Too proud to work it out?
Over dinner, I told my father my plans to leave my well-paid but highly stressful job to go into a lower-paying one where I'd be much happier.
Being Dad, he saw right through my plans, straight to my intentions.
He said, "How are you and your ex?" (of course he didn't say ex, he said her name).
In keeping with the spirit of not mincing words, I replied, "It's gone Dad. She's gone."
I expected sympathy. I expected understanding. Shows how little I knew my Dad.
"What?! Both of you too proud to work it out? You too proud to make the first move?"
I felt flushed. What did he know? I did try to salvage it. I wanted to retort how I was being the grownup and she was just being silly. I felt angry. Outraged. But I kept my mouth shut. I did know my Dad a little, after all.
Then he went on, unbidden, about love, like a little tree, needs nurturing and care. And lots of time.
Well, I listened. Good advice is so hard to come by these days. And he should know what he's talking about. He's been married to my mom for 30 years now.
But how can I ever compare to my Dad?
See, he's from the working class background. Back then working class meant getting paid daily wages. He got married at 21, had his first kid at 22, bought his first low-cost home at 27, and has been working until now, a self-made man.
Me, well...I'm nothing like my father. I've got all the time in the world to dream. Dream of being a man like my Dad. Dream of actually making him proud of me.
The way my Dad would yell at the mechanic if he was being cheated. The way he stood for no nonsense, not even from the police. The way he always defended my mom. And took care of his family. My Dad always knew what to do. In an accident, the first person I'd call is him. And he'll be there, like a seasoned pro, dishing out instructions to all parties involved. He'd even talk to the other driver, "Are you hurt? Do you have somebody to call? Ignore those tow-trucks crooks." And on and on.
My sisters and I would laugh at how unsophisticated he was sometimes. His choice of movies must star either Steven Seagal or Jet Li. He reads Tom Clancy and stuff like that. But then I think, his life is already full, he just doesn't have time for the artsy-fartsy stuff that I like.
My dad shows his love in gruff ways. He'll explode over how I'd neglected to fix my exhaust, but the next day he'll leave me his car while he took mine to his mechanic.
So, coming back to the present, I gave his words some thought. Was I too proud to work it out?
I called her. She didn't answer. I SMSed her. Said she was driving, what's up? I called her again.
We sounded like two strangers who turned up at a posh party wearing matching outfits.
I wondered how my Dad would handle this situation. So I didn't beat about the bush. I asked her, "If you say you're not angry at me anymore, why is it so hard to meet up?"
"I'm not ready yet".
"What do you have to be ready for? I'm not asking anything. Just resolve this, don't leave it hanging. At least say goodbye properly".
"I did say goodbye", she said. Huh? I asked her when.
"When you asked for a break, I said, 'Ok, goodbye' ".
Oh....then.
I felt like I was talking to a suspect in a murder case who knew she was gonna walk. Deny everything.
And I was feeling so exasperated. I just blurted out, "So don't I get at least a thanks?"
"A thanks?!" She sounded incredulous.
But I was already raging. Yes, a thanks. The thousands I spent on you. On us. All our trips. All the phonecalls. All the expensive gifts and clothes. I put my life on hold for you. I suffered this goddamn job for you. I made plans for you. And whatever shortcomings you told me, I accepted you.
"Oh yeah. Ok. Thanks". If she sounded anything other than sarcastic, I would've been surprised.
I did love her. But love can easily turn sour. But...not this time. So...she's still bitter. And being childish about it. And I did try. I'm hurt. In fact, I'm still hurting like hell. I don't know what big crime I committed against her.
No hard feelings, but I'm going to leave it as it is. And move on.
I'm sure that's what my Dad would've done.
Being Dad, he saw right through my plans, straight to my intentions.
He said, "How are you and your ex?" (of course he didn't say ex, he said her name).
In keeping with the spirit of not mincing words, I replied, "It's gone Dad. She's gone."
