Patterns

Once upon a time, there was a girl who had a younger brother. When the girl was eleven and her brother was seven, their parents divorced.

It was decided that this girl and her brother would live with their mom and their dad would move in with his brother, three houses up the street.

The girl and her brother saw their dad whenever they wanted and had scheduled visits every Sunday.

One Sunday afternoon, while out driving, as was their dad’s habit, the girl was asked by her father how her mother had told her about the divorce, which at this point had happened about a year before.

The girl knew what her dad was getting at and replied that her mom had said that the marriage wasn’t working and that a divorce was imminent.

Her dad pressed, wanting to know if her mother had told her that they both wanted the divorce. The answer was that no, her mother hadn’t said that.

The dad nodded. The girl hoped the conversation was over but alas, her hopes were dashed when her dad informed her and her brother, now twelve and eight, that he wanted to make sure they understood that he hadn’t wanted the divorce. It had been their mother’s idea, her desire to break up the family.

Then he started the drive home. About a half mile from home, the girl’s dad burst into tears. He managed to drive the rest of the way to the home the girl and her brother shared with their mother and then began sobbing while sitting in the driveway.

The girl opened the door on her side of the car as the boy sat forward and asked, “Dad? What’s wrong?”

The girl took her brother’s hand and said, “Come on, Jason. Dad, we’ll be inside.”

The girl went inside and told her mom about her dad sitting in his car crying.

She was very, very angry at her dad for what he’d done. She didn’t want to see her dad cry, to know he was hurt, sad, upset. She was furious at him for making her be the grown up in that incident.

The other night, when I was at my bitchiest, I sat down across the room from the girls, trying to get some distance and needing to not be touched for even a few minutes.

Alyssa sat on the couch beside Olivia and when Olivia tried to get down and come over to me, Alyssa held her back, saying quietly, “Livie, stay here.”

In that moment, I hated myself more than I can describe. I’d become my father, making my CHILD be the grown up as I sat in a stupid, moody fit of annoyance. It jolted me out of my mood, made me sit up, move from my seat and place my big butt between my little girls on the couch, pulling both of them to me into a hug. I kissed Alyssa’s hair and apologized, telling her I was so sorry for being such a grouch. I told her that it wasn’t her fault and that I would not be grouchy anymore that night.

I asked Olivia if she wanted some ice cream and she asked me if I was done being a grouchy Gus. I laughed along with both A and O and said yes, I was done being a grouchy Gus.

I don’t want to repeat the patterns of my childhood. I never want to let my moodiness or tiredness make Alyssa feel the way I’d felt that day so many years ago. I never want to be the child in our relationship, making her grow up way before her time.

And what I want most of all is to forgive my father for that moment in time when I was so angry at him for showing his feelings in a way that felt inappropriate to my twelve-year-old self. I know we are all human and we can’t help how we feel but I also know that as a parent it is up to me to protect my children even from my own moods, feelings.

Thirty years ago I felt like my dad had let me down. Now I know he was just doing his best. He never meant to hurt me or my brother and he’s done good things for both of us over the years, things that negate that one moment in time.

So…I guess it’s time to forgive him and myself for being human. It’s time to remember that we can’t change the past but we can do better in the future.