It is Thanksgiving week. My father and his wife arrive. As usual, they make a great display of being ever so happy to see me; but the sincerity of their interest comes into question as our time together extends.To be fair, my father's wife is very interested. Too interested and too chirpy and she never shuts up.
My father is most concerned with his perception that we are 'not really in London' because he has never heard of Fulham until I moved here. He also dwells a lot on where he can find award winning something-and-something pie, which sounds like a shepherd's pie but I don't remember because by today, the fifth day of their visit, I have lost interest. I have lost interest in trying to engender interest: pointing out places of historical interest, name-dropping, relaying anecdotes I think my father will find interesting. All this disgusts me with myself. I think I am just like my pathetic brother who yearns for my father's approval. Fortunately, I don't make stupid career decisions based on this hangover from childhood.
To be fair to my father: he loves me. He really, really loves me. He just doesn't know how to show it. He had no father in his life. He grew up in the Marine Corps. As if to wash away the shame from the other side of the tracks, he surrounds himself with wealthy white men whose sole interest is making money. Or hunting. He's not interested in me. I know it is better for me to accept him on his terms and follow him around my town - as if it is his town; I should stop striving for his approval, stop giving him the chance to demonstrate once again that I have nothing of interest to say.
There are also more normal, yet equally uncomfortable aspects of this particular paternal visit. My father has aged. He still walks, but his shoulders are more hunched. He forgets that he's already asked questions. He is almost doddering. I am patient with this part of him. I am an age where the reality of ageing degradation is close. Close enough that I know I need to be patient because it will happen to me too.
He's a good man. I want to be a good daughter; I feel ungrateful and guilty.
7 comments:
Oh fuck. This is so familiar. And that last line. That's where I always end up whenever my parents come to visit, no matter how determined I am to make it work. I feel for you. Breathe deeply.
Right now my mother-in-law is sitting across the room. Husband has escaped--he just HAD to buy new tires today. Right. Fortunately, my mother is coming to take her to lunch in a bit. I understand your guilt. However, my MIL is a little harder to decipher.
Elements of this resonate with me for sure. Only this morning, AM and I were questioning whether we really wanted to be around 'the family thing' over Christmas and quietly plotting our escape - another year... Sort of wrote about it today at my place, but not entirely I've done the deeper feelings justice - too many family read I suspect.
Oh, Lord, please stop feeling guilty. Dig it up, root it out and be done with it. That's not really him in the pic, is it? Dopey question, I know.
Ahh.. families... "love" doesn't necessarily have anything to do with "like" or "something in common" in family relationships... I won't say "don't" feel guilty, I'll say "try not to" feel guilty... other than that, i have nothing to say that will make it better, except that i presume this visit has an end date, breathe deeply (as PG says) and hang in there...
PG - The reminder to breathe deeply (and that I'm not alone in this experience) helps. Thanks.
Franklin - New tires! Brilliant. Be right back ....
Chris - No family here. :)
UB - I must spit it out! No, it's not him (not a dopey question), but the man kind of reminds me of him, the stern, single-minded expression.
Mondraussie - Precisely. Inhale. Exhale.
AND: They're gone. And all went reasonably well!
Ah, we've had overseas family for Thanksgiving as well. It has been...eventful. But despite all the decades long niggling annoyances, I've come to realize that, much as you might want to, you can't replace family.
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