Father's Day
On Friday, Dad set the kitchen on fire. Inadvertantly.
He put some oil in a pan to fry some lamb chops, then went outside. He was out there for about 15 minutes, and when he came back in, the pan was on fire. The cabinets were scorched, as was the exhaust hood and the wall and ceiling over the stove. The surface of the control panel on the stove is a bit melted, but the buttons can still be used.
Dad cleaned the hood and the cabinets and would repain the part of the wall and ceiling that got scorched.
Dad seems to be doing better, but he doesn't get out. He doesn't talk to anyone other than my godmother, my sister and her family, and the neighbor.
While we were there, my niece called for him to pick her up at her boyfriend's and to bring her home. She could easily walk, but won't. Steady Eddie and I had just arrived, but that really didn't matter. He left us to go pick her up.
Our visit was relatively short. He talked again about the will, how I'm now in it...and reminded me that my sister not only gets her house (valued at 1/2M that my father purchased for her) but also the house he is now living in. He has willed it to my neice (who is mentally retarded), and we are all sure my sister will sell it, take the proceeds and pay off her house.
She not only gets the house, but an inheritance--as well as her children getting a small inheritance along with my parents' house.
After over a year of unemployment, my sister's husband found a job. Supposedly, he makes $30 an hour. I know that's a lie. He makes more. She has always lied about what they earned so that she could skim money from my parents. She has been doing this for close to 40 years now, and is fairly good at it. So good at it that she's passed the talent on to her drug-addicted son, who lies about his recovery (and his sexuality) to my father so that he can get $50 a day from him.
My sister would be making dinner for Father's Day, and we were grudginly invited.
My Father then proceeded to tell me his delusions about the neighbor coming on to him because she went outside to sunbathe, and how he was thinking of hitting on my godmother. He is 80, she is 75.
I knew my father was going out of control, was going to start yammering on about "de fire down berow!" and other such nonsense, and probably start talking about porn....and I didn't want to hear any of it. I told him how it was none of my business who he wanted to hit on, and that I wasn't talking to him about my sex life, so he should just watch his mouth and stop worrying about getting lucky.
When I started to talk about some work I'm doing on an article on blogging, he got up and walked out.
He doesn't care because he doesn't understand. He understands "a good job" in a factory and what they were doing the other night on Real Sex.
No one in the family has ever understood anything that I try to do to be something other than a boneheadded factory worker.
In the morning, I lost it in a 1/2 hour screaming fit. I am tired of being bullied by a bunch of people who are clueless about the world around them. I am tired of hearing about how the retarded are going to be far better taken care of than I ever was. I do not understand why it is more adventageous to throw good money after bad paying for various high-priced programs and schools geared for dyslexics when my neice is mentally retarded and there are many programs for those who are mentally retarded. I am tired of being less than, of being the goat, the family social worker, the "independent" one.
I am independent because there was never anyone to depend on.
When I was younger was told there was "no money" to provide me with an education. When I finally made it to college in my late 30's, I had to take out loans for my room, board and living expenses. Even though there was money for my neice, there was still no money for me.
I was not going to go over to my sister's and have her gloat about her beautiful house with the pool in the backyard. That my father paid for.
I am not the family goat. I am tired of this. Tired of being told about my father's problems, how he's giving everything to my waste of a sister and her dysfunctional brood.
And I'm just supposed to take care of myself.
My godmother says my father is so proud of me and of what I'm doing. I told her that is a lie. I am tired of this "old fashioned" way of not telling someone they are proud of what she might be doing and of re-inforcing how proud they are of the ones who are "simple-minded."
He is more proud of the simple, the drug-addled, alcoholic, chronically depressed, bi-polar, and totally dysfuctional than he could ever be of anything that I do in or with my life. He can't get it, therefore it has no value to him.
I have no value to him--other than as the family therapist, there to hear all his problems and his sex fantasies and how he has to take care of my sister.
We stopped by Sunday morning to say goodbye. I wasn't going to put up with the indignity of spending time with my sister's dysfunctional brood in a house my father has provided for her.
I wanted to tell him where to go and how to get there. But I thought about how he almost burned the house down on friday, and didn't think the timing was right. There will be another time to ream him a new one.
So we said goodbye and came back Up North.
I have work to do, and a complicated life to figure out. I want things to be good and not a frightening litany of tragedy and massive dysfunction. Even if that were the case, I couldn't rely on my father to take care of me. That's a priviledge reserved for the eldest sibling.
I, the afterthough, don't count.
That's just the way it is.
He put some oil in a pan to fry some lamb chops, then went outside. He was out there for about 15 minutes, and when he came back in, the pan was on fire. The cabinets were scorched, as was the exhaust hood and the wall and ceiling over the stove. The surface of the control panel on the stove is a bit melted, but the buttons can still be used.
Dad cleaned the hood and the cabinets and would repain the part of the wall and ceiling that got scorched.
Dad seems to be doing better, but he doesn't get out. He doesn't talk to anyone other than my godmother, my sister and her family, and the neighbor.
While we were there, my niece called for him to pick her up at her boyfriend's and to bring her home. She could easily walk, but won't. Steady Eddie and I had just arrived, but that really didn't matter. He left us to go pick her up.
Our visit was relatively short. He talked again about the will, how I'm now in it...and reminded me that my sister not only gets her house (valued at 1/2M that my father purchased for her) but also the house he is now living in. He has willed it to my neice (who is mentally retarded), and we are all sure my sister will sell it, take the proceeds and pay off her house.
