On the post about my mother’s happiness, one of the comments got me thinking. Why don’t I write about my dad? Why do I only analyze my mother? The truth is, I’ve only lately begun to analyze my father as well.
For much of my life, I’ve been daddy’s little girl. I never questioned his love for me the way I did my mother’s. My mother was moody, unpredictable, easily angered. On the other hand, my father was stable, calm, and rational. His love for me was always transparently unconditional. As they have aged, and since I’ve become an adult and a mother, those labels have shifted, at least from my point of view. For example my mother now is pretty predictable and doesn’t get angry at me much anymore (she still gets angry at my dad a lot, though). On the other hand, my dad is growing more cantankerous as he gets older.
It’s hard to read my dad. We don’t talk. I think that’s the saddest thing about our relationship. Oh, we talk about very shallow things: how is work? how are the kids? how are your finances? But we don’t actually have conversations. I am not exactly sure why, because he converses just fine with friends and coworkers and even my cousins. When my cousin (around my age) moved here from Taiwan during college, she lived with us for a few months before finding her own apartment. She and my dad talked all the time about her day, about her friends, about her classes, while I writhed with jealousy.
When I try to talk to him, the conversation dies before it even begins. He’s just not very receptive. Also, I have no clue what to talk about that would hold his interest. Sometimes he will leave the room while I am talking. I always thought it was because he was absent minded. Now, I don’t know.
Despite us not really talking, he seems to know me very well. There have been rare moments when he catches a snippet of conversation between me and my mother, and says something that tells me that he knows exactly who I am and what drives me. Or maybe it is because he knows himself. A few years ago, I made everyone in my family take one of those personality tests. It was a lengthy one with more than 100 questions. My dad and I got exactly the same score in every section. It was eye-opening, because I always thought I was more like my mother. (Interestingly, AJ and my mom got very similar scores. So…I guess I married my mother?)
This past New Year’s Eve, AJ and I went to a Colombian party. One of our friends, Eduardo, brought his college-aged children to the party. At one point during the night, I heard loud laughter, and turned around to see Eduardo, his son and daughter, and a few other people laughing together. Eduardo’s daughter was laughing so hard that she was leaning against her father and clutching his arm. I couldn’t stop staring, I was so in awe. I could never in a million years picture my father and I in such a situation. Not so much the touching, because we’re Asian, but just being in a social setting and laughing so hard together.
I have no conclusion because I’ve only just started thinking about the relationship between my dad and I. Perhaps I’ll write more about it if I figure it out.
Yes I think I talk about my mother and our relationship all the time too. I rarely ever talk about my Dad. It’s like there is nothing to be said. There is this understanding without expectation. Then again he died 10 years ago. I think I just want an opportunity to sit next to him, even if we didn’t talk. Just sit there. I wonder what it would be like? Would it be enough?