I expected sympathy. I expected understanding. Shows how little I knew my Dad.
"What?! Both of you too proud to work it out? You too proud to make the first move?"
I felt flushed. What did he know? I did try to salvage it. I wanted to retort how I was being the grownup and she was just being silly. I felt angry. Outraged. But I kept my mouth shut. I did know my Dad a little, after all.
Then he went on, unbidden, about love, like a little tree, needs nurturing and care. And lots of time.
Well, I listened. Good advice is so hard to come by these days. And he should know what he's talking about. He's been married to my mom for 30 years now.
But how can I ever compare to my Dad?
See, he's from the working class background. Back then working class meant getting paid daily wages. He got married at 21, had his first kid at 22, bought his first low-cost home at 27, and has been working until now, a self-made man.
Me, well...I'm nothing like my father. I've got all the time in the world to dream. Dream of being a man like my Dad. Dream of actually making him proud of me.
The way my Dad would yell at the mechanic if he was being cheated. The way he stood for no nonsense, not even from the police. The way he always defended my mom. And took care of his family. My Dad always knew what to do. In an accident, the first person I'd call is him. And he'll be there, like a seasoned pro, dishing out instructions to all parties involved. He'd even talk to the other driver, "Are you hurt? Do you have somebody to call? Ignore those tow-trucks crooks." And on and on.
My sisters and I would laugh at how unsophisticated he was sometimes. His choice of movies must star either Steven Seagal or Jet Li. He reads Tom Clancy and stuff like that. But then I think, his life is already full, he just doesn't have time for the artsy-fartsy stuff that I like.
My dad shows his love in gruff ways. He'll explode over how I'd neglected to fix my exhaust, but the next day he'll leave me his car while he took mine to his mechanic.
So, coming back to the present, I gave his words some thought. Was I too proud to work it out?
I called her. She didn't answer. I SMSed her. Said she was driving, what's up? I called her again.
We sounded like two strangers who turned up at a posh party wearing matching outfits.
I wondered how my Dad would handle this situation. So I didn't beat about the bush. I asked her, "If you say you're not angry at me anymore, why is it so hard to meet up?"
"I'm not ready yet".
"What do you have to be ready for? I'm not asking anything. Just resolve this, don't leave it hanging. At least say goodbye properly".
"I did say goodbye", she said. Huh? I asked her when.
"When you asked for a break, I said, 'Ok, goodbye' ".
Oh....then.
I felt like I was talking to a suspect in a murder case who knew she was gonna walk. Deny everything.
And I was feeling so exasperated. I just blurted out, "So don't I get at least a thanks?"
"A thanks?!" She sounded incredulous.
But I was already raging. Yes, a thanks. The thousands I spent on you. On us. All our trips. All the phonecalls. All the expensive gifts and clothes. I put my life on hold for you. I suffered this goddamn job for you. I made plans for you. And whatever shortcomings you told me, I accepted you.
"Oh yeah. Ok. Thanks". If she sounded anything other than sarcastic, I would've been surprised.
I did love her. But love can easily turn sour. But...not this time. So...she's still bitter. And being childish about it. And I did try. I'm hurt. In fact, I'm still hurting like hell. I don't know what big crime I committed against her.
No hard feelings, but I'm going to leave it as it is. And move on.
I'm sure that's what my Dad would've done.
posted by caffeinated at 1:48 PM
4 Comments:
Great post, your father sounds like an amazing man.
Thanks ST. :) love your views, especially on others' blogs. HAHAHA.
guess the thousands that you spent, made up for the hurt i was causing myself, huh?
i was just ranting and venting. no, dear, of course money could never pay for the hurt caused. it was quite a while ago, i've had time and space to think back. man, i was crazy, literally. i blamed you for not understanding, not being good enough to handle my shortcomings. phew, what a crazy period that was. i dunno, i still feel like there is something unfinished about it, something good still remaining. still wanna see u. uhm...if u r who i think u r.
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