Saturday, May 30, 1998
7:56PM
"Marriage is not something to do out of convenience or tradition. It is something that should only happen if two people look into each other's eyes and realize their lives would be empty if they did not have the other to share it with."
-- Facing the Mask aka Zach's Online Journal, May 29, 1998
I was going to write about how I bought three jars of Welch's grape and strawberry jam, just to have the Pooh jars it came packaged in, and ramble about a few other things, but I'll save those for later. On one of the now three journal/diary mailing lists I'm subscribed to, Carolyn of Writer's Block pointed out Zach's entry about the murder of Phil Hartman, and in it, he wrote the above, which stood out in my mind.
Today, while Mom and I were on our way to or back from getting her perm at her cousin's, the topic of marriage came up, and she asked if I was going to invite my dad to my wedding. I really don't know. I was answering a letter from Gillian, and I got off on the subject, but decided it was probably something I might want to address here.
If I've rambled about this before, please forgive me and feel free to move on to something more interesting to read about. You probably know by now if you read my biographical entries that my parents have been divorced for most of my life. My mom remarried once, and that didn't work out very well, but my dad remained single for a long time. That was fine with me; he had various girlfriends, and I'd occasionally have to spend some time at their places, do things with their kids or grandkids (usually the latter), and so on and so forth. I really didn't mind all that.
After I was out of high school, Dad had a new girlfriend; she was a widow, and she'd never had any kids. He took me over to her place a few times (she lived probably less than 5 miles from me, while Dad lived in the next county), and so I got to know her a little. I don't think she was ever quite sure what to make of me; I was still a kid, so to speak, but I didn't act like one. Still, in her eyes, I was a kid.
She was not good with kids, and she rubbed me the wrong way from the start, so I more or less kept to myself whenever I was over there. I remember one time I did enjoy myself when it was just the three of us, playing Rummikub (sp?) or somesuch, but most of the time, I tried to lose myself in a book or the likes. I don't know how much of my dislike Dad picked up on, but if he did, he never said anything about it; nor did I.
By this time, visits with him were few and far between, and I'd go for months at a time, not seeing him. Not a big deal, I guess; I'd grown up past the point where I wanted to run away from home and live with him, because he was more fair than Mom. When I was younger, I'd go to Dad's for the weekend and be spoiled, and when I came home, I was always unhappy and depressed, wanting that sort of life again. Not that he lavished me with gifts or anything -- if I wanted something and asked for it, he probably would have bought it for me, but I was never the kind of kid to ask for things. I just had more control over what I did, what I ate, and so on, and I think most of all, I got attention from him.
He's a handyman kind of guy, and he'd always be working on some little project when I was there for the weekend. One time, one of my big brothers had gotten mad and punched his fist through the hall closet door in the entryway. So Dad took the door down off its hinges, cut a piece of paneling the size of the door, and used carpenter's glue to glue it over the broken side of the door. A little tacky, maybe, but I thought it was neat, because when he was putting on the glue, he wrote out my name in huge letters with it. Another time, he'd gotten an old electric cash register from someone -- who knows where -- and the drawer was locked and we had no key. We spent an entire afternoon taking off the casing, popping off number keys and springs and so on and so on, just totally destroying the register and seeing how it was put together. We did finally get the drawer open, and guess what was inside? The keys, of course!
I also 'helped' him build a gazebo around the jacuzzi, and even got up on the roof with him one December to put up Christmas lights, when the family Christmas party was going to be at his house. Keep in mind, this is in Southern California... Christmas day is often in the 80s and it was sunny the day we climbed up on the roof. I'd never tell Mom I was up there; she'd throw a fit! But those were the kinds of things I did with my dad. I'd help him change the spark plugs and air and oil filters on one of the cars, or wash the van, or fix someone's plumbing; I loved being his helper, I supposed because it made me feel needed, and included. Anyway, when he met his latest girlfriend, all this sort of stopped. It wasn't right away... I remember doing a few little things with him after that, but not much.
A year or two after I graduated, he was active in the nearby Elk's Lodge, and they'd have their Memorial Day barbecue, or maybe it was Labor Day, I can't remember. Anyway, he picked me up for the barbecue, and she was there, but so were a couple of my sisters, and their husbands and fiancees, so I stayed with them for the most part. Anyway, after everything was over, Dad took me home (just a couple miles) before he went back to help clean up, and on the way back, he told me that he and his girlfriend were going to be going on a honeymoon cruise. "Without the honeymoon," he added quickly. I'm not sure if that was because of the stunned expression I wore, or what, but I should have known it then.
