Why must parents suck? If your parents are great, then I envy you. Personally, my parents pretty much suck. I probably sound like an angsty teenager saying that, yet I’m a fully grown adult… my parents still suck.
A few months ago, my wife and I met with a mortgage guy about what it would take to turn the misfortune of people that bought a house that they could not afford into our good fortune. He told us that we would need a pretty significant wad of money up front in order to make things work. I said that I really don’t think it’s ever going to happen, but women don’t listen, so we continued on.
The idea was that my Dad was supposed to front the money we needed in order to buy a house. I knew this was a bad idea, because I know my Dad, and there are two things he should never be counted on for: emotional support, and financial support. I knew this going in, but did my wife listen? Of course not.
Now, going back, I had a terrible relationship with my father growing up. I hated him, up to the point of having vivid fantasies of murdering him. Ultimately, I wound up getting kicked out of his home for punching him. The second I hit him the last second I lived there. It was that simple. Get out and get out now. Don’t come back, and don’t let the door hit you in the ass.
Well, it took years of therapy to finally come to terms with the relationship I had with my father. Eventually though, we were able to create a relationship where he was semi-functional as a father. He would help with little things, because I knew better than to ask for anything more than little things from him, and we found some common ground to have an amicable relationship.
Did I mention that my parents are divorced? Recently. Oh yes, and it was quite a bitter divorce too. The whole family split. One of my brothers disowned my Dad straight out. Another sided with my dad, at least in practice, because his livlihood depended on it, as my Dad owns the business that my brother runs. The third brother lives On the other coast of the country, in order to avoid the whole mess.
My Mom is a pretty miserable person. In fact, my brother – the one that works for my Dad – describes her as a real “glass half-empty sort of person.” That about sums it up. When she calls, I don’t answer. Then I shuffle in, like Al Bundy, with that “defeated at life” sort of demeanor and tell my wife that my Mom called and she wants to get together for Easter (Or whatever holiday it is). My Mom is the antithesis of joyfulness and good cheer.
So, here we are. We found a house we really liked. We put a deposit on it. We had an inspector come. We were gearing up for closing, and now my Dad decides that I have been far too effective at remaining a neutral party to his dispute with Mom. Now suddenly the money he was going to front us is money that he claims Mom owes him, but she won’t pay him.
The net meaning, ask your Mother for the money. He wants to put me in the middle of the situation that I have very effectively avoided being in the middle of in order to make it all Mom’s fault if we don’t get the house. What a sorry excuse for a Mother, letting her son down that way. Of course, he doesn’t have the foresight to realize that I won’t blame her for pulling a bait and switch. He’s the one that did that.
She, on the other hand, doesn’t think we should even be moving in the first place. What with being such a miserable bitch and all, she also can’t help but frown upon virtually anything that might actually bring some sense of satisfaction to me. He is so stingy he makes Scrooge look like the freaking Salvation Army, which is why you don’t ask him for money.
His parents were mentally screwed up. He’s mentally screwed up. I’m mentally screwed up. Which is why I won’t have children. I figure the defective gene pool dies with me. Speaking of which, I have suicidal tendencies. I don’t just mean albums by the band either, even if Mike Muir is a genius. I’m actually bipolar, and have been in a mental hospital for preferring to die over taking another breath of agonizing life.
According to a friend I am currently a little pissed at, that makes me a failure at both life and death. But that’s another topic for another time.
The point is, I didn’t ask to be who I am. I didn’t ask to have the parents I do. I didn’t ask to even be born. Each and every one of these things have taken me years to try and come to terms with. Each and every one is something I have struggled to overcome.
But then there’s the woman. She apparently didn’t see enough rage against my father to meet her satisfaction. She tells me it’s either don’t ever talk to my father again, for doing exactly the sort of thing I predicted he would do, or lose her. I mean she really said that. It’s him or me.
I have already been there. Done that. I have already hated my father with every sinew of my body. I have already wished countless times for him to be dead. I have spent hours of therapy trying to get past that and try to have some sort of semi-functional relationship with him, and she wants me to simply throw that away, even as I warned of what would happen.
Now, everyone has finally successfully found a way to hate everyone else. Congratulations. I just wasted the last 10 years of my life trying to find some sort of balance where I could try to have parents that acted like parents to me, and not like schoolyard bullies. Because now it’s all blown to shit by a woman that wouldn’t listen to someone that knows the central characters far better than she does.
And she wants to know why I’m pissed at HER.