The Weird Kid
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Fighting Words
The last fight I had with my dad. And by last, I mean...well, he's dead. Which is why I can talk about him.
I was 21, I'm 30 now. It was after Christmas, the last Christmas Sean and I would spend unmarried. He spent it with his family, I with mine. My mother and I were going to drive out to the airport that day and pick him up.
I was acting girly and romantic, little dances and sing-songs. Mostly performing, I guess, though I was so excited to see Sean again. I announced I was going to sit in the back seat with Sean after we got him, the whole way back to our house.
And from the corner of the room my dad erupted. Rage I could never have predicted, hurting all the more because in the back of my head I thought I was pleasing my folks, having a nice man, getting married like a normal girl, not a being a weirdo.
He repeated my sentence nasty and whining with his tongue hanging out, making it as ugly and retarded as he could. "'I'm going to sit in the back, nyeah nyeah.' Is your mother your nigger? Huh?" I was shocked, like ice-water bath shock.
I have always been a cry-baby, (I call it, 'low emotional thresh-hold', but I know what it really is) so I started to cry. He walked half ways across the floor to me and bent down toward me, face all twisted up in anger, and spoke louder. "What? You gonna cry now? Gonna fucking cry?"
I went out into the snow. Mom was half-heartedly interceding as I went, Dad was shouting her down about how I deserved it, acting like she was my nigger. And I ended up not sitting in the back seat.
Two days later, as I drove away with Sean, I realized, this was likely the last. For the simple fact that Sean and I were going to get married. And Dad's twisted propriety would prevent him from fighting another man's wife, or at least make him more nervous about doing it.
I was right, it was the last time. But why do I think of them as "fights"?
I was 21, I'm 30 now. It was after Christmas, the last Christmas Sean and I would spend unmarried. He spent it with his family, I with mine. My mother and I were going to drive out to the airport that day and pick him up.
I was acting girly and romantic, little dances and sing-songs. Mostly performing, I guess, though I was so excited to see Sean again. I announced I was going to sit in the back seat with Sean after we got him, the whole way back to our house.
And from the corner of the room my dad erupted. Rage I could never have predicted, hurting all the more because in the back of my head I thought I was pleasing my folks, having a nice man, getting married like a normal girl, not a being a weirdo.
He repeated my sentence nasty and whining with his tongue hanging out, making it as ugly and retarded as he could. "'I'm going to sit in the back, nyeah nyeah.' Is your mother your nigger? Huh?" I was shocked, like ice-water bath shock.
I have always been a cry-baby, (I call it, 'low emotional thresh-hold', but I know what it really is) so I started to cry. He walked half ways across the floor to me and bent down toward me, face all twisted up in anger, and spoke louder. "What? You gonna cry now? Gonna fucking cry?"
I went out into the snow. Mom was half-heartedly interceding as I went, Dad was shouting her down about how I deserved it, acting like she was my nigger. And I ended up not sitting in the back seat.
Two days later, as I drove away with Sean, I realized, this was likely the last. For the simple fact that Sean and I were going to get married. And Dad's twisted propriety would prevent him from fighting another man's wife, or at least make him more nervous about doing it.
I was right, it was the last time. But why do I think of them as "fights"?
posted by Imez at 12:28 PM
11 Comments:
Sounds more like an attack than a fight.
I wish he could know that this is one of your memories of him.
Wow. Just wow. That takes courage to write about and admit that he was that way.
My dad is dead too, and I'm the only one in my family who acknowledges the fact that he could be a real dick-head. Apparently once someone dies, you are supposed to deify them. Like you, I refuse.
It's liberating, isn't it?
Seriously. I wish I was there when you were 21. I would have so punched him for you. It would have been more like a fly swap, but still.
At least you wrote about it and got it off your chest now.
You and me baby, we could be soul sisters. That sounds just like my Dad used to sound. I haven't spoken to him in years. I have no idea where he is.
It's hard to look back and see things later. I know I didn't suffer the emotional abuse you just described but I wish to hell I had had more faith in myself when I was younger and didn't accept all the crap I took from people. It's nice to be older and just say "well, if you don't like it then screw you!" and mean it.
I'm pretty much a baby myself. I try not to be but I know I tend towards it.
That's a pretty one-sided fight. I tend to agree with Meno, it sounds more like an attack.
But your writing is beautiful, I'm impressed you can write for the internet like this. It's very genuine. Thanks for stopping by, I'll definitely be back!
Maybe you think of it as a fight for self respect.
Sounds like he was the only one fighting. Poor guy; must have had some real demons...
Each time I read a post of yours, I feel a gentle prodding at a soft place in my heart. Thank you.
That's just crazy. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but it seems like you're better off now.
And you're right, that's no "fight".
meno-If he knew, he'd just be more irritated at me
kate- no, don't confuse my exhibitionism with courage. And congratulations on holding on to reality in the face of opposition.
miss- I have SO many people for you to punch for me. Starting with the kid whole stole my tweety bird eraser in kindergarten.
tink- seriously, that's a blog entry I'd like to read.
sari- I'm really hoping to enter the "screw you" and mean it phase soon. Right now I'm still in the "you're a meanie and I'm going to feel sorry for myself" phase.
princess- Genuine, 100% whiney, right here, baby.
lu- Well, I lost. Still losing!
4444-It occurs to me sometimes that he was suffering. If I can come to the place where I feel sorry for him, I think I'll be healed up.
dan-OH speak ill all you want. Lord knows I do. I hate tons of dead people.
That sounds awful, and certainly not a fair fight. He sounds like he was a desperately unhappy person, but that doesn't excuse his cruelty. It's fine to carry crap, but it's not okay to fling it at innocent bystanders.
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