What a Young AcadeMama Was Like

Since IntlExptr (from Here, There, and Everywhere) posed the inquiry in the comments to my last post, and since I'm in a writing mood, I thought I'd offer a little description of a young AcadeMama in the making. What was I like at 11 years old?

Well, my parents had just divorced, and my Mom got full custody after a very long, drawn-out, nasty court battle. At the time, in my head, I thought this was a horrible thing because I saw her as the disciplinarian. You see, while my Dad was off in the Middle East on an oil rig for a month at a time, my Mom was raising my brother and I, and she didn't have a lot of help. Shortly after the divorce, my Mom was diagnosed with a rare disease, Guillain Barre Syndrome (pronounce gee-YAN bah-RAY)...a rapid sickness, mediflight to Home State Capital City, and within a matter of hours, she was paralyzed from the neck down. One of her lungs collapsed, and she was on a ventilator for weeks. So, my brother and I "got" to go live with my Dad, who'd found himself a young, little barfly to act as stepmom/babysitter for us, while he continued to work. Oh, and he also told my brother and I that my Mom had a form of AIDS because she was, essentially a slut.

So, how does that affect a young girl like me? Well, I thought I was ugly, and thus adored my father's attention, despite the fact that he literally put the fear of God into me with his voice when he was angry. I was smart, I liked to play independently, but I knew more about adult things than any 11-year old should know. People around me didn't think that I was listening, but I was. I didn't always understand, but now I do. I felt horribly ugly and awkard. I was very tall, slim and athletic build, with no chest (things that resulted in me being tormented about for years). Add to that the fact that my stepmother decreed that I was not allowed to wear make-up or shave my legs, and I was virtually the laughing stock of 6th grade. I desperately sought attention from boys, even though I didn't "chase" them, if that makes sense. But never, I repeat NEVER, did I speak to my father or mother with the kind of disrespect with which Hannah speaks to me. If it were my father, I would have been hit with a belt...this was, after all, the man who headbutted me for opening a can of soup for breakfast. With my mother, and once I was a teenager, I was a smartass and sarcastic, and I thought I knew everything. I was shady and tried to break all sorts of rules (usually with great success...stealing her car in the middle of the night, drinking and smoking at friends' houses, etc.). But I always knew where the line was with her, and I never crossed it. Hannah? She jumps right over the line and doesn't even realize it.

I didn't have to try to do well in school. Basketball was the one thing that made me special because I was good...really, really good. But it wasn't enough to make me popular or pretty or rich enough to buy cool clothes (another hard thing to find when you're 6' at about 13 years old). I was non-confrontational because I had no self-esteem. I had an absent father, which simply added to my desire for a male voice that confirmed my worth. I thought I knew everything I needed to know, and I actually was mature in some ways. I always managed to balance my mischief with very clever deception, good grades, and the appearance of "normal behavoir."

Much of what I see from Hannah didn't come with me until I was well into my teens, and I'd decided to move back in with my mom (after she recovered and got out of the hospital). When I told my Dad that I wanted to move back in with Mom, he told me to take every picture of me in the house with me because he didn't want anything to remember me by. What does that do to a 12-year old?

I'm still trying to figure that one out...but none of it was good, which is why I have lots of baggage. I don't know how to be the parent Hannah needs me to be, the kind of wife and co-parent Hubby deserves, and carry all this baggage around too. Obviously, I had a fantastic mother, and my father taught me everything I needed to know about what *not* to do. I know what I need to do for myself, but I just don't have time to fit therapy in my schedule right now. There are some skeletons I'm just not ready to deal with right now, and taking care of my kids is my priority. For now, I pray....I pray for patience, strength, less swearing, less anger, the ability to distinguish between enabling a poor work ethic in Hannah and offering the opportunity for her to learn from failure. I pray with thankfulness, though, for all the gifts we have: health, each other, and the willingness to get through this together, no matter how long it takes. I literally fall asleep in prayer most nights, and I hope God understands.

Law of the Father - Part II

Well, the visit from my father went as well as it could. He's reached the point in his life where he realizes that anything he can do to have some kind of relationship with me and my family is worth doing. Other than dealing with his usual lack of awareness of anyone else's normal schedule, obligations, etc., I didn't have to go too far out of my way to accommodate him. He didn't seem to realize that I had to take off work (my dept. funded "office-y" work) with virtually no advanced notice to stay home and hang out with him, and I'm sure it doesn't register with him what it meant for me to have to take the next day off of dissertation work to do the same. The baby was sick the whole time, as well, which made things a bit more exhausting, but my husband was great about being the one to get up with her most nights.

My dad stayed Thursday morning through Friday evening, and I could tell that he was just happy to be there. Hurricane H LOVES to have visitors, so she was especially happy about having an extra Papaw to spoil her. He took her to school (accompanied by my husband) on Friday morning, had lunch with her (accompanied by me), and then took her to Wal-Mart to pick out a new back-pack and a few goodies. Watching her with him, I realized that she's the exact age I was when I thought he hung the moon. He made her laugh by acting silly, and she loved hearing his stories about me as a little girl. Even the baby was willing to be held by him for a few brief minutes. Hell, even my husband - who is an urban, granola guy from Philly - got along just fine with him.

