A Tale of Two Fathers

This is the story of two fathers. Both have a daughter, one also has a son. One tries hard to be a good father, the other, not so much. Both continually hurt their daughters – but one doesn’t realize it and the other doesn’t care. Which is worse? How does a daughter learn to live her life without the paternal recognition every daughter craves, whether she knows it or not? How can a father cause so much pain and not even realize it – or in one case, not even care?

Let’s begin with Lexie’s father. You all know the story – and you all know how it breaks my heart to see her desperately wanting to understand why her father isn’t here. She wrote a letter to him just about a month ago – in fact, I mailed it exactly a month ago today. This is the letter (you may have to click on it to enlarge it a bit):


Guess what? To date, she hasn’t gotten any response. And the letter didn’t come back “Return to Sender,” so he probably did get it, he just didn’t care. His daughter tries to make some contact, get some answers – reach out to the asshole, for God’s sake, and he can’t even be bothered. Ironically, her birthday came and went since she mailed him the letter as well. You’d think maybe a pang of conscience would make him at least respond and wish her a happy birthday. But his silence only proves what I’ve pretty much known all along – he is a heartless, cold bastard who cares about no one but himself and his drugs and booze. I’m just sorry that Lexie had to have her heart broken again waiting for a letter that will probably never come.

She has a new favorite song now, too. Lindsay Loahn’s “Confessions of a Broken Heart.” She plays it a lot and knows all the words by heart. When I actually listened to the words, I felt a rage build up in me and wanted to go directly to Florida and find him and kill him. He doesn’t deserve her tears, or her heart. Yet he gets both, because daughters can’t help but want to have their fathers love them unconditionally.

Which brings me to my own father. I have said repeatedly in past posts how much I love my dad, and how grateful I am to have him in my life, and that is true. Yet he is the one person who has the power to make me feel like a loser and often does. The one person who can cause more pain with his words or actions than any fists ever could. And yet? I can’t imagine not having him in my life.

Ever since I was little, my dad had a plan for me. I was going to be and do everything he didn’t. Of course, things didn’t work out exactly that way. He expected perfection, in every area, and I failed miserably. I got a C in Honors Advanced Algebra in high school, and therefore he ignored all the A’s and B’s in my other honors courses. “Not good enough.” I wasn’t athletic, but my brother was. Dad coached practically every team my brother ever played on, and was at every game. In grammar school, I was in gymnastics – the only sport I really enjoyed. I wasn’t the best, but I tried hard. I’ll never forget the one gymnastics meet I ever participated in… I had worked hard and practiced for weeks, and on the day of the big event, my father showed up. I couldn’t wait to show him that I was good, too. But then? He left. He said he was tired of waiting, that it was taking too long.

He never saw me compete at all that day. And I never participated in another meet again.

One time, he had a coworker over for dinner. I must have been about 12 or 13, and my brother about 10. They walked in and this guy sees my brother and says, “So you’re Bob! I’ve heard so much about you! How’s the baseball/football/basketball going? Your dad talks about you all the time!” I stood there smiling, and then he turned to me. “Oh, and you must be Ray’s daughter,” he said casually. My heart fell. He didn’t even know my name. It was obvious who the superstar was in my dad’s eyes. And it wasn’t me.

I never felt “good enough.” Yet I busted my ass to make him proud of me. Still do, in fact. But I always wind up feeling “less than.”

During my drug years, we obviously drifted even further apart. (Heck, I drifted from everyone, though.) When my parents divorced, I hated him. Then I quit using and in recovery, I again reached out to him. He supported me, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes. Again, I had let him down. I tried to get past it, and built up a relationship again. We were closer than ever, but there was still the underlying current of disappointment and disdain.

