The Favorite Child

The assholes that I sometimes call my “friends” sent me pictures of the backpacking trip that I missed over the weekend. I scoffed at them because I had an awesome time working on a sunny Sunday and not sobbing quietly at my keyboard. Ack, I probably will not get another day off for two weeks, so not even a one day hike this coming weekend. *sniff* Work is getting insane, we just got our deadline cut by a week, which means we’re going to have to live at work for a bit if we want everything done on time.
I woke up at 6:30 on Monday and finally drafted the letter I had to write for my dad. I had been dragging my feet on that, but it turned out easier than I thought. It’s never really that hard to write a bunch of nice things about someone that you love (think big halibut!). I sent it off to my father’s divorce attorney lady for approval before I write the thing by hand…been so long since I’ve picked up a pen, not sure I know how to use one. What I got back as replies tore me apart.
I don’t know if my letter made him sound like a saint or she simply wanted me to make him out to be one because she kept telling me…oh maybe you should mention this…or you forgot to say that. It kills me because everything that she mentioned that I might have “forgotten” to mention wasn’t forgotten. He isn’t that man. He is my father, the man with lots of faults. The man who cheats on his wife excessively, lies to his family, beats his wife and children, and gambles away fortunes. Everything she says brings back an age old question of, why do I defend a man that has caused my family so much pain? Simply…I will always stand by the ones that I love. And honestly, he truly is a good father to me. I do wonder sometimes, if at least one person on the planet knows you inside-out and loves you for who you are, how bad of a person can you be?
I feel a guilt trip coming on. I know I’m going to get the…well, if you love your father so, why can’t you embellish the truth a bit to help him out? Because I stand by my belief that I do whatever helps me sleep best at night, I can not “embellish” even to help a loved one. I’m not even sure if I’m truly helping at that point. I simply hope that if I can’t deliver what the attorney needs that my father still understands that I did the best that I can, and that I didn’t take the easy way out by walking away.
She keeps mentioning that I’m “his favorite one”, which really only irks me. I’m not competing with my siblings for my parents’ love. If by “favorite”, she meant “grown child that doesn’t have a No Contact Order on him” than yeah, I guess I’m a favorite…I guess that’s something I could puff up proudly and announce at the next big family gathering. Otherwise, what does it matter, I wish for my parents to love us all equally.
As a kid, you look to your parents to teach you right from wrong, they have all the answers. As an adult, you realize your parents are only human and that they actually do “wrong”…it’s up to you to understand that they are perhaps still growing like you, and trying to figure stuff out. Sometimes the roles will reverse, and you will end up being the person that have to teach your parents what it means to be patient, to show kindness, to love, and to understand. There are times in the past when my mother had expressed anger when I help my father because of her understandable bitterness toward him, all I can do is remind her, "Mother, I'm simply doing what you've taught me all my life. That no matter what, the two of you are my parents. And as such, I will always try my best to honor the two of you." I’m so tired; my family has a way of picking out bad timing on my work schedule to stir drama.
People often say they simply wish to be loved, but when that is exactly all that you offer them…quite often it’s not enough. After all, when you get down to it, if you offer me your love or a piece of steak…I’m going to have to investigate on the quality and preparation of said choice of beef before I take my pick. Awww…think about it, there’s actually a slight chance that I might take your love over some over-cooked Grade F meat-product, that’s pretty good of me. *puffs up proudly and goes to bed*

Seward Park tonight.-->