Daddy Dearest

"Without a family, man, alone in the world, trembles with the cold."

My relationship with my father can be described as a rollercoaster ride; it has its ups and downs and it’s stressful as hell. My parents got a divorce when I was four years old, he moved to Ireland and I stayed in Egypt with my mother. He got remarried and so did she and I was in the middle of a cold war and a bitter divorce.  To tell you about my relationship and similarities with my dad I would have to first explain to you how my parents are exact opposites; my mother is a sweet heart, even when she gets mad at me when I screw up as I did many times during my “rebellious” years she would always end up making amends between us because she couldn’t handle us not talking and that sweetness was part of her problem with my father. You see my mother is needy and always wants affection and attention almost like a puppy that desperately wants to feel your love and be hugged all day long if possible. My father however is a whole different story; he despises any emotional gestures and would never buy a puppy because it’s too much commitment and he’ll end up petting the neighbors golden retriever if you know what I mean. At the end of the day my mother was an affectionate person who needed to feel you care and my father was an emotionally unavailable cat who would only let you pet him or show care for a split second before he scratches your arms.

 

As I grew up and started traveling back and forth between Egypt and Ireland to please both my parents I ended up faced with completely two different ways of treatment; seeing my father after a year of being in Egypt we would shake hands and maybe if I’m lucky and there’s a family friend around he would give me an awkward two inch apart hug and then we would move on. He taught me to depend on my self and to never need a soul even him, he gave me tough love and treated me like a soldier in combat and he was my general. I’ll be honest at first every time I saw him it physically made me sick that I can never hug my father and not feel like I walked on the subway and hugged a random stranger, I still remember the last time my father told me he loved me and gave me an earnest hug; I was 6 years old and it was the day we found out he has Hepatitis C and would eventually develop liver failure because lets face it he would never end his relationship with whiskey; after all it’s the longest one he had. When I say “we” found out yes I mean we; I was never treated as a child, problems were problems and we don’t sugar coat them in my family we face them like soldiers in battle. My mother always faces emotions instead of her problems though; she would sit and cry and tell you how much she’s depressed and how much we all made her feel unloved but she would never face an actual problem like my older half brother using drugs, instead she would hide under her covers quite literally and just wonder where she went wrong and why is everyone trying to make her life hell instead of throwing him in a clinic and fixing him up. My dad on the other hand would bottle down any emotion he has, he mastered the art of denial and got him self a PHD in shoving emotions away with hard liquor and unhealthy amount of work.

            I always wondered since we all grow up to be another version of our parents no matter how hard you fight it and especially the more you fight it you end up having the same screwed up issues and insecurities one of your parents had, so which one would I end up like? That question drove me mad for years I did everything humanly possible to stray from both of them because let’s face it who wants to be a needy puppy or a drunk unemotional cat who can’t be approached with any sign of love. So I decided I’ll be the middle ground; ill be the logical problem facing offspring with the ability to hug and make people I care about feel loved and boy was I naïve.  You see my relationship with my father got better, I started to enjoy his company instead of loathing it, I started to look forward to our talks and our alone time which used to be filled with endless silence and so many built up anger, bitterness and questions like why did you leave me behind. But all that changed once we started drinking together! How weird is that our mutual love for a good scotch brought us together, I guess you could say it was too stressful to be around each other to the point that alcohol was needed. One specific day changed everything though; we were in our house in Malaga, Spain after a year of not seeing each other or communicating. The house had no character and no homey feeling to it, when you walked into the black front door you would never be expecting someone baking cookies and a welcoming hello at the door, it felt more like an office where everything is all business and everything smelled like leather. We sat in the living room that of course had no family pictures or anything of sentimental value, the couch was black and leather and it was as cold as the heart of the person who owns it and the walls were white and empty except for one framed painting of some famous old musician sitting alone on the curb with a cigarette in his mouth and a bottle of whiskey next to him, I hated this painting with a passion; it felt too familiar to my old man, you could almost hear the pain and loneliness it screamed. So as I try to look at anything else in the room that might give me comfort, my old man sat in front of me and told me it was time to talk about my future, told me how his time with me is limited and he wouldn’t live long enough to keep “cuddling” me and in my head I laughed at the idea of my dad cuddling me. He told me how sick he was getting like he was telling me the stock market wasn’t doing so well and I sat there not sure how I should react or how I felt, he told me I need to start manning up and be responsible and that no one is ever going to be there to take care of me and that was my job, it was my responsibility to take care of my self always and that my work would be the only thing I have that can’t hurt me.  I started feeling sick to my stomach; between his words that felt like I was being stabbed in the stomach with a million shards of glass and that damn painting that kept screaming at me how lonely and harsh the world is. My mouth kept quiet you see I was good at that silence was my comfort always but my eyes betrayed my trust and started to tear and a part of me expected him to see that tear and hug me and tell me everything will be okay but of course that wasn’t his way, instead he looked at me and said “ look how weak you are? How can you ever make it in the world if you cry whenever you hear something that upsets you? How can you stand up for yourself if you can’t stand up to me?” but he didn’t get it. I wasn’t crying because he hurt me and not even because he told me he was sick but it was because I wanted to hug him and comfort him and every bone in my body refused to. I felt paralyzed, I felt angry at my tears and I felt disgusted by my pain and my emotional need for comfort. I wanted to run and hide as soon as the tears started running down my cheek; I couldn’t control them because It was the first time I ever cried and it was the very first time I felt pain and I knew very well how to keep my emotions in check all my life and mastered the art of being cold and distant but no one taught me what you are suppose to do when these emotions trick you and come streaming down your face. So I did what my dad would want me to do; I whipped those nasty toxic tears away and I stood up and walked away and from that moment on I was never the same. Some how I grew colder and day-by-day those emotions and that pain were bottled up along with everything else I was uncomfortable with.

 

My story isn’t a sob sad story where you feel bad about how messed up I became but how strong I learned to be; my techniques may not be what you are used to but they seem to work for me. I believe I’m genuinely a strong person and it might not be healthy for me but it is the comfort I get from knowing that everyone I care about has a strong wall behind him or her. I may not be the one who is going to hug you, cry with you at night or tell you how much I love you but I am the person who will help you with your problems when you are too broken to face them, I am the person who will make you laugh when you are sad instead of holding your hand and telling you let it all out and I am the person you can always depend on not breaking and to me that is what matters so I guess at the end of the day I’m glad I ended up like my old man even if that means I am a little screwed up and like whiskey a bit too much, we’re all screwed up in  a way I guess this is just mine.