UNFINISHED BUSINESS
SPEAK
8
Experiencing loss made me want to change the past. by Lisa Anderson
I last spoke to my father in April 2005. This was four months before he died unexpectedly of a heart attack. He had called to get my big sister Amy's phone number -- it was her 26th birthday. I scrambled for words, lying and telling him that I didn't have it. I knew she wouldn't want him to call.
This, like all of our phone conversations in the 15 years since my parents' divorce, dragged. Awkward silences stretched on for eons and never amounted to anything more than a mind-numbing call-and-response. Call:"Hi, how's it going, what's new?" Response: "Fine, nothing."
Silence.
I felt like we secretly hated each other,like we were actors in a tragic play showing outward images of concern but maintaining underlying themes of hate,unrequited love and destruction.
Our relationship didn't always seem so dreadful. I used to enjoy being with him. After the divorce, my mom received full custody. My older brother Nick
and I would eagerly visit our father on occasional weekends and holidays. Amy was never so eager. Hot summer fishing trips, colorful bowling alleys, glistening swimming pools: these were the times I so eagerly awaited and the images I placed next to his face in my mind.
I couldn't understand the separation between he and my mom and sister because I desperately longed for a relationship with my father. Eventually, however, all the fishing, bowling and swimming dwindled into nothing more than a phone call once every few weeks, a card once every few months and a visit once a year. I gradually became disillusioned. My mind had been filled with negative thoughts toward my dad through my interpretation of my mom's off-putting ideas about him. She'd say he was an asshole but respected me enough to let me form my own opinion. Not only was my mother my closest friend, but she knew my father best. Eventually
to think to myself, "There must be something wrong with him."
As I got older, I also became more aware. I wasn't hiding behind images of him as a perfect father anymore. I was facing up to the fact that I had been in denial.
I began noticing little things first, including his lack of concern for his children. He'd say to me,"Amy's turning 22 soon," with all the excitement that he could muster."That means no more child support." He also attempted to piss off my mom by mailing child support checks late with no explanation.I noticed the pleasure he took in cutting down my mom in front of me, and in taking shots at me after a new haircut or piercing."You are exactly like your sister,"hed grumble spitefully, fully aware of its effect.His comments were something that no teen-angst-ridden girl wants to hear. All of these things had been happening for years, but I had avoided recognizing them.
I felt shame from discovering that I did not
like my father as much as I had thought I did,and disappointment when I realized why.
When I was 17, I went to France with some friends from school. Between exploring the cities, valleys and new foods, I thought of my dad. It was around Father's Day, which I felt guilty for missing. The guilt subsided as excitement grew at the thought of buying him a gift. I bought him an expensive tie in Paris. I loved this tie. It created a work of art with the swirling shades of blue, green and yellow. I knew he would love it too.
Two weeks later I was back in the States and was anxiously meeting him for lunch to give him his gift. We ate. The high hopes I had for our reunion were shattered. Conversation, or lack there of, was painful as usual. He'd ask the only question he seemed to know, "What's new?" I'd respond with a list of drawn-out details just to make the time pass."I just got back from France, I am getting my hair cut today, I'm thinking of getting a puppy."I got his
same old reaction. No inquiry as to how my trip was, how! want my hair done, what kind of puppy I want."You're just like your sister," he said. Typical, hurtful banter.
After the wearisome lunch, in the parking lot of the restaurant he chose (he always chose), I gave him the gift. He pulled the red ribbon from the long, rectangular box and lifted the lid.
I waited.
"I don't even wear ties anymore," he said as he did a once-over on the tie and closed the box. I felt my throat drop into my stomach. I was speechless and couldn't breathe. Not even a thank you? It was at this moment that the world he inhabited in my life came crashing down and when I realized it: I don't like him.
The last time I saw my father was Christmas Day 2004. When he died eight months later, Aug. 16, 2005, I immediately struggled to remember that day. I am learning to deal with the fact that our relationship is over but unresolved. I just wish I could change that fact.
09. 21.2006 JAYPLAY < 19
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