I had a bizarre conversation yesterday with my father. Not step father. I mean bio dad. He called out of the blue yesterday to ask to come to my wedding. He has been reading my blog. Unknown to me, my sister gave him my URL a long time ago. The last time I saw him was at my sister’s wedding maybe seven or eight years ago. On the phone, he told me he was just going to show up, since I had posted the place, date and time and (tongue in cheek) invited anyone that was reading about the event. His wife said that she didn’t think that was a good idea, and he should call.
Bio dad left when I was 12 and my sister was 10. The final angry blows out staged in the front yard where my mom was throwing all of his things out onto the grass. Not to be outdone, he went into the closet and began throwing all of her things onto the lawn also.
He left our family for a woman at work, who he eventually married. This was his third marriage. From the first, he had three children, my two step sisters and a step brother. I’ve never met (or don’t remember meeting) one step sister, and the other step sister and brother I’ve seen a handful of times over my childhood. I remember one time in my late teen years, my step sister admitting to me that she was hurt and jealous of us, because “we had her dad”. I usually hear from Dad once a year or so on my birthday or Christmas, and get the obligatory cards, always signed Love ‘ya, Dad (+wife) and a check.
When he left, we never saw much of him. It wasn’t a priority to pick us up, and when he did, I don’t remember anything special that we did. Although, during the marriage, we did participate in Indian Princesses. I loved Indian Princesses.
During the months after the separation, my mom became anorexic and depressed vacillating between laying in bed and becoming enraged and doing things like driving (with me) to his new bachelor apartment to break in and trash the place (although I don’t know if the mission was ever accomplished, because I stayed in the car). At that time I was also severely depressed, stopped changing my clothes and showering. I spent most of my time in bed. This was the start of junior high. Not showering and wearing the same clothes every day tends to make you not popular. I became the target of ridicule. I stopped going to school, and basically stayed in bed. It became so bad that they considered putting me in some sort of group home for troubled youth. This didn’t make sense to me, because I was sad, and rightfully so, and, I wasn’t causing anyone problems….I was just sleeping. Finally, the school took me to juvenile court to decide what to do since I had missed over half of the first six months of school. All along I had been begging and pleading to be put in a different school. No one seemed to be listening to me.
I look back at all of this and try to see it as clearly as possible. Even if I was acting out, being manipulative and even bratty. Couldn’t anyone see through that. I mean I was twelve. You don’t have any kinds of power or communication skills at twelve.
Regardless, we ended up in court. The judge took us back in chambers. I was trying to be a hard ass and pretending not to care. The judge sat down and asked me why I wasn’t going to school. I burst into tears and told him everything, the girls that made fun of me every day, the depression, the fact that no one was listening to me. He asked me what I wanted. I said that I just wanted to go to another school. He turned and asked my mom if another school had been considered as an option. She looked bewildered, like she had never heard that suggestion before.
Within a few weeks, I transferred to St. Peters Lutheran School. I spent two and a half years there, and did very well.
During that time, I developed my rock star hair and attitude that I still hold dear to my heart. I had learned that with an absent father, and an unstable nutty mother, I had better look out for myself. Although I looked tough (it was the eighties, fuzzy bleached hair and spiked leather bracelets), I was deathly afraid of going to high school and meeting up with the same tribe of girls that made my jr. high experience so horrible.
I decided that I wasn’t going to put up with it. I felt that I was probably going to go back to high school and it was just going to be a repeat of what came before. I made friends with the obvious reality that I would probably be killed, if not physically, for sure emotionally. I became a person that decided to live life with nothing to loose, since all was lost anyway. Of course, this is all looking back and putting things into perspective. At the time, my zen like attitude manifested itself with Aqua Net hairspray and a lot of eyeliner.
The first week it school was the one and only conversation I had with Mr. X. He saw me walking down the hallway, and called out my name. We were friends in grade school, knew each other in jr. high….and then after a few months, with no explanation I disappeared. I stopped to talk to him. I don’t remember this conversation. He said that he freaked out. He thought I was making fun of him, or was just overcome with insecurity or something, and basically ran away. He said, I was just so….intimidating. Ironic huh? We’ve talked about that story a few times, with me telling him what was happening on my side. He looked a little sad, when he said he replayed the conversation in his mind and realized, now that he knows me so well, that the tone in my voice was one of sincere happiness and relief to see an old friend. He felt sorry that he didn’t know, and didn’t help. Because he would have helped. I think about that and love him even more. Sometimes I can’t believe that I got so lucky.
That was 1985, I graduated in 1989. During those four years, I found refuge in the Art Department.
I was told that in the divorce papers it was written that Dad had to pay for college. I don’t know if this is true or not either. The things that my mom say tend to be colored by her own perceptions. When it came time for college, Dad was pissed that he wasn’t being included in the decision making process. I was pissed because he hadn’t taken an interest in anything I had been doing for the previous seven or so years, but, he was paying and he was included.
I was awarded three scholarships, the most prestigious was to Pratt in NYC. Out of 3,000+ applicants, something like 15 were chosen for the scholarship, and I was one. There was a gallery showing, tours, dinners and brunches…and…it was horrible. He didn’t feel comfortable in the city, and I wanted to stay with the group of students and potential students. We didn’t know anything about each other and, I don’t think we really wanted to. I don’t think he would admit it, but I think it was true. He remembered me as a child, and I thought of him that the guy that is interested because he has to pay money. We were strangers, him with confusion manifested as irritation and annoyance, and me with animosity and teenage angst.
It ended horribly with me crying the entire way back on the plane. Everything I had been holding in just came bursting out, the affairs (yes, with an s), the boat (whole long point of contention in the family), staying out all night, the marriage ending girlfriend, the fact that he left us, and even though he lived ten minutes away, we never saw him.
His response was that I would understand someday.
And I do.
I am an adult now. I’ve been through my share of knock down drag out relationships, sorrows, disappointments and bad situations. I’ve caused harm, and I’ve had harm caused to me. I’ve learned about consequences. What I understand now is, for lack of something less cliche, you reap what you sow. No matter what life hands to you, you alone are responsible for your reaction to it.
I have been through a lot in my life. I don’t have any desire to place blame or dredge up old hurts for no reason. I harbor no ill will or malice and wish you well. I’m grown up and have spent a better part of twenty some years trying to figure out my value systems and have been working hard becoming the person that I choose to be. I’ve taken full responsibility for my decisions and actions, and, you, in not being invited to my wedding, have to take responsibility for yours.
with love,
Cynthia
