Some of you may remember my little rant about how my dad was basically a sperm donor (harsh…I know).
I just wanted to share a little more with you why I feel this way. Call it another example of How to Be An Asshole.
Eventually, I decided not to tell my dad that Tim and I were expecting. After going back and forth, debating with myself on what I should do, I finally decided that I was better off not re-opening the lines of communication.
Because, why would I want to do that again?
As I had my internal debate, I kept asking myself, “Why do you always have to be the one to try and mend the bridge?”
It’s a vicious, horrid cycle: I mend the bridge and then he burns it down.
Over and over and over again.
I decided I didn’t want to go through that. I didn’t want to set myself up for another fiery seance. I don’t need the stress and I certainly don’t need the guilt trips, unwanted visits and bologna “I love you’s” in my life.
So, I’m not doing it. I’m not telling him, even though I KNOW he knows about the sprout.
Has he ever contacted me about this little announcement that I failed to share with him?
I’m sure he’s mad because he had to find out third or fourth hand instead of straight from the horses mouth, complete with glitter and rainbows because ohmigosh she should have told me! I’m super duper important and I should be IN THE KNOW and the most awesome, perfect dad in the history of the universe is always supposed to know about these things because that’s who everybody thinks I am and if everyone knows that I didn’t know, then how are they supposed to continue to think that I’m SUPER AWESOME DAD OF THE CENTURY????!?!!?
Go ahead, SUPER AWESOME DAD, be mad. Your displeasure on this topic doesn’t affect my well being ONE. BIT.
It’s like he’s still expecting me to tell to him…still. And he’ll continue to cling to that belief until that baby pops right out of my va-jay-jay.
Because why wouldn’t I tell him? Haven’t I always? Hasn’t he always had the easy way out? The easy path? The one where he just sits on his ass and waits for people to come to HIM?
Newsflash: I’m not coming.
I’m pretty sure Tim and I are still undecided about how to approach the out-of-the-womb-Sprout and the fact that, yes, he actually has a grandfather in Georgia but, no, we don’t ever visit him. At this point, it would take a literal act of God…nothing short of a miracle…for us to actually let him back into our lives. There would need to be some major changes on his part…major…and based on the way he currently treats my three younger brothers and my mom, I don’t really see that change coming any time soon.
I honestly think I am happier without having to deal with his shenanigans. It’s like an entire mountain of stress is gone from my life because he isn’t part of it. I know he is too much of a coward to come forward and admit he did anything wrong. I really don’t think he’d apologize for anything he has ever done to me…or the rest of my family. It’s like he lives in this fantasy world where he’s perfect and everyone else should just bow down and stare, open mouthed, at all of his amaze-ball-ness.
Veil’s been lifted, dear daddy. I see through you.
I’m moving on and away from your horrible guilt-ridden grip.
How sad is that?
It’s like I’m supposed to care about him because he *is* my father BUT if I’m brutally honest, I don’t even like him as a person. AT. ALL.
He isn’t a good person. He isn’t someone I want around me. There is no other way to say it. He just…isn’t a good example of how a father should treat his family.
In his world, the stars and planets and moon revolve around him and bend to his will and he puts himself first. Always.
(Though he pretends and makes “outsiders” think he does otherwise. It’s disgusting, really)
Another part of me, though, is sad that it is this way. That part of me is sad that he will eventually lose the trust of everyone and live a lonely existence. The humane part of me doesn’t want to have to see that…part of me wants to turn a blind eye while the other part can’t help but watch…and want to help but would be terrified to do so, knowing that I would be taken advantage of, just like my mom was.
Then, the logical part of me reminds the humane part that I could never really “help” him because the only “help” he really needs is to help himself, first, before anyone else can do anything.
And the logical, protective part of me would never allow him to manipulate and just take, take, take from Tim and me.
Because that is exactly what he’d do.
He’s convinced Tim is some kind of millionaire and makes buckets of money and if he could just get in good with him, he could mooch off all of Tim’s blood, sweat and tears and be set for life.
Whenever we were still on speaking terms with my dad, any time we would see him, he’d make some snide comment about Tim making lots of money and blah, blah, blah. When those kind of comments started to come out, it sent me over the edge.
It’s not our problem you have serious jealously issues and don’t want to work for squat.
Also? SO SORRY TIM WORKS HIS ASS OFF.
I mean, the man (my man, Tim) gives everything he has to his job and took the steps necessary to have a fantastic job, like going to college, for starters. But you, instead of just letting it be or actually being happy for Tim, you decide to make mean comments about money.
GET OVER YOURSELF.
Also? Don’t ever ask us for anything. I think I’m beyond my ability to be generous with you because you certainly haven’t earned a single thing from us, let alone “assistance.”
PSA: Tim isn’t a millionaire.