Alice hates ...

So, I had to turn music on, at my desk. Loudly. Because I'm falling asleep reading Penny Arcade. And while there's really no one here to stop me, it just feels wrong.

Side note: +44. Seriously, someone has to have broken down and bought it by now. And it ain't gonna be me. (I'll be there when your heart stops beating!)

Additional side note: I have a night off, so maybe I can steal Cassie's music tonight. Sweet.

Okay, back to it.


I promised I would blog about my conversation with Dad the other night. So here goes.

I left work at 6, and because traffic sucked, I made it home a little after 7. Just in time to pick up Dad. We had to run an errand for mom (needed a white labcoat), so I put on some Beatles and started driving.

"What are you doing on the 23rd?" Dad asked.
"Drinking. Hard."
"Well, your grandparents want to have dinner with you then," he explained.
"Well, unless they're down for having dinner at The Library on Mill, I think they'd best not plan on it." Dad looked a little sad after that, so I tried to tone down my sarcasm. "They'll be here on the 24th, right? I can have dinner with them then."

Apparently, David is scheduled for dinner on the 24th. And they leave on the 25th, while I'm working in the morning. My response? "Well, tell them it was great seeing them. Maybe I'll catch them next time there's some rare pigeon flying through California."

Which did not go over well, either. Dad's getting quieter and quieter, which was not the effect I was going for. I flipped through to I Am the Walrus, in case it would cheer him up. It didn't work.

So after awhile, I ask him if I did something wrong. And Dad, being Dad, being the best person I know, proceeds to break it down for me.

He told me, in essence, that he'd done the same thing I'm doing now with his dad (*).
He grew up mad at his father, mostly because of the ridiculous standards Grandpa had for him, feeling like he would never be able to match those expectations. So he tried to kill his relationship with his father. Just sort of cut it off for a while.

(*Note: Like father, like daughter.)

And he said that when he grew up, he learned that all that did was cause pain and waste time. Time that he could have used in a relationship, he spent being angry over small things that didn't really matter in the end anyway. So he stopped, and started doing what he could to repair his relationship with Grandpa.

But, he said, there's all sorts of things he can't go back and do again. Like Margaret. He can't go back and talk to (my great) Grandma Margaret. Or talk to Poppy again.

(Backstory: Poppy is Dad's grandfather. My great grandfather. Poppy came from Italy, held dual citizenship in Portugal (or something) immigrated here, set up a tile business in Galveston, married Margaret, lived a good life, until he died. Of a heart attack, I think. Poppy is my dad's hero. The best man my dad ever knew, he says. Says often, that he learned more about being a man from Poppy than he ever did from his dad. "Peter could kill himself with a screwdriver," he says)

(So this is where Dad gets the man-tears. And goes slightly off topic. I think he was just feeling a little emotional, and it all ran together)

He'll never be able to introduce me to Poppy, to show him how proud he is of me. To show him one of my articles.

He tells me he understands why I'm angry at the grandparents, and that I have every right to be. That I'm old enough to tell them where to stick it, and I no longer have to arrange my life for them. It's my decision now, and he'll support whatever it is I decide to do. That he no longer has the power to command an audience for them, and if David can't switch for Friday, he'll tell them so.

"But just don't look down on me for trying," he said.

I don't. I couldn't, ever.


The whole night made made me feel ... something. Not bad, really. More self-aware.

Again, it's me being mad at them, and killing the relationship as a result. I've gotten so angry over all the things they did and didn't do when I was little, that somewhere along the way, I just decided it would be less emotionally draining to just not care. Sort of like what happened with David.

I'm holding tight to my anger, and it works for me. But I hate that it kills Dad. Because I can see that he'd love us to be ... not a perfect, nuclear family... but I know the distance between us all grates on him. And Dad, wanting to be a hero and a provider, and a man that wants to fix something when it's broken, feels obligated to help facilitate the relationship. So he's stuck, trying to deal with the ridiculous actions of his parents, and trying to deal with me, being young and angry.

Basically, I haven't made up my mind as to what to do. Likely, when we have dinner, I'll continue to be polite yet distant. A perfect example of grace and civility. Because that's what I've been for years, with them. Always, I think. Maybe not when I was a baby, but that hardly counts. Course, I'll admit the interactions are entirely of my own construction now... But don't want a relationship with them at this point. I want them to stop trying. Or stop pretending to try.

Anyway, the conversation wound down for a bit, until Dad mentioned that he'd been to overprotective of me, and that's he's trying to work on getting over that. And that if I wanted to have Waffles over on the 25th, I could. He'd be happy to meet him. It was sweet.


And, when it's all said and done, let me also mention (specifically, to Rachel, since she's the only one I haven't told yet) Dad got his promotion. The ceremony will be on the 23rd, I think. Want to come?