Dream of: 21 March 1997 (2) "Being Disowned"
My father had summoned me to come and see him. When I went, a woman whom I loved accompanied me. Around 30 years old, she was slender and almost as tall as myself. After the woman and arrived to see my father, my father's detestation of the woman soon became apparent. Obviously he didn't want me to date the woman. His attitude incensed me. I walked straight up to him, – he looked as if he were probably in his 40s – grabbed his face and began squeezing it so hard that it began to contort. At the same time I told him there was no way I was going to stop dating the woman.
My father was quite rich; I knew if I continued to date the woman, he would disown me. But I had already made my decision. When I finally released his face and walked back to the woman, I noticed my mother also standing there. She looked young, as if she were in her 40s.
I gave the woman a hug, then took her left hand in my right hand. My mother, the woman and I walked out of the room and onto the sidewalk of a city street. Stores were all around; we appeared to be in the downtown area of a small town. Just as we walked out the door, I heard my father holler, "Steven!"
I thought that he might be calling me back, that perhaps he had only been testing me when he had indicated that he didn't like the woman, but I didn't even turn around. I just held onto the woman's hand and we walked away. Even though I was now sure my father had only been testing me, and that he wanted to make up, I didn't turn around. The three of us just kept walking.
We continued down the street to the next corner, then turned right. Suddenly I realized my pet Dalmatian Picasso wasn't with us. Since Picasso had been with us earlier, I thought I must have left him behind with my father. Realizing the street was filled with traffic, and worried that Picasso might get run over, I almost started to panic. I didn't know what I would do if I lost him. I turned and headed back down the street, hollering, "Picasso! Picasso!" Another dog was in the street, but it wasn't Picasso. Soon, however, I saw Picasso coming across the street toward me. But he looked as if he were limping, and I wondered if he had been hit by a car. I ran toward him, trying to determine if he were injured. He clearly seemed to be having trouble walking, but I couldn't tell for sure.
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