June 20 Conversations in the car
Jeff and I have our best conversations in the car.(We have also had some of our worse arguments in the car.) Lately we have been going to the beach and it is an hour drive, and sometimes I enjoy the conversation to and from more then the actual beach. Wild Child usually is quiet, playing by herself or asleep, leaving us with the opportunity to have the each others undivided attention.
I often ask him philosophical questions or we talk about how he grew up. He grew up in a very large dysfunctional family and his dad abused him and his older brother, his dad is an alcoholic and frankly his family is white trash. I'm amazed that he is product of their gene pool, he is brilliant and nothing like none of his red neck trashy cousins. I am often left in disbelief when he tell s stories of wife swapping, incest, hidden pregnancies, back stabbing , and the abuse that went on. His childhood of a great source of pain for him and he has a lot of built up resentment towards his family, especially his father. Jeff is considered the black sheep of the family because he got out of the rinky dink small town, left home to go to college(he is the first college graduate), has a decent job, doesn't drink or beat his wife, has a nice home that isn't a trailer or dilapidated shack, and doesn't have a debt load twice of what he makes. We go to his hometown twice a year, if that, and he actually hasn't spoken to his father in 5 months.
I also love to talk to Jeff about religion and our family while driving in the car. We bounce ideas back and forth off each other on vacations, having more children, and moving to the new house. Religion is a favorite topic for us both because we both enjoy studying theology and reading other religious texts and comparing them to the Judeo -Christian religions. Actually on the way home from the beach today Jeff mimicked a southern Baptist preacher in the funniest way, in fact he was doing it so well, he sounded like he had just stepped out of church. I was laughing so hard I about peed on myself as he resounded the sermons of old on fire and brimstone.
Today was Father's Day. We headed over to my step-dad's house for dinner with my sister and her family. The house feels empty without my mother there, it even smells different. I hate going over there. While we were there my step-dad was encouraging me to call "sperm donor". I told him that I was not going to and my sister and Jeff supported me in my decision. I haven't heard form "sperm donor" since before Christmas and have seen him twice in the past 19 years. The two times I saw him was for Tim's funeral,(my brother never knew him or had had any contact with sperm donor since he was 3 weeks old) and when I went to see my long lost family and spend some time with my little sister, Amanda, that I had just met. (she wasn't so little, she was 16) It was Father's Day weekend the last time I saw him, and I gave him a card and gift that I inscribed of intentions of repairing our relationship. It hasn't happened. He has Chrohn's Disease, and is always knocking on death's door. In fact he is pitiful, and at times I feel sorry for him, but then I think back to how he abandoned us, how he hit our mother, and how he seemed to forget us. I have offered to come visit, especially after Wild Child was born, but I am turned down repeatedly. The latest stunt he pulled was sabotaging me going to see Amanda graduate from highschool. We spoke and told me that invitations were mailed out and if I had gotten mine yet. I told her no, and she preceded to tell me that graduation was in five days. There was no way I could have made arrangements that quick. She swore that she had addresses my invitation and had given it to "dad" to mail. I never got an invitation. I guess it just got lost like all those birthday and Christmas presents too.
My step-dad wasn't the greatest father in the world -- he didn't beat us, hell the emotional and psychological abuse was enough, he was a good provider and he made sure we got a good education and a good dose of religion stuffed down our throats. He did try to be good father, he just failed miserably at it. He is a much better grandfather then he ever was a dad. He has also apologized to us for the way he treated us, he recognizes that he made mistakes and has owed up to them, something "sperm donor" has never done.
I dreamed of having a perfect father, a dad who spent time with me, played with me, told me stories, and was my friend. I wanted to be Daddy's little girl. Well I do know what a perfect father looks like, how they act, and how they give in my husband. Jeff is a wonderful father, the kind you read about in story books, and I am so happy that my daughter has the dad I never had.