dad

my dad is a smart, interesting man. he's a pilot for delta, he used to work for the foreign service, with posts in geneva and casablanca. he's got an mba from uva and a bachelors in electrical engineering from georgia tech. he's currently training to be a drug rehab counselor for the county. people like my dad.

when dad and i talk about flying, or government, or science, or something along those lines, we're fine. as long as it doesn't involve his feelings or my feelings. whenever he tries to start a conversation about *how i feel,* i clam up and get uncomfortable and generally wish i were anywhere but there. "borogoves, we need to talk." so many horribly uncomfortable moments have started like that. if it were a lover, it would mean the end of the relationship, but with dad it just means he wants to unburden.

cuz that's what it is, i think. unburdening. now you're gonna need some history. my parents are separated and have been since 5 march 1994. as of this writing, that's 7.5 years. a long time, not to have moved either toward divorce or reconciliation. their relationship waxes and wanes. sometimes, they're not speaking. sometimes they're practically dating.

my parents' marriage was in trouble long before 1994. as far as i can tell, it was in trouble since before i was born. from the time i was 5 or so years old, i remember specific incidents. one time my mom left for the weekend. she and dad had been fighting, then suddenly she was leaving with a suitcase. i was terrified she wouldn't come back. i don't remember how my parents explained it. mom was gone for a couple of days, then she came back. another time, i sat on the steps, in my nightgown, out of sight of my parents, listening to them yell at each other. they had woken me up with their fight, and never knew i sat there on the steps listening. one night when i was a bit older, mom and dad were making dinner--chicken soup and peanut butter sandwiches. they started arguing, and one of them threw hot soup at the other. that one threw the peanut butter jar (back when it came in glass jars). the hot soup and peanut butter-covered glass shards flew all over the kitchen. mom and dad shooed me out, concerned about me cutting my feet. we didn't get dinner that night. when i was about 12, i found a letter from my dad to my mom, resting against the mirror on mom's dresser. it was in an envelope, and i shouldn't have read it, but i did. i don't remember the details, but the message was clear. dad didn't love mom, and they were staying together because of me and my sister.

when i was a teenager, dad started talking to me upfront about their marriage. it seemed like whenever we were alone, dad would want to talk. whenever we were driving from our home in northern virginia to the shop where i got my cello fixed, a ride of about 45 minutes, he would bring up his relationship with mom. i dreaded those rides-- 45 minutes (really, an hour and a half) in the car with no escape. no escape. he would sound really serious, telling me that he and mom might get divorced. how did i feel about that?, he would ask. i always mumbled something and didn't answer the question. how did he *think* i would feel about that? hello? kids don't want their parents to split up. and it's totally unfair to ask them to take a stand.

on 5 march 1994, dad moved out. on 6 march, he came to charlottesville, where i was in college, took me to dinner at ruby tuesday's (to this day, i don't want to eat in that restaurant) and told me. he'd moved out the day after my sister's 16th birthday (happy birthday, christie!). why? he'd been having affairs, boinking flight attendants. how fucking cliche--the pilot and the flight attendant(s). apparently, the fling-of-the-moment had sent my mom a really nasty letter after dad broke it off with her. um, class? not so much.

since the separation, dad has tried on many occasions to try to get me to talk about how it made me feel. are you mad at me?, he'd ask. how can i answer that question? yes, dad, i'm mad at you. i think you're slimy, and if you weren't my dad, i wouldn't want anything to do with you. i've lost all respect for you as a man of character. the way you've treated my mother, your wife, is unforgivable. you are a pathetic excuse for a man. i can't tell that to my dad. regardless of what he's done, he's still my dad, and telling him what i really think of him would destroy him. he loves me with all of his being, i'm sure of that. and knowing what i really think of him would tear him apart. i can't do that to him.

why can't i just tell him that yes, the way he treated mom made me angry, and that i don't want to discuss the details of his *repeated* infidelity, and that i think it's inappropriate that he used to corner me into conversations about him and mom. why can't i just tell him that? i've spent years thinking about this issue. i don't know if i've figured it out...

talking to dad about relationships makes me *really* uncomfortable. he's always asking how i *feel* about stuff. him and mom, john, school, life, anything. i *never* want to talk about how i feel with my dad. about anything. i don't really know why. some of the stuff he wants to talk about, e.g. his sexual wanderings, don't feel to me like appropriate conversation for a parent and a child, even if that child is an adult. but that doesn't explain why i don't want to talk to him about how i feel about john (or even, how i felt about john when we were planning our wedding so presumably the answer was "i love him dearly"). dad is really touchy-feely: besides always wanting to talk about how we feel about stuff, he's forever wanting to hug me and tell me how much he loves me. i know, i know, that really doesn't sound so bad (oh geez, borogoves, your dad loves you and wants to give you a hug? now *there's* a problem). i think what it is, is that he's too serious about it. it's not a quick, "luv ya, kid" hug, but a "haven't seen you in a year" hug. and when he tells me he loves me, it's like he's telling me for the first time, after ignoring me for years. dad, ya gotta lower the melodrama. maybe that's what it is--the combination of the melodrama and the years of inappropriate father-daughter conversation topics. i just don't want to go there.

my dad feels guilty. he's told me this repeatedly. he feels guilty about the way he treated mom. he's going to a 12-step program (like alcoholics anonymous) for sex addiction. (do i really need to know this about my father?) he's recently become a quaker--he's always going to meeting. he also feels guilty about not being around enough when i was a child--he thinks he worked too much. i don't remember feeling like i wanted him around more, so his numerous apologies on this topic are unwarranted. finally, he feels guilty about all the times he's "pressured" me. pressured me into spending time with him. more like guilt-tripped me. he's called me up on occasion, asking when would be a good time for him to drive up to philly to have lunch with me. (yes, he drives the 3 hours from no. va. to philly just to have lunch with me.) one time, he called back to say that he hoped he wasn't guilting me into spending time with him. does he not get it? yes, calling me up and asking "when" rather than "may i" for lunch is a bit of a guilt trip. but calling back and saying that he hopes he's not guilting me is MORE OF A GUILT TRIP! i can't decide whether he's clueless or really manipulative. some of both, probably.

so i think a lot of dad's attempts at deep, meaningful conversation are actually fishing expeditions. he's looking for me to forgive him. for me to say, yes dad, what you did was wrong, but you're my dad and i love you and nothing can ever change that. if i said that, i wouldn't mean it. i don't forgive him.

i'm well aware that one day i may regret not forgiving my dad. regret not telling him what i really think and having a truely meaningful conversation with him about how his actions have affected my life. on the one hand, i haven't had a role model for what a successful marriage is. on the other hand, i have seen what adultery does to a marriage, and to the innocent partner, and will not be a part of that, from either side. i'm only 26, and my dad is still healthy. i don't feel the pressure to get things out in the open right now. maybe one day i will. maybe i won't. maybe dad will die before i get a chance. maybe that will be my biggest regret.