I didn't hear from him for about six months, and when he called the next time, he had some news for me. He was married. To Her. Oh joy. I attended a few family functions after that, but the one that sticks most in my mind was another family Christmas party (this is an aunts and uncles and nephews and neices and cousins and all that sort of thing affair). My neice and I (she was about 7) were together talking, and she said something about not liking her Grandpa Don's new wife, because She kept her grandpa from spending much time with her. Seems I wasn't the only one who didn't like her terribly well.
I'd bought them some little Christmas gift, I'm not sure if it was that year or the year before, but she came right out and told me in no uncertain terms that I shouldn't have done that; A card would have been fine. I don't know if she meant it the way it came across, but it wasn't said very nicely.
It was the following December when Mom and I moved to Missouri. I got to attend one more family Christmas, thanks to Delina driving me there, and Dad came and cornered me in another room where his wife wasn't, and gave me $50 in Christmas money; I understood that he didn't want her knowing. I think that says it all.
I went out there visiting my friends from high school the following May, and since my Dad's birthday was while I was out there, I bought him a card and mailed it and told him that I'd be in town until such and such a date. I think I mailed it about a week early, and I know I had the correct address, but I never heard anything from him.
He has written me once, back here. I don't know if my sister had given him my address or if he got it off of one of the cards. He'd had foot surgery, and told me about that and wanted to know how I was doing. I wrote back, but I haven't heard from him since. That was probably three years ago this December; maybe even four.
Geeze, whose marriage am I talking about here? I didn't intend for this to go into so much past history, but since I've brought it up, I might as well carry on.
Anyway, as I said, Mom asked me if I was going to invite him, and I'm still debating. They didn't even tell me they were getting married. I'm tempted to mail them a fancy invitation -- even if I only have one single invitation made -- so they get it the day before the wedding. How's that? Mean, I know... but sometimes it's really hard to be nice to someone, when you feel like you no longer matter to them.
I remember when I was really young -- six or seven, maybe a little older than that -- Dad would take me to the steel pipe company where he worked. I had my own little hard hat, so I could go back in the shop. One of his friends, "Uncle Kelley" to me, would take me up in his crane that they used to load the steel pipes onto trucks to deliver. At one time, I daresay I was the apple of my dad's eye. Now... actually, part of me believes that it's his wife who is either intercepting cards and letters, or just telling him not to have anything to do with me. Still... he's not some little kid. Surely, he could arrange some method of communication that she wouldn't foil, if that were the case. I don't know...
Yes, I should invite them. Yes, I want him there. I don't want Her there, but if she comes then so be it. You know, I think that's another reason that's keeping me from wanting a big wedding. What's a big wedding without the father to give away the bride?
I don't get it... Jevim can't stand his father most of the time... I want mine in my life, but I'm too scared of that witch he married to even try.
I was feeling so up earlier... now I'm sitting here with a slightly streaked face.
Three links from my websearch for the BPOE, I'm sitting, looking at a screen with the phone number and address for my dad's lodge. Should I call? Should I chicken out and mail him a picture? I don't know. There's a part of me that really would love to hear his voice. There's a part of me that is afraid that somehow I'll wind up talking to Her instead. There's a part of me that wants to demand to know why he has had so little contact with me since I moved. My sister has my address, and my phone number too, I think. He knows that. Still, that doesn't mean much. Should I call? I won't. I wish Jev were online. He could convince me to call, and I know it's something I really should do.
Okay, I took the easy way out. I dug up an old birthday card I'd bought with Will in mind -- eagle on the cover, nothing flowery or anything like that -- and wrote him a quick note, belatedly wishing him a happy birthday, telling him I'm moving next May and getting married sometime after that, and that I'm engaged. Okay, so that part's not quite official yet, but I can hope it might be soon. I included one of the pictures from the portrait session Jev and I had; I've changed a lot since he last saw me: I got my waist length hair cut veryshort, and was wearing contacts for the photo, plus I've put on twenty pounds or so. Wonder if he'll recognize me. Or if his wife will. Anyway, I addressed the envelope to him, care of his lodge, and I hope that he'll get it. I gave him my phone number and address, and said I'd love to hear from him. Maybe he'll get the hint. Now I just need to mail it, and we'll see what happens. Now that I know where to find the phone number for the lodge . . . if I ever feel the urge to call and try to catch him, I can.
I sure didn't know where this entry was going to lead. Thanks, Zach... and Mom. Let's hope for the best.
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