It's the Simple Things

My parents got divorced ten years ago (yes, I know, how highly unoriginal to open with that. But bear with me). Although everyone I knew expected me to be devastated, I was perfectly happy -- they'd been having awful knock-down, drag-out fights (complete with flying crockery, ruined shirts and, once, notably, a gas tank filled with sugar), and I'd been telling my mother for years that she needed to just divorce my father and end the drama of trying to deal with his, um, afflictions (long story short: the man believes that what's his is his and what's yours is his. Attractive as that may be in a soap opera, it doesn't work too well in real life.)

And so I *was* genuinely happy when I got the phone call from my mom, days before Parents' Weekend my first year of college, saying that my dad wouldn't be coming up because they were getting a divorce. Finally, we would have a weekend that wasn't full of the tension between my parents that meant they'd just have a fight or were just about have one. Finally, we could have a Christmas morning that didn't end in tears because my mother got angry that my father spent three thousand dollars on a necklace when the mortgage people had been calling all week threatening foreclosure. Finally, I would never have to go to sleep worrying I'd be woken up by the sound of screaming at 2 a.m. It was such a relief, and I told anyone who would listen that the divorce was the best thing that had happened in a long time. It was much better for my parents, and for me and my sister, to finally have the door closed on all that messiness. Now we could get on with our real lives. Besides, everyone and their dog gets divorced now, it's no big deal. It would be nice to be able to relax in my own house again, and I'd still see my dad all the time. Nothing was really going to change. I'm happier this way, truly. And that's been my party line ever since, with lots of conviction to back it up.

But I was sitting at lunch today, and one of my partners was telling a story about how, now that his daughter is home from school for the summer, she and his wife have taken to watching a bunch of the primetime soaps together, accompanied by cocktails. Even though he neither watches the show nor drinks the cocktails, every night they'll call him out of his home office to come make them their drinks, as he's quite the home bartender. Listening to him wryly describe the scene (them, lounging on the couch, him, the hardworking lawyer taking a break to play bartender) with obvious pride and pleasure in his family, I got a random flash of memory, from when I was small, of watching movies with my mom about My Little Pony or some such nonsense, and having my dad make us popcorn in the kitchen before going back to his home office to work. He would always put on way too much butter, which made my mom yell, but which I loved. He'd bring up the popcorn, kiss us both on the tops of our heads, and go back to his desk. I hadn't thought about that in, maybe ever -- didn't even know I remembered that -- but there it was -- this memory of feeling really safe, and happy, and in exactly the place I should be. And I really missed that feeling. The simple luxury of having your dad, at home, just living life with you. I bet it's something his daughter never thinks about, doesn't have to - he's just there, always - no special planning or coordinating required - simply present, for anything, even just to drive her crazy with nerdy puns. And as much as I truly am glad my parents are no longer screaming at each other, I'm overwhelmed at the moment with missing the simple luxury of having a dad I never had to schedule into my life because he just was in my life.

Comments

[teahouseblossom]

This was a lovely post.

If it helps, you have a chance to create your own family so that your kids will know the joy of having two parents. Unfortunately we can't pick our parents. I have similar bad memories of childhood, but all involve my depressive/schizophrenic mother making scenes in public, etc. Families provide unique happiness AND pain, don't they?

::HUGS::

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