Amy’s Dad.
Stop right there. This title is LOADED already.
Amy’s
Did you catch that? I did not title this Dad or My Dad. As we saw at Don’s funeral, we all had a different dad. My version of dad is most certainly different than your version of him. In this post, I will try to summarize the dad I had. Bear with me. I’m working through it right out in the open living room. I hope to inspire you to share your story as well.
Dad
Did you catch that? I did not title this Father or father. I was tempted to, because the word dad sounds like a relationship. I didn’t have a relationship with him. But I did and still do refer to him as Dad with my siblings, like a name, so it works. Plus, Jesus said not to call anyone on Earth “father” because we have one Father in Heaven (Matthew 23:9).
Even writing the word Dad makes me sad. I wish I had that kind of dad that includes a relationship. That picture up there? It’s a mirage for me. The dad I had was flat-out scary. From what I remember, he never hit or even spanked me. And yet, his scolding set my heart pounding and eyes watering. His judgment convinced me I was useless. There was no safety for me in those eyes.
Honor your father and mother
Guilty.
Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.
Suzanne knows. She heard us in the phone surveillance. Dad is creepy. She takes his side. We’re embarrassed to have friends over. Our friends get creeped out. They shun us in the neighborhood. We want to live with our mom. Back then, I had an excuse. I was a stupid teenager. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Margie knows. She understood my discomfort. She tried to make bridges. She tried to get him to take my call. When he refused, she defended him. He’s not ready, Amy. No wonder. I guess. I apparently put people off just by being me, whatever that is. I don’t know the right thing to say, whatever that is.
David scolded me. “You invariably bring up the past.” That’s illegal? I’m clueless, I guess.
Even as a grown wife and mother, I was still dissing him. At Jessica’s post-cancer funeral, Margie lamented that Don contested her own fight against cancer. He saw the PET scan light up everywhere. But he still thinks I’m falling for a scam. Her eyes watered as she said it.
I was disgusted. “I don’t see how you can stand him.”
When I failed to honor him, she still did. “He’s getting better.”
God bless her. If I could give my dad anything, it would be a companion who could endure his negativity and still love him and live with him. I did not give him that, but she did. Somehow, it offsets my guilt just a little.
Nevertheless, I am guilty. I absolutely deserved to be written out of the will, if it rewarded any form of loyalty or honor.
He can’t hurt me now
Actually, he can. He can smirk at how self-centered that statement is. How childish and melodramatic. Other people have been hurt far worse than me. Far worse. I saw it. It hurt to see them hurt.
Don never hurt me, physically anyway. He never screamed at me or called me names. He never touched me inappropriately. He never mocked my clothes or my artwork. He simply condemned me and rejected me. Occasional false accusations. Occasional anger over innocent things, like gagging on eggplant. My entire childhood was dominated by his disapproval and my fear of his wrath. Maybe he thought it was loving to say, “You’re skatin’ on thin ice, Suzy Q.” That’s the key phrase of my childhood, and it still brings fear. Then he ejected me from his life in a grand gesture, and calmly declined my appeals for understanding. There was nothing about me that deserved his time, let alone his pardon, let alone his love.
Or so I thought. When I was 27, he sent me a VHS video tape. It was a compilation of my childhood pictures. I didn’t know many of the people. But one picture nearly stopped my heart. I stopped the tape and stared at it for almost an hour. It’s the picture above. I’m in his arms, and I look happy to be there. I look comfortable and safe. Is that a mirage? Did that really happen? I was stunned. Confused. I wanted to talk with him about it. But I didn’t know how. I never acknowledged the gift. Once again, I earned my own excommunication.
Nevertheless, it was his death that opened the door to a relationship with him. In life, a relationship entailed live interactions that neither of us wanted. Neither of us knew what to say. Neither of us wanted to fake cordialities. Now that he’s gone, a relationship can blossom. We don’t have to be an unlovable daughter or an unloving father. We can just be Amy and Don, with our own lives and personalities. Our flaws don’t have hurtful impact anymore.
My new dad
In life, Dad’s condemnation and rejection completely blinded me. Now that it would be impossible to face him, now that it would be impossible to be rejected, I am free to see the rest of my dad. Now that it’s safe, I wish I could talk to him. Now, it’s safe to wonder.
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