Families
by: an Angel Friend

Saturday Ramblins, Vol. 2, No. 14 (July 17,1999)

Families can be heartless without even knowing it. I grew up in a family with two sisters and two brothers being the baby of the family for ten years until my sister came along.

Dad drank a lot. He spent a great deal of time at the Polish American Citizen's club. I remember having to sit there at the table in the corner. Mom on the other hand was, and still is, an angel on earth. She's one heck of a lady.

I have a brother who is ten years older and a sister who is eight years older. When the other children came -- my brother is just two years older than me -- it must have seemed to my Mom that she had two families.

When I was ten years old, my baby sister came into the world. With the two older siblings out on their own, it made me a "middle child." It seemed to me that my brother received all the attention and support from Dad, and the baby of course received all of what was left.

Dad being Dad could never relate to his girls the way he could to his boys. I guess it must be something in men, or maybe he just didn't know how.To this day it baffles me. Daddy's little girls had to be perfect and pretty little princesses sitting in the corner. It was okay for the boys to be "men".

There came a time when my oldest sister eloped. She knew that her choice would never meet Dad's expectations for a son-in-law. Today, he still holds this attitude towards my brother-in-law. The fact that he has been a wonderful husband to my sister and a fabulous father to their two children notwithstanding. He is also a doting Grandfather. After my sister eloped, I was the one left to show the world that Dad's daughter' were "good" girls.

However, something happened to make me less than perfect in his eyes. At the age of 13 I was raped and was lucky to survive the attack. Dad's attitude was clear: you survived. You must have not fought hard enough to ward off your attacker. What did you do to invite this attack? I just couldn't meet his demands to be prefect. I stopped trying and worked on surviving the rest of my life as best I could.

Three years ago my mother suffered a stroke. My parents moved in with me as Dad was incapable of caring for Mom on his own. I also think Dad moved in here with the expectations that he, once again, would be the head of a family -- in control, making sure all was well or at least well at his eye level. It may be he's trying to do what he failed to do in his earlier years.

It has been a rude awakening for him. I know he never expected to find a happy, independent, and capable person in this child of his. But today with my daughters, grandchildren, and friends, he sees how rich my life has become in spite of him. It's quite ironic: the child he seemed to despise while growing up is the only one out of five children who was willing and able to lend a hand in his time of need. I can see it in his eyes. My loving Mom deserves the care I give her. I probably could be the bigger person and take the first step, but I also feel that this is something he has to work out in his own heart. God help me and forgive me for thinking the way I do, but if it wasn't for Mom, Dad, would be in a home.

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