This trip has involved more “heavy” conversations with Dad than I can remember having before. I’m really glad I came. Even with my irritation about football. That’s a trigger. That’s not his fault.
You don’t understand what someone is giving you of themselves until you find out more about them. I’ve been kind of interrogating him. I’ve asked a lot of questions about his family-of-origin, about how he raised his kids, his money situation, his life choices… all kinds of things. I know Dad but I don’t feel I know him if you know what I mean. Ha–I’m almost punny.
Yeah. I found out some things about Dad’s financial situation that surprised me. Noah makes a lot of money. We live in a bubble of tech workers who all earn rather obscene amounts of money. Dad’s not in that bubble.
The idea of “generosity” or “caretaking” change as your quantity of money changes. Dad is much more into making food for people than he used to be. He no longer volunteers to take everyone out to restaurants. That’s a good choice. But man I don’t feel like I have any right to say anything didactic about how he handles his money. He was a CPA for longer than I have been alive. Right now finding a good job is hard.
Noah asked me if Dad keeps all the daughters and I said no. Most of them move on. Most of them bring their needs to Dad and expect him to meet their needs and I don’t. I don’t think Dad is obligated to take care of me. I appreciate any tiny nudge of caretaking and in turn I will clean your whole house before I leave. I’ll leave grocery money on the counter so you can’t argue with me. I know that our monthly grocery bill is more than half of Dad’s monthly income. He does not need to pay for us.
But he loves me. And he loves my children more by the year. I can’t buy that. I may have money but I don’t have a lot of people who want to sit down with my kids and show them how to play with a Wii. I’m grateful that he wants to.
My life has been such a series of up and downs with relationship to money and secure attached relationships. I have money now. I’m squirreling it away. I obsess constantly about not saving enough even though I’m way above all of the averages and expectations. It’s not good enough. I’m not safe enough. But the human dependent loving relationships… I can’t just fix that for myself.
I don’t know how to defend myself without running people off. I’m trying to change this. Defending myself is a real, serious priority for me and I’m not going to give up on it. But the mechanism could be more gentle. I would like to alienate people less.
I really like this feeling of being welcome in Dad’s house. I really like that he has spent a lot of years so far putting drips and drabs of trust and love into my bucket. Dad has earned every ounce of tolerance and patience he needs from me. He really has. I do have to work on being patient with him. He is very much not like me and that is hard sometimes.
I’m really grateful he has allowed me to grow up in this relationship. Kind of like how I am grateful to my Owner.
These men may not be able to give the kind of emotional support I want but it isn’t their fault and it isn’t their job and they really have given me all they have to spare. Say thank you. Smile. Don’t be nasty. Go somewhere else for the rest of your needs.
Thank you, Noah.
I love Dad a lot. I’m really glad I get to know him. He validates me and appreciates me.
Last night he told both of us that he thinks our priorities are in the right order and we are clearly making good decisions right on down the line. He said he was proud of us.
I need that feeling so bad. I am so glad I am not a disappointment. I’m trying so hard.
No, he doesn’t do everything I can imagine wanting him to do. He watches way more sports on television than I want to be near. Really if that is my big complaint I need to shut the fuck up.
He does pretty fucking well by me. Even if he does make fun of me more than I want. His way of being is valid. We’ll figure it out. I will keep coming back year after year. I like being in his presence.
Not because I like feeling smug because I’m making good life choices and he is in a hard phase. I feel guilty that he is in a hard phase. His life got really hard when his wife died. This was a ship that needed two incomes. He has struggled a lot with picking up the pieces.
Being here is changing some of how I think about death. Francesca didn’t commit suicide (we think) but she did accidentally kill herself. The hole she has left in me, in Dad, in all of the people in this community is still gaping and raw. It has been more than five years.
It wasn’t like this after my father or my brother died. There wasn’t a whole community of mourning. Really it didn’t matter much that they were dead. They were both so far outside of my life and my community that I wasn’t impacted. I never saw them when they were alive, why would it matter that they were dead?
I have always thought I would be more like my dad and brother when I die. No one will give a shit. No one will be impacted.
I don’t think that any more. Now I look around and think, “I would hurt people the way Francesca hurt people.” Err, that sounds like I’m blaming Francesca. I’m not. I’m not saying she hurt people. Her death hurt people. Her not being in the world has been very painful for a lot of people. She is not replaceable in any way.
I miss her so much. Not very many people were as forgiving of my fuck ups as she was. She could look at me and say, “Krissy I don’t think that came out how you meant it. Would you like to try again?” People just don’t say that to me. They think I mean what I say and say what I mean so I am just a mean and nasty bitch.
I have a lot of big feelings. My tone of voice often sucks. I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. I’m trying. I’m better than I was.
Sometimes I wonder if me wanting to go off pot so much is going to be like a schizophrenic refusing to take their meds. Is my control going to slip in ways that make me more dangerous to be around for other people?
Francesca would have told me that she got off heroin so I can do anything.
Sometimes we need the relationships we have because the people in them view us in a way we need to be viewed. A lot of people who have done “great things” did so because they were conforming to the popular opinions about them. They were told they could and must.
Dad thinks I’m pretty spiffy. He tells me so. Maybe I can substitute his beliefs about me for my own.
What does love mean, anyway? I love Dad. I want to do nice things for him. I want him to be happy. I want him to feel like he gets the things he wants in life.
He sure as heck doesn’t feel that way. The older I get the more I discuss white privilege with white men the more I feel kind of sad for everyone in the whole world.
If this is the “easy level” no wonder life sucks so much for everyone else. It isn’t easy or fun or comfortable here either.
I feel sad that I am not better at having relationships with shorter gaps in between visits. I am profoundly shitty at seeing people frequently. My boundaries get worse. I get more impatient and needy and difficult. I keep everyone on varying length rotations.
I wish that I handled Portland better. I like all the people here so much but it is also hard for me. I have to “behave” and it isn’t how I normally act so I have to think really hard and try really hard and I get so tired. I feel like such a failure all the fucking time.
I miss Wonderland. I’m glad I get to go back to it. I have a hard time with my relationships at home too, but being able to retreat into my cave of wonders really helps.
Here in Dad’s house I always feel like I am about to break something and I don’t mean to. I don’t want to leave a wake of destruction… but I do. I always have. I don’t get that mad at my kids for breaking things because I am a Destruct-o-Matic. I feel scared. I feel like I am about to do something stupid, reveal a need I shouldn’t reveal and then I will be banished.
I wish I could feel like people love me. I wish I could predict the boundaries of my acceptable behavior better. I wish I could maintain appropriate behavior better. I fuck up so much.
Ok, time to do something else.