My Father, The Antihero
Published: November 03, 2009
Kurt Vonnegut once said -
“Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.”
I think of this every time I try to figure out some of the shit that’s gone on in my life.
I am the youngest of 4 kids, by quite a lot. Well, I have a sister who is 2 years older than me (we’ll call her Amy), but my brother and other sister are 10 and 14 years my senior, respectively. I get the sense that, when Amy was born, my dad was pretty damn excited, much more than he had been with his other two children. While my mom treated us relatively equally (this did not remain the case), my dad loved my two sisters, and specifically Amy, most of all. Okay, maybe he loved us all the same, or didn’t love any of us, whatever, but he treated them the best.
I have never tried to logically parse out why my dad treated my sister Amy and I so very differently. He doted on her constantly, but hardly had time for me. When she got in trouble, it was no big deal, but God forbid my toe slid over the line. All that has mattered up to now is that he saw us differently and loved us differently. I have always felt, and to some degree continue to feel, that it’s something about me that caused this to happen.
Now, really. What could a child have done to not win her father’s love? Clearly, there’s shit going on with him that I couldn’t control, so I shouldn’t tie myself in knots because he didn’t really love me very much. And, just because he didn’t really care for me doesn’t mean other people don’t.
Knowing these things rationally does not, however, mean I hate myself any less. My point here isn’t really about this, but I will say that living with constant cognitive dissonance is… distressing. I’ve always done well in school, excelled at work, had a lot of friends (and good ones–not just acquaintances), but at the end of the day when I’m trying to get to sleep, it all doesn’t really mean much and I still sometimes wonder if I want to get out of bed, ever.
I recently started thinking about my father and his upbringing. His mother was a selfish bitch. I cannot overstate that point. His brother, whom I get the idea he loved very much, died in World War II. His father divorced his mother and left them to start a new family. My dad wanted to be an artist, but got pushed into pharmacy school so he could actually make money. I am convinced he never wanted to get married and have a family, maybe because he thought he would screw everything up. I want to be able to say he didn’t screw everything up, but that’s very difficult, because, sure, he didn’t beat the crap out of us, he put food on the table and a roof over our heads, but God damn, he didn’t seem to care one bit about me! I have to wonder what happened in the time between Amy’s birth and my birth that made him so indifferent to me while he spent so much time and energy on her.
I think depression runs in my family, and no one admits it. I remember when I was sick, and had cut myself, and my friends took me to the hospital, all my mom could say when I called her the next day was, “Is it really that bad?” (Yes, Mom.) So if I got it from someone, I bet it was him (in more ways than one), and the way he treated me (and, later, the rest of the family) starts to make more sense. He’s also just a selfish motherfucker, but at the core, he’s a really, really unhappy man. I don’t want to be faulted for this; how can I do it to him? The ups and downs that I know are part of this–is he just as subject to those?
But then, I guess I don’t try to poison other people’s lives when I am unhappy.
One of the worst of my dad’s legacies for our family is his ability to completely shut himself off from other people, emotionally and physically. This has happened to such a great degree with my oldest sister that I haven’t talked to her in almost 2 years. She and I used to be inseparable. She’s like a second mom. And then she and my mom had a falling out for stupid fucking childish just absolutely god damn ridiculous bullshit reasons, and then my dad got involved and stirred shit up, and I got sucked into it, because I’m a fixer! That’s what I do – fix things! Except I made it worse/couldn’t really do anything anyway, and now I haven’t talked to her in 2 years and when I sent her a letter last April, she replied back that she can’t have any kind of relationship with me and that she’s moving and isn’t going to tell us where. She has a 4-1/2-year-old daughter, by the way, who was the absolute light of my life before this.
I’m sure the kid doesn’t remember me anymore.
It’s funny; I started writing this, and I thought, “Maybe it’s just time to forgive my dad.” Now I’m just fucking pissed off again, because his bullshit is at the root of all of my family’s problems, and a decent number of my own. Most girls’ dads teach them how to ride a bike, or shit, I don’t even know, because all my dad taught me was how to be selfish, how to read the Overstreet Comic Book Pricing Guide, and that I’m worthless. My grandfather and my brother taught me how to ride a bike, and drive a car, and probably everything else my dad should have taught me.
