So, here we go.
And really, it wasn't so much a crummy day, as just a crummy phone call.
It was just a semi-normal phone call from my dad.
Who hasn't been an exactly emotionally or physically available, let alone thrilled to father a child - sort of dad.
You know the kind, divorced from the mother, toxic to the family, involved enough to make it hurt, but not enough to actually have a real positive influence.
That's my dad. Or maybe I should say, sperm donor, because its the biggest positive contribution that he made to my life. Until I was 18 and he helped pay for my partial college education. But now I'm hoping that he never finds this, because I have a feeling being called a sperm donor might hurt his feelings.
And he called Thursday around noon, somewhat inebriated. Thursday at noon - really? First, that's not a great time to call a stay/work at home mom and expect her full undivided attention. Second, drunk at noon? I can't make this up, folks.
Some people call this drunk dialing. I should have hung up then. See, these drunk phone calls used to originate around 10 p.m. I stopped answering the phone when he'd call after 8.
(I should say - its not like this happens every other week... we are talking about 4-5 phone calls a year for the past 10 years or so. Total - that's total phone calls... the drunk ones are only about 50% of that.)
The conversation steered where it always does during these reoccurring drunk phone calls... to his relationship with my mother.
"I love your mother, I loved her when we were married and I love her now", he says.
Hmm, well that's good to know. I'm glad that you have love for the mother of your only [somewhat-estranged] child. I'm fairly certain the feeling isn't mutual.
And if you still love my mother - whom divorced you more than 25 years ago - why are you married to your current wife? Does she know that every time you get sloshed, you call your daughter to rehash your relationship with your ex-wife?
I can't imagine she'd be pleased.
The conversation goes on like this for a few minutes. Really. I don't know why I don't just hang up. I guess I'm still stuck in that I want his approval. Like I'm twelve.
And then the conversation takes a horrible turn. He starts talking about sex.with.my.mother.
Who does that?
Does ANYONE else's father find that appropriate?
Deep Breath. I can't believe I just posted that on my blog.
Ugh. I steered the conversation elsewhere, as fast as I could, dealing with an extremely drunk & emotional 55 year old man.
Turns out, that's a bit harder than it sounds.
Eventually, I had to answer another call from my husband because his new work truck had broken down and he needed to be picked up.
The whole call was almost two hours. Ridiculous.
I'm still sort of in shock I guess. I was very upset after the call and Ian was running around trying to get his truck fixed. At the end of the day, he brought home dinner and flowers, potted flowers (even better, huh ladies?).
There is no good way to end this post. I have no end to these thoughts. I just keep trying to remind myself that people make the best choices available to them at the time.