He yelled all the time.
I don’t remember him talking. He would get emotional and pace up and down through the rooms, roaring away. This frightened me.
He was gone six months of the year.
He played the horses and dogs and when the tracks closed in Miami, he would leave my mother, my brother, my sister and me and migrate to Boston, where the tracks opened. He was never there for the Father-Daughter elementary school banquet in May, so I never attended. The only person in my class who didn’t have their father there was Penny Kowalsky. And her father was dead.
He didn’t remember my birthday.
That was bad, but….
He didn’t remember how old I was.
In the summer when he was gone I would speak to him for a minute or two call on the black phone in the hall. I’d bring the phone into the closet and sit on the floor among the umbrellas. And when it was my birthday week my mother would knock on the closet door and yell at him that it had been my birthday. And he’d say something to me like, “Oh, Happy Birthday! How old are you now?”
He mimicked me.
He thought it was funny to mock my cheerleading tryout. And anything else that I didn’t do well.
He would say things like “your sister is my favorite.”
He hurt me. I don’t remember a compliment.
He took money from my wallet.
He didn’t really support us. He gambled, and that’s about it. When he “borrowed” a dollar or two from me to buy a racing form he’d say “I’ll pay you back.” He sometimes did.
He never said I love you.
I don’t remember ever hearing it. Or feeling it.
He would come into my bed some mornings and fall asleep with his arm around me.
This is a hard one. It was minimized when I finally brought it up to my mother, as an adult. I do not remember anything more than what I wrote above. It happened maybe a couple of times a year. I didn’t understand it. I didn’t like the way it felt. I didn’t like the way he smelled, of cigarette smoke and sweat. I stayed still. I don’t remember anything more than his presence. He would eventually fall asleep, snoring. And I would extricate myself and leave the room. This went on until I went off to college. Maybe nothing happened.
He never changed.
But I did.
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David Kinne
Sean Murphy
Marcie J
Kathy Peacock
Christine Macdonald
Brian Carter
Salon.com
Comments
Lezlie
It's hard to know why but I wish you had a better experience.
BTW - I still get the feeling this wasn't easy to write.
http://open.salon.com/blog/dave_r/2010/06/17/my_dad_died
Great post. R
(((R))) Lea.
r
r~ Thank you for the reminder.
Love to you...
I wrote a bashing Dad piece and wondered if I should post it. I think I might now.
I get it. I love and hate my daddy. He did so many things so well, but then wouldn't support my decision to come out. I suppose you had it worse than me. *Rose* At least I always knew he loved me no matter what. I started loving him again recently, but it was hard. He is a good, but misguided man, caught up in a dogma taught by the world.
I'm happy you overcame it. It's not easy to overcome the past. Bitterness is something that does no good. We only have one visit to the planet, might as well take advantage of the opportunity and revel in existence.
May your day and life be peaceful,
Raney
Damn, girl...lookit how nice you turned out anyway.
Success is the best revenge.
I'm so glad that you went on to find good men in your adult life, men who love and appreciate you.
I'm so sorry, Lea
Must say, I loved your description of your being stranded with your babes when the ferry left without Dad, painted such a story of family love and fun. What you have made.
I'll wait 'til two days before Mother's Day next year to write more.
How did I miss this??????
Perhaps our fathers were related?
The cruelty, the gambling, the unpaid bills, the mimicking.
The long absences were a relief...
Wow. Amazing to find this, and wonderful to know that we overcame such an upbringing.