Are you still intimidated by your father? I don’t mean this in a weird Peyton Place sorta way, just in your run of the mill “he’s my daddy” sorta way.
So here’s the deal. I’m the only girl, and a middle child. I’ve gotten party requests to do the “Da-addy, can I have some moan-aye,” Southern Daughter In Need bit. And I do it quite well, thankyouverymuch. But there’s a downside (one being, I wasn’t raised in the South, but shhh! Don’t tell. I like using that to my advantage!). The downside is, I am a Middle Child through and through. I hate conflict. I was always the one trying to patch up arguments: real or imaginary, my place or not. Fighting terrified me. It still does.
Some of this, I’m sure, is related to my “wah I had a hard childhood” past. And actually, I should not say it like that, because I do not minimize what I (and so many others) have been through. It’s just that, luckily, my dad really had NOTHING to do with my past traumas. He was very loving, though very strict. I always joked with him that if I put him in a novel, everyone would think he’d be the monster - but really, it’s just that he was gruff, and loved order. And with 3 children and a sometimes (how to say this with love) spacey wife, order was hard to find.
(When I was pretty young, 2nd grade or so, Dad would get sick and tired of us kids’ rooms being a disaster, and decide that the problem was that we had too many stuffed animals on our bed. So he would gather us up in the living room (typically reserved for the Opening of Christmas Gifts or Family Prayers) and hold Auctions. Each child was allowed 7 stuffed animals. He would hold them up, one by one, and allow us to bid on them for chores. The only upside of this is that if I were pissed at my younger brother, I would offer 15 Boy Style Pushups for Mr. Elephant and he’d dissolve into tears in a matter of seconds. After the auctions, while we all cried quietly in our rooms while our oblivious father drank beer and watched The Game, Mom sneaked into the garage for the trash bag full of “extra” animals and return each to his/her rightful owner.)
ANYWAY. GOD. What was I talking about? Are any of you still reading? If so you deserve a stiff drink. Here, I have a few. Take this one. NO! Not THAT one, this one. Yes, the one with all the melted ice in it. Ungrateful bitch.
Ahem. Right. Dads and daughters. I hated getting in trouble as a kid, because I knew that Dad would get upset at me. Mom could ground me, take away my toys, and tell me I couldn’t go to Rachel’s end of the year birthday party, and FINE! Whatever! But as soon as Dad came into my room and said, “Emily, I’m so disappointed,” I was a hot mess of tears and snot.
I find that I’m much the same today. I’m slowly creeping up on 30, and I can’t shake this need to please Daddy. Which, as I’m sure you’ve surmised, is rather difficult to do in my current position. I’m a dirty sinner and they don’t know me any more (TM the WonderSpot Family, come up with your own cutting monikers).
Instead of being an adult and simply standing up for myself and my beliefs, I get whiny and defensive when he challenges me…even when I know he’s wrong. Instead of saying, “Dad, I don’t want to talk about this,” I find myself defending my life and my decisions - knowing he’ll never see things from my POV.
And so I ask you, InterWebs, WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THIS? Will I ever outgrow this need to please Dear Old Dad? I mean, sure, he must sound like an asshole, from the anecdotes above, and from the recent dramas I’ve described, but he’s a nice guy. He’s a good guy. We just don’t see the world in the same way, and for some reason, I can’t seem to explain that to him in such simple terms. I find myself saying such phrases as “according to recent hermeneutical studies” and “world view” to a man who thinks “world view” is code for “hippies taking over the DMV, SEND TANKS STAT!”
How do you stand up to your father? Or do you still pretend not to and then just live your life, which is more or less what I do now?
Technorati Tags: Family, Relationships, Life, Abuse
My dad is the most laid back hippie stuck in the 60s. I love him to death!
Ever since I was little, I could do whatever and always had his support. I love my dad.
My mom on the other hand…
My father and I have the same mental illness. The difference is, mine is treated now.
I learned to walk a very fine line. He loved debating with me, but if I started to win — which I often did, because I am damn good at debate — he would get angry and petulant. If he feels threatened he blames other people, and because my mother never knew how to handle him, it fell to me. Once he threw a basket full of my laundry down the stairs into the cat litter. So I learned to read him (and others) very very well, so I knew when it was time to start backpedaling, or when to leave the room entirely.
But he loves me.
Our fathers are what they are. They are set in their ways and not only is it not our job to change them, changing them is completely beyond our capacity. I want to please my father, but I’ve also learned that my actions and behavior are completely irrelevant on that front. WHETHER OR NOT OUR FATHERS ARE PLEASED HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH HOW WE ACT. It has everything to do with whether or not they *choose* to be pleased. So let go of the idea that there’s anything you can do that would change the situation.
*gratefully accepts the drink*
Jamie - wow, that must be fun! I have a colleague whose husband takes her kids on war protests and sit-ins. It’s so foreign to me that I can’t help but be jealous!
Robin - Here, let me refill that for ya….that’s a great reply (and probably a few posts of your own). Your line there is perfect, their happiness has nothing to do with our actions. Which is true in 90% of life. So thanks for sharing. That really made me think.
My Dad is a Peach! He’ll be 80 this year and he and MotherDear moved in with me 2 years ago. I love that he still loves my mother after all these many years. I love listening to his many stories! I love listening to him sing play the piano and guitar. I love watching him dance with MotherDear. I love that he makes great burgers on the grill. I love that he raised me to always speak my mind, but to always do it with respect. I loved his reaction the first time he realized I was of a different political affilation! I love that he still misses my Mr. X. I wouldn’t change a single thing about my Dad. I am the oldest of 8 children, and I am very blessed to be his daughter.