars on a regular basis, we didn’t stay out too late, etc. In fact we hardly had any friends because we didn’t want to bring them home. I spent most of my teen-age years pissed off and I totally hated high school because I was different than the other kids. I’m not saying I was smarter than most of them, although I probably was, but I saw everything through a jaundiced eye. The best thing that happened to me was to graduate and go away to college. I finally came out of my shell. I blame my parents (I know we all blame our parents for something). I blame them for creating an environment that was totally devoid of emotion and the only camaraderie was the kind that kept us so insular.

Anyway, there’s a lot of history that I could go on and on with but you’re probably already asleep by now. Let’s fast forward to a year ago.

In October of 2002, my father summoned his kids to the house and ripped us a new one for not visiting him enough and not visiting his mother-in-law enough. How those two things are related I’m not sure. Of course, for some of us it had been less than a month since we’d last seen him…logic doesn’t have a role here. I plainly told him that if he wanted to have me visit him he should invite me over. I told him I needed him to do that. He blew it off. I have asked my father for exactly two things since I turned 18. One was to show up for an event when I was a junior in college (which he refused to do) and to invite me to his house (which as it turns out he has refused to do as well). It was painful that afternoon as I related the story to the better-half.

Now let’s jump to Christmas 2002. We had my family, the mother-in-law and my brother-in-law’s family over for Christmas dinner. Everything went really well and people seemed to enjoy themselves. As my father and mother were leaving, things got out of control. My father laid into one of my brothers-in-law and for what reason I’m not sure. It was an ugly scene and unnecessary. That brother-in-law has been a black sheep for my parents for years. The brother-in-law was trying to make things right before the Niece arrived and he got kicked in the teeth for his efforts. When I saw my father a couple of days later, I told him I would never discuss my sister and her husband with him again because of the scene he made in my house. I told him it was wrong and I wasn’t going to be party to it ever again. So began the silent treatment.

I have made attempts to reconcile. They may not have been huge attempts but I’ve tried. Now I must harden that part of my heart. It really bothers me, though, because I’ve always been the one to say family should work through their differences because you never know when your family will be gone. I guess I’ve had my comeuppance. I’ve had dreams where my family is together and my dad and I are talking to each other. I need to get to the place where those dreams stop and I am not obsessed with those thoughts. It is really out of my hands at this point.

In some ways, I’m stunned that no one in my family seems to want to step into the fray and make this right. I know that it isn’t their responsibility, but I’ve stepped into the fray before in situations similar to this one. I know my one sister just tries to get through family events even though she knows what my parents think of her husband. She’s had enough I’m sure and I can’t say I blame her for not wanting to be involved. My other sister has the Niece and she needs the Niece to know her grandparents. That sister is also probably, in some part of her, enjoying the spotlight. I know it can’t have been easy to be the little sister. And, finally, my mother has to live with him…he can be tyrannical so she’s in self-preservation mode.

So here I am standing on the outside because I believe it was time for someone to say “Enough, Already”. While cleaning out the closet (you know I had to bring that back up), I found two letters my father wrote to me. One was from I’m guessing the summer of 1983 when I went to UVA for a Young Writers Workshop (I’m guessing because I went twice) and the other was from the summer of 1986. The letter from 1986 was my “emancipation” letter. I was in Germany on an exchange program and about to start college. There is a mini-tradition in my father’s family that you get an “emancipation” letter when you turn 21. My dad bumped mine up to 18 since times had changed. Both letters are very heartfelt and I am keeping them in our lockbox. One of the last things he wrote in the 1986 letter was that if he needed to be kept in line that I should do it. Well, Daddy, I’m doing it and being punished for it. Funny how that works out.