The thing is, I love my dad. But he hurts me so much and doesn’t seem to realize it. Even at my age, I feel like a little girl every time I talk to him – when he mocks my choice in tv shows (“I don’t want to hear about that. Seriously. Don’t talk to me about stupid shows like that, I don’t care”), laughs at my “gullibility” (“Oh, come on! That dj was just doing a bit! You don’t really think he ‘just happened’ to call that person, do you? Yeah, dad! It was funny! God, how stupid are you? It’s all for ratings!”), or, as happened last night, makes me feel like a complete fuck-up ( “Satan had every right to be upset!! Come on, Dasi! You goof off and then when you get caught, you get upset? You’ve got a lot of nerve! If you were MY employee, I’d fire you! But dad, I wasn’t late! And did you even hear what I told you he said to me? Yeah, I did, and you deserve it! Of course, YOU are always right, and everyone else is wrong, right? I just don’t understand you! But dad, I work HARD, and I do a GOOD JOB! I don’t always goof off! And I don’t think I should be treated that way. No, you never do? Do you? Like I said, you’re always right. You’re a real piece of work”).

I cried. Because after that conversation, it occurred to me, the more things change, the more they stay the same. I am still trying to please my father, and he is still making me feel inadequate. The ironic thing is, I seriously don’t think he even realizes it. Like when he went over to my brother’s on Father’s Day (my sister-in-law went out with her sister and their father) after he told Lexie “No, I don’t want to go to Great America with you, it’s Father’s Day, which means I do what I want.” Didn’t even invite Lexie and me, or tell us about it until the day was over. And then had no clue as to why I was hurt. (Although that ignorant situation fell on my brother too, for not inviting us either.) Sure, he apologized, but he was still baffled as to why an apology was necessary.

Or when I brought him to the Cubs game in $150 seats that I really couldn’t afford (once again, trying hard to get his approval) – and he complained all the way back to my brother’s (who lives about a mile from Wrigley) about the fact that I didn’t park in a lot by the stadium and we had to walk. And when I tried to call a cab, told me to “Hang up the phone! What, are you stupid? You can’t call for a cab in this area! You just have to FIND one!” He called and apologized the next day, and thanked me for the day, but once again I felt like I had screwed up.

Or every time we go out to eat and he makes little comments (“Sure, Lex, we can order cheesesticks, as long as your MOM doesn’t eat them” or “Geez, Dasi, do you really need to get all that food?”), and when I tell him how I’ve been exercising he’ll be all like “Well, we’ll see how long THAT lasts.” I never considered myself obese, but apparently I’m not thin enough for dad.

He called me this morning to ask if I was still mad at him, and I told him I was. He laughed. He asked if I was going to stay mad forever, and I said, “Maybe.” So he told me to have a good day and said goodbye.

Maybe that is why I am still single. Because I honestly don’t feel “good enough.” I feel like a stupid, gullible, overweight person who can’t do anything right. Why would anyone want to be with a woman like me?

A tale of two fathers. I wish to God they both would wake up and realize how destructive their words (or lack thereof) can be to their daughters. At any age. Because little girls will always love their daddies, no matter what. It would just be a lot easier if it didn’t hurt so damn much.

"Confessions of a Broken Heart"

I wait for the postman to bring me a letter.
And I wait for the good Lord to make me feel better.
And I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders.
Family in crisis that only grows older.
Why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?

Daughter to father, daughter to father!
I am broken, but I am hoping.
Daughter to father, daughter to father!
I am crying, a part of me's dying.
But these are, these are confessions of a broken heart!

And I wear all your old clothes your polo sweater.
dream of another you, one who would never.
Never, leave me alone to pick up the pieces.
Daddy to hold me, that's what I needed.
So,why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?

Daughter to father, daughter to father!
I don't know you, but I still want to.
Daughter to father, daughter to father!
Tell me the truth, did you ever love me?
'Cause these are, these are the confessions of a broken heart!
Of a broken heart!

I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I ...!
I love you!

Daughter to father, daughter to father!
I don't know you, but I still want to.
Daughter to father, daughter to father!
Tell me the truth, did you ever love me?
Did you ever love me?
These are the confessions of a broken heart!
Ohh ... yeah

I wait for the postman to bring me a letter.