I have totally dropped the ball on this blogging every day commitment. The last week has been insane. So far, I have evaded the illness, but my wife and son are still only about 75% well.
I got the applications in, got the bare minimum of my work hours completed, and even hosted my dad with his brand new fiance (and a whole 24-hour’s notice) on Sunday.
I’ll hopefully join the sperm donor blog carnival here tomorrow, bringing up the rear. If not, I’ll hit it next time. I am just so, very tapped out.
I have to complain for a minute about my dad, though. My therapist has called him a sperm donor. I sort of take offense to that. I have more respect for our donor. At least he was selfless for a moment.
Here’s a little known fact: my own dad has not acknowledged my son’s birthday two years in a row. Oh, he was so excited about him during his first year. He came to visit a few times. It was really something else, considering he and I hadn’t spoken or seen one another in several years prior to the pregnancy. But then he missed BG’s first birthday (even though he had confirmed just a few days prior that he was coming–he had a church thing with a lady friend or something), and he ignored his second birthday entirely. I know it’s just a birthday, but it’s the damn principle. We’re an afterthought to him.
I think a lot of this ignoring of his grandson started when after about six months of not seeing my son, we ran into him at the hospital where we were meeting BG’s new cousin. BG had no idea who this man was who wanted to pick him up, and he was in the throes of stranger anxiety, so he cried. My dad got all bent out of shape and actually walked off in a huff. Yes he did. He walked off in a huff because an eleven-month-old child didn’t throw himself at him after not seeing him for six months. Oy.After that, in my dad’s mind, he had a reason not to follow through. The kid didn’t like him anymore, so he didn’t have to put in any effort. It’s just too much work for him to connect with his first grandchild (just as it’s too much work for him to connect with his first child). Life can’t be all about him when he’s around a young child, and that just doesn’t work out so well for him.
Oh, but he came for a visit yesterday, and he wanted me to meet his fiance whom he’s been dating for a few weeks (so lesbian of them). I found out about this engagement on his facebook announcement. They both insisted that J and BG and I come to their big church wedding. She said, “We want all of our kids there since we’re all going to be one big family now!”
Ha. Hahahahahahahahahahaha. Ha.
I have never been more than a distant relative to my dad, and in recent years, well, my readers know me far better than this man does. This lady is a little bit disillusioned–or my dad has given her a whole different picture of who we are to one another. I’ll tell you this: I don’t see myself sitting around a Thanksgiving table with her five kids and their multitude of children and my deadbeat, live-at-home and play computer games, 29-year-old half-brother. Okay, so my other brother would be there, with his sweet little boy and his wife, but I can see them elsewhere, which is what I plan to do because this whole big merged family thing is a joke to me, a really sick and sligtly sad joke.
I’m so tired of being expected to fake my way through a relationship with my dad.
My wife wishes I would cut him out permanently, but he’s family (sort of), and I have a hard time doing that with family. He did, after all, teach me how to drive. But that’s really what I’ve gotten from him. I have only a handful of memories with him, and most of them are about me putting in the effort while he ignores me (or while he takes and takes and takes because he’s an emotional leech). So I keep my distance. And I complain a lot whenever there’s an encounter. And I don’t go out of my way to see him–hell, I downright avoid him as much as possible.
It’s sad to feel this way about one’s father, but I am at a stage in my life where I have far more than my own feelings about missing out on having a dad to deal with. I have a beautiful little boy who looks up to the men in his life so much, a boy who falls in love with any man willing to read him a story or play tools with him. I can’t have him falling in love with this guy–his “Grandpops”–because he’ll break my boy’s heart over and over again. He’ll break my heart a thousand times over. I just don’t know where to go from here.