2005-02-11 - 9:49 a.m.
A letter
A letter arrived last night, and for once in my life, I don’t know what to do about it. (Well, that’s not true; I don’t know what to do about a lot of things, but this one has me totally stumped.) The letter, you see, is from my father. It was even signed, “Dad”, and G-d help me, I don’t know what to do with that either. The letter came because I wasn’t cut out of my paternal grandmother’s will, which is what we all had expected, and he decided to send a letter with my check. Everything went to Mom first, and she forwarded the letter to me. I had some moments of terrible dread before it got here, and now… it’s here.
My father has always been, for lack of a better word, and asshole. He cheated on my mother. He pitted me and my brother against each other. He told me I was worthless. He told me I was fat and ugly. His idea of “discipline” and “talking” was to sit me down in my room and scream at me for hours about what a worthless piece of shit I was. Acting, which was my greatest passion when I was a kid, was worth nothing, and I was a horrible actress and would never amount to anything. I wasn’t pretty enough. I was smart, but I didn’t use it properly. Oh, and I talked back. I was, in essence, a horrible daughter and a terrible child and, pretty much, a waste of space. When I was 12, something in me told me I wasn’t going to take it anymore, and I stood up and told him I was going home, to my mother. He offered to drive me. I refused. I left, never looked back. As a result of that, he called to inform me he would not be attending my Bat Mitzvah. He raised his other children, with Wife #2, to call me a bitch to anyone who brought me up (which was almost always reported back to me, as if no one could believe it). He told my brother I was hateful and horrible, and I imagine that he also told my brother that if he ever spoke to me or hung out with me, that he would be cast out. He tried to get my guidance counselor at school, a woman who did not know our situation, to convince me to apply only to state schools. When I chose to attend a private university, at my mother’s urging because she knew it would be best for me, he refused to pay for half (per the divorce decree) until my mother took him to court. He berated me via email for not speaking to his wife one time, and he berated my mother for sticking up for me. He called once, I happened to pick up the phone, and he implied that everything was my fault. This has been the last 14 years of my life. I blame him for some things about me, and I thank him for others. Because of him, I am independent and I don’t take any shit. Because of him, I am successful at SO many things, because I have always wanted to prove to him that I am 10,000 times better than he ever thought. Because of him, I control my temper and I try my best to be nice to people. But also because of him, I shrink at the first sign of criticism. I blush and stammer when I’ve done something minorly wrong, even when my supervisor or friend or whatever isn’t angry. I don’t fight well. I let a lot of people push over me. I have given men a lot of control. I cling too hard, because I am terrified that people will abandon me, and when they get upset or they turn, I lash out.
So now I have this letter. And he said the one thing I have been waiting for him to say for fourteen years: “I am sorry.” He said he realizes now that he failed as a person and as a parent, and he’s sorry.
I guess that was nice to read. But what do I do with this now? I suppose the ball is in my court, but what am I supposed to do? Let it all slide and say, “Yes, I would like a relationship”? You HURT MY MOTHER. YOU HURT MY GRANDPARENTS, and for that, I will never, EVER forgive you. And you hurt me. You devastated me. You stripped away part of my SOUL, for fuck’s sake. You took my childhood and ran with it, and you BLAMED ME. You called and told me outright that you didn’t want to be part of my life. So now what? Now you’re back? Because you have a new wife and she’s everything to you and your relationship is so important and she’s made you realize all the things you missed? Should I THANK her? What the fuck.
No, I suppose he doesn’t expect me to run into his arms and be his little girl again. The trouble is, anything connected with him turns me into a depressed, blubbering 12-year-old again, and it makes me forget myself. And I know I don’t have to do anything now. But it’s a lot to sit on.
I need a drink.