She not only gets the house, but an inheritance--as well as her children getting a small inheritance along with my parents' house.
After over a year of unemployment, my sister's husband found a job. Supposedly, he makes $30 an hour. I know that's a lie. He makes more. She has always lied about what they earned so that she could skim money from my parents. She has been doing this for close to 40 years now, and is fairly good at it. So good at it that she's passed the talent on to her drug-addicted son, who lies about his recovery (and his sexuality) to my father so that he can get $50 a day from him.
My sister would be making dinner for Father's Day, and we were grudginly invited.
My Father then proceeded to tell me his delusions about the neighbor coming on to him because she went outside to sunbathe, and how he was thinking of hitting on my godmother. He is 80, she is 75.
I knew my father was going out of control, was going to start yammering on about "de fire down berow!" and other such nonsense, and probably start talking about porn....and I didn't want to hear any of it. I told him how it was none of my business who he wanted to hit on, and that I wasn't talking to him about my sex life, so he should just watch his mouth and stop worrying about getting lucky.
When I started to talk about some work I'm doing on an article on blogging, he got up and walked out.
He doesn't care because he doesn't understand. He understands "a good job" in a factory and what they were doing the other night on Real Sex.
No one in the family has ever understood anything that I try to do to be something other than a boneheadded factory worker.
In the morning, I lost it in a 1/2 hour screaming fit. I am tired of being bullied by a bunch of people who are clueless about the world around them. I am tired of hearing about how the retarded are going to be far better taken care of than I ever was. I do not understand why it is more adventageous to throw good money after bad paying for various high-priced programs and schools geared for dyslexics when my neice is mentally retarded and there are many programs for those who are mentally retarded. I am tired of being less than, of being the goat, the family social worker, the "independent" one.
I am independent because there was never anyone to depend on.
When I was younger was told there was "no money" to provide me with an education. When I finally made it to college in my late 30's, I had to take out loans for my room, board and living expenses. Even though there was money for my neice, there was still no money for me.
I was not going to go over to my sister's and have her gloat about her beautiful house with the pool in the backyard. That my father paid for.
I am not the family goat. I am tired of this. Tired of being told about my father's problems, how he's giving everything to my waste of a sister and her dysfunctional brood.
And I'm just supposed to take care of myself.
My godmother says my father is so proud of me and of what I'm doing. I told her that is a lie. I am tired of this "old fashioned" way of not telling someone they are proud of what she might be doing and of re-inforcing how proud they are of the ones who are "simple-minded."
He is more proud of the simple, the drug-addled, alcoholic, chronically depressed, bi-polar, and totally dysfuctional than he could ever be of anything that I do in or with my life. He can't get it, therefore it has no value to him.
I have no value to him--other than as the family therapist, there to hear all his problems and his sex fantasies and how he has to take care of my sister.
We stopped by Sunday morning to say goodbye. I wasn't going to put up with the indignity of spending time with my sister's dysfunctional brood in a house my father has provided for her.
I wanted to tell him where to go and how to get there. But I thought about how he almost burned the house down on friday, and didn't think the timing was right. There will be another time to ream him a new one.
So we said goodbye and came back Up North.
I have work to do, and a complicated life to figure out. I want things to be good and not a frightening litany of tragedy and massive dysfunction. Even if that were the case, I couldn't rely on my father to take care of me. That's a priviledge reserved for the eldest sibling.
I, the afterthough, don't count.
That's just the way it is.
posted by Tish Grier at 9:15 AM
8 Comments:
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Shalom Tish,
I'm the eldest in my generation and I don't expect to see a penny of an inheritence because my step-mother (she's eight years older than I) and I have never gotten along.
And I'm OK with that. There are times when I want to be angry and fight about it, but I think of how it would eat at me and let it go.
I love my father and he knows I love him. That's enough for me.
It makes my heart ache to read about you and your family. I guess the only thing I can say is that hope you escape with as few scars as possible.
There is truly no adivce or comfort that I could offer. You know your own soul and see more of those souls around you than anyone. May you find the narrow and dangerous path and walk it with no ill.
B'shalom,
Jeff
you count to some of us :)
Ed-- family and money is stranger and I think far more awkward than friends and money. I know, too, what you mean about helping out with the family finances--something I also tried to do but then was told I didn't need to, after being bitched at that I needed to.
My father never taught me anything about money. Everything was a huge secret, as if knowing it would make him lose power.
Money and power are often linked in interesting ways--even in family dynamics.
Like most things in my life, I'm going to have to learn to do the money-management thing pretty much on my own. I've tried over the years, and failed numerous times over the years, but will give it a shot again. Now that I'm seriously and with all efforts branching out into the world of freelance writing, I have to be much better at it than if I simply worked a nine to fiver. (although I may end up back there)
Jeff....
It seems that there are many of us who have this money-family problem (as you can also see from Ed's post)...
I have been thinking (mediating) on the situation and realize it is best not to do anything about it. I will let my sister get her way--I am unwilling to move back to New Jersey just to duke it out over who's getting what and why.
The way things are going (and have gone so far), indicate that there are more important adventures to have that will be more satisfying in the end.
I like the last line of your post...I always seem to walk in strange, dark worlds and come out with wisdom disproportionately outweighing any scars I might get along the way.
It's the worlds of light that scare me more :-)
Peace,
T.
L.C.... thanks :-)
Tish,
If you're looking to get some help, you're always welcome here and I know my mother would be able to help you out.
-Soli
Thanks Soli. I might have to take you up on that one.
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