27 September 2000 ~ Bittersweet...

Spent the day reading a good book and listening to beautiful music. I can think of very few ways to more pleasurably occupy my time.

Heard a CSN&Y song this evening: "Suite Judy Blue Eyes." It reminded me of my dad. Even though he's a jerk, even though he told me I was a horrible person, even though he made me out to be a whore, even though he rejected me completely from the family, I miss him sometimes. Perhaps it's because I know the part of me that is a part of HIM will never really be gone, and that I'll always look like him a little, and act like him a little, and be kind of a jerk like him a little... Perhaps it's because he loved CSN&Y so much, and because I love them too. Perhaps it's because when I think about my dad, I think of three things: taking the Long Way Home and driving around back roads for hours; standing at the top of Pike's Peak in Colorado as he yodelled at a rock thinking it was a mountain goat; and him telling me I wasn't a part of his family because I went out with friends at night instead of coming home and doing the dishes. Thinking of my dad makes me sad. For the good times and the bad; because the good times are over, and the bad times will never really go away.

I think about him now and again, what I'd do if I saw him... I tell myself I'd hold my head high and act as though my life is perfect, as though I'm capable and strong and unbelievably glad to be rid of the man who once put me up against a wall and slammed a door on my arm as I was trying to run out of the house in search of safe refuge. I tell myself I'd say, "I'm happy with my jobs and my friends and my lover and my leisure..." I tell myself I'd say, "fuck you and your fucked-up sense of family." I tell myself I'd say, "yeah, daddy, I'm a whore and I'm proud of it... what are you going to do now?" I tell myself I'd say, "I've got more money than you with your $50,000 a year job... what are you going to do about it?" I tell myself I'd say, "Yeah, you're right, I am sleeping with someone I'm not married to... but at least I didn't choose somebody who's white trash..."

And I probably would say those things.

But part of me would want to cry and say "why did you stop loving me?" and "what did I do that made you so mean to me?" and "why wasn't I even good enough to drink the soda from your fridge?" and "why am I such a bad daughter?" and "I'm sorry I disappointed you."

I wouldn't say those things. I'm too stubborn. I get that from my dad.

He's going to die of Diet-Coke-overdose, or end up in jail for tax fraud. And what would I do then? Stand over his hospital bed and laugh? Stand in front of his jail-cell and say, "I told you so"? Or sit in the lobby and cry?

I hate him. But I don't.

My feelings for my father are directly linked to my feelings for myself: inversely. If I hate my father, there's a sense of pride that I'm better than what he expected; that in disobeying his ridiculous rules, I have survived and even flourished to some degree... If I love my father, I have to be his humiliated, disappointing little girl again. Timid. Crying.

Fuck it. I don't want to think about it. I want to curl up in my bed and put my headset on and finish the book I'm reading. Thinking about my dad is too complicated. I don't have to think about it, and so I'm not going to.

Funny, how a CSN&Y song could make me so bittersweet.

I'm sorry daddy... I'm sorry for all the things I did that made you hate me... I'm sorry I went out with my friends... I'm sorry I didn't get my driver's license because I was busy hanging out with a bunch of kids with weird hair... I'm sorry I hung out with homos and embarrassed you... I'm sorry I didn't wear the chastity belt past 16... I'm sorry about the night I slept on Jason's floor and didn't call you... I'm sorry my grades in 11th grade weren't very good, and my grades in college weren't 4.0's...

I'm sorry I survived outside your house when you didn't expect me to... I'm sorry I didn't come crawling back on hands and knees begging for money or dinner... I'm sorry I'm not the drug-addict you think I am just because I smoked pot twice and sometimes drink enough to give me the giggles and put me to sleep... I'm sorry I go out after midnight... I'm sorry I don't always turn guys down when they call me up asking if I want to come over to their apartments for a little while... I'm sorry I dropped out of college when I couldn't handle the abuse anymore... I'm sorry I'm not crazy like you said, not hospitalized and dependent on you to make my decisions for me... I'm sorry I'm fucking ALIVE, because I don't think that's how you wanted it...

...I'm not sorry I like CSN&Y...

~H.T.*

"I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are... And you make it hard..." --CSN&Y