measi's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- More thoughts about Dad... It's been a topsy-turvy sort of month since early March. Lots going on. Difficult things going on, but definitely things for the best. It's all growth and change, and such things were not meant to be easy. It's been exactly a month since Dad got my letter. I haven't heard a word from him. It's been eerily silent. And it frustrates me, but I also knew that silence was one of the results of the letter I sent. As Scott (my brother) often has reminded me-- "Dad doesn't like to talk about things that might make him look like his ego is out of check." He's right, of course. As often as Scott and I butt heads, our frustrations with one another are a field day compared to what he and Dad have gone through together. What I watched as the third-wheel and only female in the household. On many occasions, supper went like this: The three of us would be at the table. We had a round, wooden kitchen table that had the pull underneath to add a leaf or two if we needed to expand it. Dad sat on one side. Scott sat across from him. I sat "between" them as the angle point. On any given day, we'd have some casual chat about what happened during our days. I tended to be more reserved since I felt my days were both boring and really not things I cared to share. Dad had all sorts of things to share-- including stories of surgery. (Scott and I developed strong stomachs over the topics we discussed-- it happens when you have an OB/GYN as a dad). At some point during dinner, Scott would say something that pissed Dad off. And the argument ensued. I tended to continue eating, looking down at my plate, saying nothing, hoping that I would be able to remain outside of the argument. Sometimes it would go into yelling and screaming. I got to know the swirly patterns of the glazes in our plates pretty well over dinner during my teens. These arguments usually ended with my dad either kicking my brother's ass (literally) up the stairs, or him warning my brother to get out of his sight for a while. I'd do the dishes in silence, saying nothing, because Dad's anger was quick to flash elsewhere. I'd stay as far out of Dad's way as I could. It didn't always work, of course, and he'd yell at me, too. Knowing my dad's reaction to anything that doesn't sit well with him, I didn't expect a call back too quickly-- at least not a productive one. To be honest, it surprises me that I didn't get something nasty in return from him within days of his receiving the letter. I'd braced for it. Instead, I've received silence. And silence can mean one of two things-- either the person is too busy to respond, or that the letter was not received well due to its content and wording, and anything that could be said would be so counter-productive that it's not worth replying. I do hope it's the former, but wouldn't be surprised if it were the latter. It's just the consequence of finally speaking up, I suppose. And while I know it was the right thing to do, I have this small inkling of regret that I spoke up. It's just my social anxiety trying to get control of me. I'll get it beat back down into submission... I hope. 11:30 a.m. - 11 April 2003 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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