And yet, I keep trying to find a point where I can just forgive my dad for being a colossal asshole. I think I will never stop doing that; some part of me certainly hopes I won’t.
I have to worry that, when I do stop trying, it will mean something very bad.
The amount of resonance this has with my own life is almost unsettling.
Hugz, KateKate – big fucking hugz.
I honestly believe that some people only have room in their heart for a limited number of people. I guess my dad was great (I don’t remember this) up until my second brother was born. Then he just completely shut down emotionally for the next 18 years. We did some obligatory father-son things during this time, but I always felt that I was getting in the way of his beer drinking and tv watching (his two favorite activities, besides finding fault with people). I had to rely on other neighborhood dads as “father figures” and the sad thing was they knew why. It wasn’t until middle brother went to college and he wasn’t surrounded by the entire family anymore that he began to open up again – midlife crisis or what have you. He’s now a completely different person, and we’re actually starting to have a relationship as I approach my 30s. Just goes to show that even when you give up hope, people actually do change. I just hope the change continues.
Ditto on the hugz!
The hardest lesson we ever have to learn is that there is only one person’s behavior we can control: our own. And no matter how “perfectly” we control that, we can never extend that control to others. We cannot “fix” them. We cannot “change” them. We cannot “remake” them. They are who they are, and they hold the significance they do based on who they are. Deep inside, we will always love our parents and siblings, because they share our blood; that love may be buried under masses of behavioral and historical debris, but it is there nonetheless. We will love our spouses and/or significant others (past and present) because who they are (were) resonates with us to some degree. We will love our children, no matte rhow much they may ultimately disappoint us because they did not follow the path we laid out for them exactly.
I know these frustrations all too well KateKate, and I have struggled with them my whole life. I am a perfectionist, and a bit of an order freak, and I base my view of the world on reason and logic, which is why so much of my life is frustrating, because so many others don’t, including those closest to me. I don’t know how to cope, and have again sought help to deal with my feelings. I don’t know if I’ll ever manage to tame myself, to learn to accept that which I cannot control, but I continue the struggle, lest I fall into the pit of madness and despair.
Thank you for sharing.
Dear Kate/Heneage:
Sometimes birth order does have something to do with it, but I am the oldest of three, and I never, ever, ever, was good enough for my father. If I was not perfect, I was “stupid, useless, and idiot, worthless”…you get the picture. Nothing I did ever measured up, and I grew up thinking I was nothing. I started having sex at 14, just to have male attention, to have someone tell me I was pretty. I had my first abortion at 15, my second at 17, two days before my graduation.
I paid my own way through college because my father and mother told me I would just be wasting thier money. I moved out after six years of school and graduation and lived on my own till I was 31. Never once did the words “I’m proud of you” come out of his mouth. Even after he started therapy and meds for depression when I was 25 did he change his attitude toward me. Know when he finally said those magic words? When I was 32, the day I married a doctor. Yeah, that was my big accomplishment – not my college degree, not my life as a successful self-supporting single woman. No. I married someone he could brag about.
When my son was born 12 years and one day ago, our relationship changed. We are much closer, but there is something I still don’t trust about him. My relationship with my mother, by the way, ran along the same exact lines, but even worse. We are friends now, but there’s still a line I don’t feel comfortable crossing. Parent/child relationships are often horribly complicated, sometimes they’re just horrible, but I do know this: my son is told he is loved every day. He is hugged, kissed, and told how proud we are of him every day. When he was born, my paternal grandmother called me and begged me not to raise him the same my she and my grandfather raised my dad. I assured her that the cycle would be broken with me. I live that every day.
Our parents were part of a generation where getting married and having kids was the only option/worthy goal. I’m glad I live in a society where there is space–limited space, but space nonetheless–for an individual to think,”Hmmm, I don’t think I want kids of my own.” This self-knowledge can prevent a lot of suffering and unhappiness.