I remained guarded. I consciously put on my I'm the Boss of My World hat, and never hesitated to let him know this when he suggested that he grill steaks for dinner rather than me cooking. He kept making offers to meet us for a campout at this town, or arrange a fishing trip at that place, or to take us around the state where he works if we could make the trip. It was clear that he's desperate to just Be Involved in any way he can in our lives. But, like I told my husband...Baby Steps please. I'm not ready for this. I'm not ready for "family" vacations with the father who took me to my first bar at 12 years old and made me the designated driver while he and my WESM (Wicked Evil Step-Mother) got drunk.

I am glad that my daughter has now created some good memories with my father, and I hope she can make more in the future. How many more? I don't know. I want to protect her as much as possible, and I'm afraid that one day, she'll start asking questions. Questions about my relationship with him. About why he isn't around us very much. Or maybe she'll pick up the vibe between he and I (kids are so perceptive), and she'll just ask point blank: "Do you like Papaw D?" There's no way for her to understand the answer to that question, and there's no need for her to know our history right now. I'm just not sure how far into my life I want to allow this person. I don't think I'll ever trust him completely again. I'll never trust him the way a child should be able to trust a parent. In many ways, I don't at all consider him a parent. My step-dad was/is much more of a parent to me than my natural father was or can ever be.

I don't know what my father wants. For that matter, I'm not sure I want to know what he wants. I don't think I want to ask that question, because it implies caring what the answer is, and I don't think I care. Or maybe it's that I don't want to care? I'm not sure. I want to theorize it all. That is, I have this weird, but obvious, urge to put it all in terms of the Law of the Father because then it will make sense to me. I'm somewhat of a Theory-Head. Not in the everything-is-just-theory sense, but in the theory-can-be-a-useful-tool sense. I get theory; it makes sense to me as a way of thinking through systems of power, ideology, identity, and teleology. But I don't know if thinking this part of my life through the lens of theory is possible right now, much less helpful. Part of me is hoping he'll just go away like he always has, and this won't be an issue. Part of me is wondering if this is a spiritual opportunity in which I'm being tested, and there is a clear lesson to be learned. I'm trying to get a handle on what God would have me do. All of me realizes this is a clear, blaring, neon sign in a metaphorical fork in the road. But I can't read what the sign says just yet.

Law of the Father - Part I

This will be a brief intro post to what will, I'm sure, be several posts on the Law of the Father, in both theoretical and literal terms. The Reason: for the first time in almost a decade (and only the second time ever), my natural father is coming to visit.

The Immediate Context: My father came to my wedding in 2005, and I'd seen him once before at my brother's college graduation in 2004. Before that, I'd only seen him an average of once every year or so, at best.

Broader Context: My parents divorced when I was 10, and my father re-married WESM (Wicked Evil Step-Mother) within a year of the divorce, thinking he'd have a better shot in a custody battle if he had a wife at home to take care of my brother and I should he win. He didn't win, not at first anyway. My mother was granted full custody of us, but several months after the divorce, she was struck with a rare viral illness called
Guillain-Barre Syndrome. She was flown to Capital City Hospital, where her lungs collapsed, paralysis set in, and she was put on a respirator. We were automatically put into my father's care while she was in the hospital for the next six months. I lived with my father and WESM for about 2 years before finally moving back in with my mother, who made an almost full recovery from her illness.

Some Details About My Father:
* he cheated on my mother, nobody knows how many times though, but he wasn't terribly good at hiding it
* when he was home (which was often only a month at a time b/c he works in the oilfield), he was always the Good Cop, giving my brother and I lots of junk food, taking us fishing, hunting, etc. During my childhood, I was a Daddy's Girl; I was the son he didn't get until my brother came along four years after me.
* he has only a high school education, is from the south, and was the local football star/bully in my hometown (his nickname: The Animal)
* when my mother divorced him, he held a gun to her head and threatened to kill her; stalked her; broke into her house and burned holes in all the clothes in her close (this list is not extensive by any means)
* one time he head-butted me for opening a can of soup to eat for a late morning breakfast
* he is a Master Manipulator
* he is now divorced from WESM, though not after putting her through even worse fear and manipulation than he inflicted on my mother
* when I left his house at almost 13, he told me to take every picture of me with me because he didn't want anything to remember me by

I'm sure you're wondering why the hell I'd let this person into my home with my family. The answer, the short answer anyway, is that I forgave him a long time ago for all his past offenses, and I no longer give him the power to create fear in me. I forgave him as part of my own healing process many years ago. I confronted him about his affairs, I demanded an explanation, and I told him I wasn't afraid of him anymore.

The funny thing about The Law of the Father though, is one never really escapes it. Not completely. There's always that thing in the back of your head that knows The Law's potential to surveil, control, and punish: in theory, culture, and paternal law. I know I'm in a safe space with my husband and children. And my father and I have talked more in the past year over the phone, though the conversations are brief. He's come to recognize himself, in part, as an old man who will be leaving behind very few people who love him. He knows he fucked up with me. He knows there is no way to ever make it up. He knows (I think) that I will never trust him again the way a child should be able to trust a parent. I think he's very alone. He continues to work in the oilfield business, like he has all his life, yet he's got nothing to show for it. No home. No retirement plans. No social life. No goals. No close family. Right now, I think he's grateful for whatever he can get, and if that's just a two-night stay at his daughter's house to visit with me, my husband, and his grand-daughters, he'll take it. Even if it's tense and awkward. I know he'll die with a long list of regrets. I think this is the best I can do for him right now.

He's coming tonight, so we'll see how it goes. I'll be posting more about him, the visit, and my take on the Daddy-Daughter link to The Law of the Father in the next few days. This is one of the few times where I wished I had lots of readers who could totally relate and could offer tons of helpful advice.