The Diary of Queen Mothy |
The Night that Dissolved My Innocence written @ 8:12 PM on February 03, 2002 So Friday night my dad, mother, and I went to some dead beat mall in Northern Kentucky for the Scholastic Art Awards. It was kind of interesting. I received a certificate with a gold sticker and a pin, and two of my classmates received scholarships from the Art Academy of Cincinnati. My portfolio was hanging up on the wall; against everyone else's work, it looked like shit. I'm not going to win anything on national level, that's for sure. But *shrugs* I still consider myself lucky. The trouble began as we were driving home. I can't remember how exactly it started, but I remember that I huffed and grumbled, "It's all about money to you. You only appreciate what I do when there's a cash prize of some sort involved." "Well, I hate to say it but life is about money," he retorted. I sat in a fuming silence for some moments, as what he had said just went against everything I believed in, and my mother turned around to look at me from the front seat and she noticed how I was suddenly sour. She asked what was wrong; I answered nothing stubbornly. Then Dad began asking about my brother's hockey games coming up. He showed great interest in my brother's affairs. Not mine, you notice. But this does not bother me, and I try not to be insolent and spoiled about such things because when you lay out the facts, my father and I have very little in common. Still, though, for some reason this pissed me off, and I said, "You see? There you go again! You don't care unless I win." From there, it was mass chaos. Dad accused me of turning cold and hateful to him-- the biggest cop out and load of shit if I ever heard any. He again reminded me how I "never talk to him," how I "don't love him," and how I "used to be Daddy's little girl" and how he always wanted to have a relationship like "Father of the Bride." He proceeded to call me ungrateful and selfish and out only for myself in life. He said so many hateful and hurtful things that I was already sobbing before we even left Kentucky. I answered back as to how blind he was to all my accomplishments, how everything I did in life was all for him and for the good of the family. I told him that I was everything I am today because of what he taught me of the importance of scholarships back in the second grade. And he shot me down on this; and it hurt. I told him how he had completely misjudged me and was a stubborn fool for thinking I could ever stop loving anyone in my family and how he shouldn't expect me to be something I'm not. "No, I stood back," he said, "and let you go off into never-never land. You were off doing your own thing and never paid me any heed. You never talk to me. It was all for you. You, you, you, you." I wanted to shout, You hypocrite! Don't you think that when you talk about life being about nothing but money that it all becomes rather self-centered? He taught me to be like that and to go out for life for ME and not anyone else! We fought almost all the way home. It was the most explosive argument I have ever had. I kept saying, "I'm not backing down on this. You are wrong. You are totally wrong on this, and I am not the one to be blamed for anything you missed out on." I'm so sorry about this, though, because Mom was hurt. She was helpless to intervene and offer anything to the argument-- we were too lost in it-- and all she could do was cry silently like she always does when something like this happens in my family. Dad is a great person, he really is. But depression runs in my family, and it has finally settled on him. He refuses to listen to reason and good advice anymore. If it's not Dave Reno's advice, then it's wrong. And Dave Reno is never wrong, and if he is-- damned if he admits it. I hope you're picking up the sarcasm. So. It's Sunday. I have not spoken to my father in two days. In the past I have always been careful to analyze situations and see who is really at fault-- most of the time it's me. But not this time. I refuse to back down on this one until he acknowledges that he is a depressed man who is letting the rest of his life slip by him as he pities himself that he has only thirty or so years left to live. If it were me, I would be seizing life by the horns. Mother says I should speak to him, that I should tell him I'm sorry and make amends with him. I am sorry for nothing and I have no amends to make with him-- he owes ME the apology for accusing me of betraying him! I have very few pet peeves in life, but the top one of my list is false accusation. I find in rather ironic that my relationship with my father has all but completely dissolved after last week's diary entry. I had only written it with the hopes that thinking it through while writing would point me in a certain direction that would offer a sufficient solution, but now I see I have come full circle and am back where I started from: 1. He needs pyschiatric help. 2. He's got to grow up. 3. He's got to understand the sort of individual I have become as a result of The Night and that I'm not his little girl anymore playing with a plastic doctor toy set. He's right on one thing though. I am after life for me. And why should I not be? Life is too short to brood on self-sacrifice for unworldly things. All I know is that my intensions are pure, and that I owe all my successes to my father for inspiring me. I just wish he would realize that. And yet I refuse to give in when it comes to this situation. If he wants to talk-- he should come to me. It is not my fault we share so very little because of the type of people we have evolved into. And I will stand by that.
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
Latest Entry | Archives | Diaryland |
Profile | Diaryrings | |
Guestbook | E-mail Me | Leave a note |
Art Work (Coming Soon) | Genealogy (Coming Soon) | The-Last-Unicorn.net |