Did I ever tell you about my dad? Chapter 2

I'm not really sure where to go now in the story of my dad. There's so much to say, but how do you say it all?? Please forgive me if I ramble. One of the best things about a blog is that it's like a private public diary. One of the worst things about a blog is that you're putting yourself out there without editing and polishing. Warts and all. So, thanks in advance for being patient...I'll do my best to make sense!

My parents divorced when I was really young. What is really sad to me is that I have very few memories of my dad when my nuclear family was still intact. I was in the second grade when they split up, in the third grade when they were divorced, and in the fourth grade when my mom got remarried. I have random, spotty memories of my childhood, and very few before late elementary school. So that's why I don't have very many memories of my dad. The ones I do have are mostly good...except for the time he slammed my four year old fingers in the car door! That one still makes me cringe!

Though I have good memories, some of what I do remember is not totally happy. I remember not seeing my dad very often. I remember my mom calling him and asking him to come see me and my sisters. I remember a Christmas when he was staying with his parents, and he took us to Grandma's house for presents. That was the year he gave me a soccer ball. I'm still not sure why. I don't know if I asked for it or not, but I got it. We also got a television for the three of us to share. I remember that gift making my mom angry. Very angry. I'm not sure why it made her so angry, but I do remember feeling torn, and stuck in the middle of my parents. That was so uncomfortable. For me, that feeling lasted for a very long time, too. I've never really talked to my sisters about what they remember, but my perception is that they were far more forgiving than I was. They didn't seem to be as affected as I was. Though that's my perception, and kids are notoriously self-centered...perhaps they felt differently.

I am the oldest of the three of us girls. I am also what I would consider an "old soul." I have always been more comfortable around adults and younger children. People my age tend to make me uncomfortable. (With a few exceptions, of course! Leah and Anita are two of the best friends I've ever had. I've known Anita since preschool and Leah since freshman year of high school. Even when we lose touch for awhile, when we find each other again, it's as if we never missed a day.) Because I was always "mature beyond my years," my mom probably told me more than she should have about their divorce.

In retrospect, my mom shouldn't have shared as much as she did with me, but she refused to lie. And I ask questions. A LOT of questions. I always have. In addition to my blue eyes, and winning personality, I also inherited my mother's extreme sense of guilt and a desire for things to be fair and right in the world. From my dad I inherited a sense of curiosity. I drive people crazy asking questions. This is something I know about myself, but it's not something I can change. I love to learn. My favorite way to do that is by talking to and watching people. I hate to learn from a book. (Which is odd considering I taught myself to read before kindergarten and I haven't been without a book for the last 26 years.)

So when I asked questions, my mom answered them. And I got mad. Then I got righteous. Then I stopped talking to my dad. For two entire years, I refused to talk to him. I didn't talk to him on the phone, I didn't write cards or letters. I didn't go to see him. Not even on Christmas (Dad's birthday is Christmas Eve, so that was doubly spiteful). I'm not exaggerating, either. The saddest part of this is that I did all of this without ever talking to my Dad about how I was feeling. I didn't tell him what was going on, and I didn't ask him questions. I just stopped talking to him out of the blue. That was not fair.

After two calendar years, I finally decided that I needed to be a grown-up and start talking to him again. Honestly, though? What made me make that decision was my sisters. It wasn't fair for me to continually put them in the middle. I didn't want them to have to make excuses for me anymore. It wasn't fair to them. Plus, I realized that I wasn't fair to my dad, either. I never even told him why I was so mad. I never gave him the chance to make it better.

This is one of my favorite pictures of my sisters. This was on their birthday when T turned 18 and L turned 16. They have the same birthday, October 5, two years apart.





Here's a picture at T's high school graduation. She's the middle sister, so this was about two or three years after I finally got back in touch with my dad. (My dad's girlfriend, Mel, is in the picture with us. She and my dad have been together since I was in the 6th grade. More on that in another post!!)


To his credit, my dad recognized how hard it was for me to come forward again, and he made it as easy as he could. He didn't pressure me, and he just accepted whatever I was willing to give. It took a long time, but we finally got some semblance of a relationship back. Then I went away to college. I made sure I saw him when I came home for holidays, and every once in awhile I would call him. But that wasn't really keeping in touch.

See, that's another thing about my dad. He is NOT a phone person. He still to this day doesn't own a cell phone. When you call to talk to him, five minutes top and you can tell his mind is wandering. He will all of a sudden say, "Okay, Sweetheart, it was good talking to you. I love you. Talk to you later."

When J proposed to me, we called all of our parents (I have two sets, and he has one...that's THREE moms and dads!!) to tell them. From that point forward, my relationship has only gotten better with my dad. He was determined to give me a great wedding, and even took me and my mom to dinner to discuss it. I haven't seen Mom and Dad in the same room, speaking civilly in I can't tell you how long. Dad even picked up the tab!! Mom and Dad reached for it at the same time, and Dad won.

When I had to decide who I wanted to walk me down the aisle, I was torn. I love my dad, but John, my step-dad, has been involved in my life for a long time. He's the one who coached our softball teams and took us camping and tucked us back in if we had nightmares. How could I not ask him? But how could I not ask my dad? Especially since we were on such fragile ground?

I decided to ask them both. I asked John first, and he told me to ask my "real" dad, that it was his right to do that. I told John that HE was a "real" dad too, and it would either be both of them or neither of them. John agreed. Then I asked my dad, and that was one of the hardest things I've ever had to ask. I didn't know how he would react to walking with John, but again, he was gracious and said sure.

Here's a picture of my step-dad. He spent 21 years in the Marine Corps, and as tough and gruff as he is on the outside, he's a great big mushball on the inside. (He bugs me and J more than all three of our mothers do about having a baby. He's DYING to be a grandpa.)


Here's the picture of me and my dads on my wedding day. This is my second favorite picture of my dad (the other one was in the first post...he's standing on the St. Nick, wearing a t-shirt and a hat). John is on my left, and Dad is on my right.



That's where we are now. I honestly do love my dad, and I know he loves me. I have finally gotten to the point where I know that if I want a relationship with my dad I can have it. But that I can't wait for him to initiate. He's going to wait for me. And that's okay.