Kate, Virus, et al.: This story about the father – and even about the family and its personalities, dysfunctions, etc. – resonates with me, too. Kate, I don’t know how old you are, but if it makes you feel any better, 18 years after my father’s early death from lung cancer, I’m really getting over him and his twisted bullshit. When he died, I went crazy and briefly lived this out of control life that almost cost me my marriage and my self-respect. Sad, because he just was not worth the trouble.
You don’t ever have to forgive your dad. I never did. But I did learn to let go of him. I love what Newt says about controlling your own behavior but being helpless to control anyone else’s. When you can accept who your dad is – and that he’s this imperfect jackass or however you want to think of him – then you can turn your back on him and move on with your life. (BTW, mine was horrible to my sister and brother, too, and they did not turn their backs on him when I did and I think they fared far worse than I.)
I’m so appreciative that you shared this with us. It’s good to let us read this so we can tell you how much we empathize and how healthy your reactions are to this madness. Plus, the Internet “hugz” feel pretty good. xxoo
KateKate, HugzHugz. I too had a miserable childhood (a miserable Irish Catholic childhood, as Frank McCourt would put it). My father was a bastard, too, but at least he mistreated and belittled all of us equally. I can’t imagine how confusing and dispiriting it must be to be singled out for poor treatment. It must be difficult to convince yourself that it was undeserved. I’d forget about forgiving him and concentrate on healing yourself. That’s work enough for anyone.
I never forgave my Dad and it never caused me any pain. Hatred mellowed to complete indifference.
Please consider the possibility that your older sister’s statement that she “can’t have a relationship” with you is not due to you, but due to her desire to cut ties with her family and specifically your father. I say this because I did that too. I truly wish the best for my siblings, but I’m simply saner and happier without them.
Also, because you sound young, rest assured that it is possible to come from a fucked-up family and not repeat the mistakes of your parents (regardless of what Larkin had to say on the subject). Most of my sibs have healthy marriages and happy children. Best of luck.
I relate to a lot of this too. I have this kind of relationship with my mother, who it turns out had a major resentment against me while I was still in the womb – she had been saving up and trying to leave my abusive still-active alcoholic father when she found out she was pregnant with me. Roe v. Wade was still months away and as a devout Catholic she probably wouldn’t have gone that route anyway.
That bit of info came out when she and I had a huge blowup more than ten years ago. It was crushing, but a lot of things finally made sense and I realized that I couldn’t win with her anyway. It was oddly freeing. Still, having a less than supportive relationship with a parent is hell on your self-esteem. I’m still working on that.
As far as your sister, that’s truly heartbreaking. Sounds like she has her own issues. All you can do is hope for time to heal her and leave your end of the line open.
I’d say any forgiving would be for your own benefit and certainly not for his. Completely up to you, KateKate.
There’s a lot of pain on this board. All, I’m sorry. My relationship with my own dad was very strained, but not nearly as strained as some of those I’ve seen. It wasn’t until I was ~25 and in grad school that he insinuated that he was proud of me. He was the typical blue-collar, Midwestern father. That’s the way I looked at it.
I know in my heart that he was proud of me for my accomplishments.
Either that, or I’m deluding myself. I’m cool with either.
@FRACTUREDACETABULUM: Welcome to our catharsis; perhaps Wordsmoker is the group therapy none of us really want to go to.
@newt: amen. Can I say Amen? We all certainly have our own personal stories. And it’s nice to listen and nod to those that resonate. It’s equally nice to hear new stories that we haven’t heard before, or know the ending to.
Quite a place ain’t it? And just think, Virus set this up just to meet girls.
I’m glad/sorry this resonates with so many people. It’s been really nice to ready everybody’s responses, so thanks for sharing.
My family has this thing about how it’s never OK to cut a family member out of your life, so I always have some nagging guilt for the fact that I don’t talk to or see my dad. He’s in a nursing home now, and my brother and mom keep telling me I’m going to regret not talking to him when he dies. When I actually think about it, I do feel sad that I don’t talk to him, but it’s residual sadness from the fact that we never, ever had a relationship.
Therapy has helped me a lot, but honestly, being able to share this stuff in a more open way helps even more in some respects. Thanks for the forum.
