A while ago my father said something to me that he hadn’t said in a long time. He said “love yeah son” just as I started walking a short distance home. Of course my heart warmed a bit, but I began to wonder…
How long do I have left with my Dad? Technically I don’t even know his age – although I think it’s around 60 I’m not exactly sure. If I lost him there would be a lot left unsaid. In a way I want to know more but I’m unsure of how much more I really want to know why he made the decisions he made.
Every time I think of asking him things I hesitate and let the moment pass. Actually the most I’ve gotten in answers out of him was when I was angry and directly trying to influence his decisions.
I think about him a lot and what memories I have, then again I think about a lot of people a lot.
In a lot of literature I have read it has pointed to the fact that who you become is based on your interactions in youth with your parents. I mean it, a lot of literature points that way and it discourages me greatly.
I haven’t had the worst upbringing but I have had a miserable one.
Whenever I think about the past I think back to when I was in social studies class (grade 4 or 5). I remember that stupid book “Five Alive”, the most irritating title at the time. I also remember the homework in that class… having to talk about what you knew about your parents and the family tree.
I remember coming home that day when the assignment was given out and just feeling bad an eventually crying. I didn’t know anything about what my parents did, they never told me, I never asked. I didn’t have a clue about the family tree at the time, I only knew of one Aunt. When I think about wanting to talk to my parents about things I think of that moment.
Of course another experience brings to life just how little I know about my family. My grandmother on my father’s side passed away a year or so ago. When she passed away I assumed I had known her entire life, I thought she was a stay-at-home wife for the majority of her life. It turns out she was an ambassador to some fancy organization in town and that she flew all over the world. When I heard about this I was like “are you kidding me?” I didn’t know what else to say how this person could have been that person.
I figure the problem is embedded in our family, of not wanting to communicate. I don’t understand why though, people have such fascinating stories why do we not talk about them?