A Visit With Dad...July 7, 1999

A Visit With Dad...July 7, 1999

My dad came to visit me this evening. It was not an official visit, just a stop in for coffee and to chat. We talked about politics, current events, my mother, and my sister, and some of their insanity. I did a Tarot reading for him, as he looks for some spiritual guidance and a glimmer of hope. Even though he is "Christian", he respects my spirituality, is intrigued by it, and is willing to grab onto any positive ray of light he can, given how degrading my mother's health is. To a great deal of people, this may not be a noteworthy event. However, to some, and indeed, me, it is.

"I was never the son my father wanted me to be..." was a message that ran through my mind for over two decades. It was not without valid reason. Growing up in a military household, with a retired and unemployed father and manic depressive mother was, for want of a better term, living hell. After my father retired when I was seven, he went from job to unemployment to job to unemployment. His disappointment in himself was transferred into disappointment in me. No matter how much I tried, he would not stop yelling, ranting, or ignoring me altogether. My mother, when not having a nervous breakdown, would martyr herself, bitch about dad, and tell me if it were not for my sister and me, she would have left long ago.

It is with little wonder, as I loof back on my twenties, that I had a few disfunctions myself. I will discuss those as time goes on, but suffice it to say that I have spent a great deal of time healing with the help of The Goddess, Frieda, and Lowlandz. Part of this healing was to tell my family what my experiences and perceptions of childhood were, and that I no longer wanted to play by their disfunctional rules. My father has yet been the only one to accept this, and to take responsibility for his behaviour. I think it got him most when I told him I tried to committ suicide at sixteen (yet another story).

My dad has spent a great deal of time healing, too. In this process, we have come to know each other as adults, and to respect each other for our differences. I am a radical, left wing, socialist, spiritualist. He is right wing, christian, conservative. Where this used to be a rift, it now makes for great debates.

Most of all, we enjoy spending time together. It is time to learn to trust each other, and time to forgive each other (I was not an easy child to raise at times, and had my share of moments, too). It is time away from the insanity of our family that creeps in every time we are all together. It is time not unnoticed by my mother and sister. Mom accuses Dad of he and I conspiring behind her back, and Ms. Crabtree fishes for details of our conversations. Even now, it is impossible for them to concieve that perhaps we just want to try and be father and son. We deserve at least the attempt, and there is nothing wrong with that.

For the first time in my life, I feel as though my father values me as a person. He looks to me for support during my mother's declining health; I look to him for support and guidance that only a father can give it seems. He tells me he enjoys our casual coffee get togethers. I tell him it means a great deal to me. He hugs me. I hug him back. He tells me he loves me.

I love you, too, Dad.

...Blessed Be