@Kate: Everyone told me I’d regret not seeing my dad, too, and after he died, I thought I was regretting it, but it turns out, I was just screwed up from not ever having a dad and then having my one chance die on me. This sounds just utterly awful, but I thank god every day that I cut that jackass out of my life and I see now – all these years later – that it was the healthiest thing I ever did. Let me know if you ever want to talk. I happen to think you’re doing the right thing – that is, if it feels right to you (as opposed to your family).
The post and comments make my parents look like Bill Cosby and Dr. Joyce Brothers. Nobody’s perfect, of course. They were poor showers of affection (hugs, I-love-yous) but we knew they loved us (stoic protestant German stock). Funny thing is, I think from observing my in-laws, my parents have ramped up the hugs, kisses, and I-love-yous.
Also, this reminds me I need to call my sister.
Also, KateKate, if you’d like to be in the presence of a 4-1/2-year-old, mine is for lease with a one-week minimum.
If she’s anything like my son, your niece would remember you.
Keep strong, all.
Since my comment was kind of a downer, I should add that I do have a relationship with my parents today, though we’re not close – I see them for a week at a time maybe twice a year. They did divorce finally when I was in grade school. My father got sober when I was a teen and he eventually got help for depression and other problems.
As I got older, I started to see my parents as these people who had very troubled pasts themselves, and I realized that they did the best they could. Also, I grew up a lot myself and realized that I was pretty unruly a lot of the time as a kid.
I don’t have a traditional relationship with my parents, but I accept its limitations and can finally see the good things they did for me over the years as well.
Boy this really brings out the truth of the Anna Karenina first line about unhappy families all being different. I could add my own variation to the theme. Your desire, Kate, to have / have had a better more fulfilling relationship with your dad is touching and compelling and deeply deeply human. All the added riffs from the commenters is as well.
I miss my dad, but we had some good years there. When I finally got out of the house and went an hour-and-a-half away to school, he’d drive up occasionally and we’d hang, or he’d let me drive home even though, I’m sure, there was still a hazy cloud of pot smoke hovering about my head all the way.
While we were driving through the flat Michigan farmland, he’d confide that he liked spending time with me, liked being away from the hyper-vigilent and highly critical gaze of my mother, who monitored his attire (no jeans!) and hair, which always had to be lacquered tight to his head like a helmet. I really didn’t want to think about why she was so freakish about it (she’s just a bitch, I reasoned) but she didn’t have any reason to be (or so I thought) because my dad was always incredibly circumspect in his relationships with the women who flocked to his church attracted by the gentle manner, formidable scholarship–he read ancient Greek, Hebrew and Aramaic–jet black hair and piercing blue eyes. All in a 5′3″, 110 pound package.
Now I understand the dynamic of their relationship far less than I thought I did then–and far better. But as much as I miss my dad, your post really just made me think of my many hours with Owen. Thanks for reminding me what I want to be to him: present, unconditional, wholly supportive and, most of all, loving.
But please remember, whatever else your dad’s failures did, they are a part of what you can treasure about yourself in terms of inner strength and compassion. Even if all he gave you was the resolve to treat the people in your life better than he treated you, he did give you that. Think of the Johnny Cash song about the boy named Sue, mentally kick your father’s ass in the bloodiest bar brawl your mind can imagine and move on. (Although, since the song’s already been written, do it in story format so we can all read it. Or song. Or film. Whatever, you choose.)
Anyway, thanks.
Wow. This was an amazing read, particularly because you articulated how my father was brought up and how he behaves from my childhood to this day so incredibly well. There is no doubt in my mind that he is a depressed man, but he will never, ever admit it. He is too “strong” to admit something like that.
He treated me like I was a pain in the ass as a child–and maybe I was a pain in the ass to him, as my parents were headed for divorce (my mother coudn’t take his drinking and emotional abuse anymore) when they found out that mom was pregnant with me. They did not get divorced because of that reason alone. So, yeah, maybe I was the reason that my father has not lived the life he wanted to–which might explain how he can shut me out even when I am standing or sitting in the same room with him–how he can show his anger towards me without even saying a word. It has hurt me my entire life. I wonder if we will ever reconcile our differences before he dies. I have come to the resolution that it may not happen. Which is painfull and makes me hate him, but I still love him at the same time. Thank you so much for this.