This is the story of some random summer Saturday when my dad came to pick me up, late as usual, and had dropped off his second wife and daughter at a nearby playground. When we left and went to pick them up he had dropped them off at my elementary school. He had no idea. He didn’t even know where I went to school.
That was his level of involvement in my life outside the 24 hours he had to be involved every other weekend and alternating holidays.
For most of my life my dad lived no closer than four hours away. For about two years he lived in a suburb about an hour away. I don’t remember the exact years but it was somewhere around late elementary school. I remember he moved to Florida in 1989 because the Cubs won the Eastern Division pennant and he called to ask me to buy and mail him a copy of the Chicago Tribune.
His involvement and interest in my life were always minimal and rarely went beyond what was required outside the 24 hours he had to be involved every other weekend and alternating holidays. The degree of which only dawned on me as I grew older and was able to process events as I replayed the memories in my head.
One random summer Saturday he came to pick me up and was late as usual. He had brought his second wife and daughter with him probably because we were going to do something in the city. After the obligatory small talk with my mother we walked to the car. I noticed that there was no one in the car and asked where they were. He said he dropped them off at a playground nearby and we were going to pick them up now.
He started to drive and we were probably talking or listening to some cassette when we pulled up to the playground at my elementary school and he said this is where he dropped them off.
I mentioned that this was in fact my school and he said he had no idea. I wasn’t traumatized by going to my school playground on the weekend rather I was a bit hurt, even in the moment, when I realized my dad didn’t know where I went to school.
The issue was t and isn’t that he didn’t know where my elementary school was it was indicative of his lack of interest in my life outside the day I spent with him every two weeks.
I don’t remember him ever asking about school or my grades or what I wanted to be when I grew up or anything a “normal” parent would. It was much the same as I mentioned in my last post about my grandparents Jones, he was more like an old friend of my mother’s that I had to hang out with every couple weeks than a parental figure. I haven’t seen him in over 30 years now and don’t know if I’d recognize him if we were standing next to each other.
As I get older and now that I am a parent myself I am realizing that the best thing I can do in raising my own Tiny Human is the exact opposite of what they did.
Paying the monthly hosting fees for this site is cheaper than a therapist and I’m finding it incredibly beneficial in working through some things.