Keep My Words

Today I found out that my mom didn’t tell my dad that I resigned from my job.  Seeing as how my father and I rarely speak, I have not told him either.  From what I gathered, their conversation on the matter went something like this:

…

“Ashleigh wants to quit her job and go back to school full-time,” says Mom.

Dad ponders for a moment while attempting to come up with the worst idea in the world.  Success!  “If she wants to do that, she should move to Virginia, live with us, and finish school here.”

Mom, driven by concern for her daughter and personal desire to avoid conflict with Dad, responds with “I agree.”

…

After discussing it, my mother and I have decided that he doesn’t need to know… not yet, anyway.

Incidentally, Sean asked me the other day what my relationship with my father was like growing up.  (It stemmed from a conversation we were having about our attraction to men who are emotionally unavailable.)

Growing up, my father was never around much.  He worked twelve hour days, six days a week.  He provided for our family.  We had a huge house, a swimming pool, an allowance, and televisions in every bedroom, along with other luxuries.  As a teenage girl, I didn’t value these things.  As I got older, I began to understand how hard my father worked to allow my family these comforts.

One recent Thanksgiving when my father was particularly intoxicated off of Crown Royal (on ice with just a splash of water), he looked at me and said, “I was a bad father.”

“Are you kidding?” I asked him.  “Why would you say that?”

“Because I was never there,” he answered.

I told him that he was wrong and that he was an amazing father.  I assured him that even though I was your typical ungrateful, rebellious teenage girl, I understand that I led a privileged life growing up.  I also said that I know it is because of how hard he worked, and I never take it for granted.

My father is an amazing man, and any of my friends who have met him will attest to that.  The lack of communication between he and I is not a product of hostility or resentment.  It is just how we have built our relationship.

Sometimes I fear life passing by without us knowing each other as well as we could.

What’s another thing my father told me that Thanksgiving?  “Don’t talk to boys.  All they want is sex.”

Father (above)

Father & Daughter, 2008 (below)