Daddy DearestA Story by NAR"Without a family, man, alone in the world, trembles with the cold."My relationship
with my father can be described as a rollercoaster ride; it has its ups and
downs and it’s stressful as hell. My parents got a divorce when I was four
years old, he moved to Ireland and I stayed in Egypt with my mother. He got
remarried and so did she and I was in the middle of a cold war and a bitter
divorce. To tell you about my
relationship and similarities with my dad I would have to first explain to you
how my parents are exact opposites; my mother is a sweet heart, even when she
gets mad at me when I screw up as I did many times during my “rebellious” years
she would always end up making amends between us because she couldn’t handle us
not talking and that sweetness was part of her problem with my father. You see
my mother is needy and always wants affection and attention almost like a puppy
that desperately wants to feel your love and be hugged all day long if
possible. My father however is a whole different story; he despises any
emotional gestures and would never buy a puppy because it’s too much commitment
and he’ll end up petting the neighbors golden retriever if you know what I
mean. At the end of the day my mother was an affectionate person who needed to
feel you care and my father was an emotionally unavailable cat who would only
let you pet him or show care for a split second before he scratches your arms. As I grew up and
started traveling back and forth between Egypt and Ireland to please both my
parents I ended up faced with completely two different ways of treatment; seeing
my father after a year of being in Egypt we would shake hands and maybe if I’m
lucky and there’s a family friend around he would give me an awkward two inch
apart hug and then we would move on. He taught me to depend on my self and to
never need a soul even him, he gave me tough love and treated me like a soldier
in combat and he was my general. I’ll be honest at first every time I saw him
it physically made me sick that I can never hug my father and not feel like I
walked on the subway and hugged a random stranger, I still remember the last
time my father told me he loved me and gave me an earnest hug; I was 6 years
old and it was the day we found out he has Hepatitis C and would eventually
develop liver failure because lets face it he would never end his relationship
with whiskey; after all it’s the longest one he had. When I say “we” found out
yes I mean we; I was never treated as a child, problems were problems and we
don’t sugar coat them in my family we face them like soldiers in battle. My
mother always faces emotions instead of her problems though; she would sit and
cry and tell you how much she’s depressed and how much we all made her feel
unloved but she would never face an actual problem like my older half brother
using drugs, instead she would hide under her covers quite literally and just
wonder where she went wrong and why is everyone trying to make her life hell
instead of throwing him in a clinic and fixing him up. My dad on the other hand
would bottle down any emotion he has, he mastered the art of denial and got him
self a PHD in shoving emotions away with hard liquor and unhealthy amount of
work. I always wondered since we all grow
up to be another version of our parents no matter how hard you fight it and
especially the more you fight it you end up having the same screwed up issues
and insecurities one of your parents had, so which one would I end up like?
That question drove me mad for years I did everything humanly possible to stray
from both of them because let’s face it who wants to be a needy puppy or a
drunk unemotional cat who can’t be approached with any sign of love. So I
decided I’ll be the middle ground; ill be the logical problem facing offspring
with the ability to hug and make people I care about feel loved and boy was I
naïve. You see my relationship with my
father got better, I started to enjoy his company instead of loathing it, I
started to look forward to our talks and our alone time which used to be filled
with endless silence and so many built up anger, bitterness and questions like
why did you leave me behind. But all that changed once we started drinking
together! How weird is that our mutual love for a good scotch brought us
together, I guess you could say it was too stressful to be around each other to
the point that alcohol was needed. One specific day changed everything though;
we were in our house in Malaga, Spain after a year of not seeing each other or
communicating. The house had no character and no homey feeling to it, when you
walked into the black front door you would never be expecting someone baking
cookies and a welcoming hello at the door, it felt more like an office where
everything is all business and everything smelled like leather. We sat in the
living room that of course had no family pictures or anything of sentimental
value, the couch was black and leather and it was as cold as the heart of the
person who owns it and the walls were white and empty except for one framed
painting of some famous old musician sitting alone on the curb with a cigarette
in his mouth and a bottle of whiskey next to him, I hated this painting with a
passion; it felt too familiar to my old man, you could almost hear the pain and
loneliness it screamed. So as I try to look at anything else in the room that
might give me comfort, my old man sat in front of me and told me it was time to
talk about my future, told me how his time with me is limited and he wouldn’t
live long enough to keep “cuddling” me and in my head I laughed at the idea of my
dad cuddling me. He told me how sick he was getting like he was telling me the
stock market wasn’t doing so well and I sat there not sure how I should react
or how I felt, he told me I need to start manning up and be responsible and
that no one is ever going to be there to take care of me and that was my job,
it was my responsibility to take care of my self always and that my work would
be the only thing I have that can’t hurt me.
I started feeling sick to my stomach; between his words that felt like I
was being stabbed in the stomach with a million shards of glass and that damn
painting that kept screaming at me how lonely and harsh the world is. My mouth
kept quiet you see I was good at that silence was my comfort always but my eyes
betrayed my trust and started to tear and a part of me expected him to see that
tear and hug me and tell me everything will be okay but of course that wasn’t
his way, instead he looked at me and said “ look how weak you are? How can you
ever make it in the world if you cry whenever you hear something that upsets
you? How can you stand up for yourself if you can’t stand up to me?” but he
didn’t get it. I wasn’t crying because he hurt me and not even because he told
me he was sick but it was because I wanted to hug him and comfort him and every
bone in my body refused to. I felt paralyzed, I felt angry at my tears and I
felt disgusted by my pain and my emotional need for comfort. I wanted to run
and hide as soon as the tears started running down my cheek; I couldn’t control
them because It was the first time I ever cried and it was the very first time
I felt pain and I knew very well how to keep my emotions in check all my life
and mastered the art of being cold and distant but no one taught me what you
are suppose to do when these emotions trick you and come streaming down your
face. So I did what my dad would want me to do; I whipped those nasty toxic
tears away and I stood up and walked away and from that moment on I was never
the same. Some how I grew colder and day-by-day those emotions and that pain
were bottled up along with everything else I was uncomfortable with. My story isn’t a
sob sad story where you feel bad about how messed up I became but how strong I
learned to be; my techniques may not be what you are used to but they seem to
work for me. I believe I’m genuinely a strong person and it might not be
healthy for me but it is the comfort I get from knowing that everyone I care
about has a strong wall behind him or her. I may not be the one who is going to
hug you, cry with you at night or tell you how much I love you but I am the
person who will help you with your problems when you are too broken to face
them, I am the person who will make you laugh when you are sad instead of
holding your hand and telling you let it all out and I am the person you can
always depend on not breaking and to me that is what matters so I guess at the
end of the day I’m glad I ended up like my old man even if that means I am a
little screwed up and like whiskey a bit too much, we’re all screwed up in a way I guess this is just mine. © 2013 NAR |
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Added on November 11, 2013 Last Updated on November 11, 2013 |