Therapy with Dad
This weekend I had the opportunity to tell my father all of my feelings about his inappropriate (i.e., drunk and lewd) behavior in a therapist’s office. Despite the fact that he dismissed most of what I said as “my perspective,” failed to admit that he’d rather be dragged behind a semi than pay me a compliment, and despite the expletives that came out of my mouth when he told me that I was a “difficult child,” it was a positive step on My Journey. Later we pretended the therapy session never happened and went back to the normal co-dependent, stressful relationship that we’ve always had (i.e., news, weather, sports, gossip about other family members).
The next day he, my little bro, and I threw a football around. One athletic ability I have is being able to catch a football (my throwing is not quite up to par).
“I’m pretty good at catching a football,” I mentioned.
“Would you like some pointers?” he asked, as he skyrocketed the ball into the grass twenty feet in front of me.
(He gives pointers on everything, especially things he knows nearly nothing about.)“No,” I said. “Would you like some pointers?”
After an hour of silence he asked me if I knew “that you’re supposed to catch with your arms.”
“Yes,” I said, as I caught the ball.
“Nice catch,” he said.
That was it. It doesn’t get much better than this with this guy. I have no choice but to seek more effusive forms of love from outside the family system. Because to expect more than “nice catch” sends me on the road to anger and resentment (like, for instance, “you’re good at catching a football.”) Just for today, I can accept my father for who he is.