I think every woman has daddy issues.

Okay, maybe not every woman.  If a child is raised by two happy parents of the same gender, I’m not sure if there would be daddy issues.  That’s unknown to me.

All I know is that, from my perspective, grown women tend to have issues in relationships which relate or are dependent up their relationship with their father or father figure.

I’m definitely not the exception.

For the first five years of my life, if me and my dad – my dad and me.  He was laid off from the foundry and drew unemployment.   Mom returned to work maybe a week after I was born.    She worked in a factory at that time.   I think it was one in Edenburg.

Quite naturally, I guess, my first word was ‘daddy.’   Suprise!  But, my second word was ‘doll.’  Being a lover of alliteration, I’d say those two words back-to-back multiple times.   I guess I thought it was cute or something.

My dad, for his part, taught me to read, put together jigsaw puzzles, and count money.  He impressed upon me the importance of saving and attempted to teach me math — which I wasn’t very good at, even back then.  At night, I remember we’d go in the back yard and he’d show me the constellations.

I guess everything was pretty perfect for me.  Not for mom, so much, but for me.  I had this brilliant and handsome guy wrapped around my little finger.  He was mine and I was ‘daddy’s doll.’

But, things changed.  He was actually called back to work at the foundry.  He also secured another factory job making engine castings.  Mom picked up a part-time job to go with her full-time job.   My baby brother was born and he needed special attention because he had a stroke before coming out of the womb.

My nice and secure world just fell apart within weeks.

Fast forward.
Mom was still widely absent.   Even when she was home, she cleaning and other domesticated things that women from the 1960s where supposed to do.  I was old enough to help – or try to help – and learned to cook, clean, and yard work.   In the evenings, when parents weren’t around, I helped my brother — and my sister by that time — with homework, bullying, and… and really just whatever I could do.

In my head, my brother and sister became my children.
How funny it is that I can’t have children as an adult.  Maybe it’s because I already raised mine.

Dad had drastically changed.  He no longer smiled.   He no longer laughed.  He didn’t have time for stars.  Working 90+ hours a week in two factories gave him a permanent tan.    I still thought he was handsome, but I think he wore the wrinkly forehead a lot better than I do.

Most of all, he became verbally and emotionally abusive.

He would come in from one job, collapse into bed.  It was my job to wake him in just four precious hours so he could go back to work.  His lunch had to be made, a change of clothes ready, dinner waiting on the table, and maybe the paper — until we didn’t take the paper anymore because he tore the newspaper box form it’s stand.    —  That’s another story.   Oh –  I had to brush his hair and pull it back into a ponytail.  I kind of felt like Delilah from the old story, but I didn’t have any scissors.

This was his scary time.
Upset and tired, nothing was ever right.  The food was too warm or too cold.  At the worst of times, he cussed and cursed me.   At the best of times, he dozed as he ate until rushed off to work.

I made excuses.
He was sick.  He was just tired.   He didn’t feel well.  He had a bad day at work.  My reasons for his behavior became a never-ending waterfall.  The dad that I had before me was not the same man who I spent the first five years of my life with.  I knew that man had to be in there somewhere.

Fortunately, I never took his abuse fully to heart.
After all, I was a big sister and had to care for my two little ones.  If I was as horrible as he said I was, I wouldn’t have been able to care for my children.  (brother and sister)  I did the best I could to shield them.   They went to their rooms and stayed until dad left the house.

He’d come in at two.  I’d wake him at six.  He’d leave at six thirty.  The brother and sister came out sometime around seven. This went on for about fifteen years.

There was absolutely no way I was going to subject them to this monster version of our dad.  I didn’t want them to think ill of him.  I wanted my brother and sister to see him in a way that I don’t think they ever really did – as the man who could pick out constellations.

Fast forward.

Now, Jason is the primary man in my life.
He has his intense work side, student side, and morning zombie side.  During these times, I’d try to tease him or poke the bear — but I did that with my dad too before he went back to work and would receive a fresh string of cuss words for my efforts but — it was communication.

Jason doesn’t cuss at me.  He doesn’t tell me I’m worthless.  He doesn’t tell me I don’t listen or respect him.  Well, I bet he says that in his mind every once in a while, but I’ve never heard him say it.

But, sometimes, I feel the same intense vibe from him that I would pick up from my dad.  It’s a pin-point laser focus feeling that has nothing to do with me, but everything to do with me at the same time.

Jason casts me away, says he can’t afford me to be with him.  He’s probably right.  Okay, he is right, but it’s like before.

When I was little and only my mom worked, my family really didn’t have anything at all.  Nothing work mentioning anyway.  Dad seemed happy.   When we first got together, Jason and I had nothing.  Well, I had a really beat up car, but we didn’t have a cat, a mortgage, or even a yard.  All we really had was each other and a couple of really low paying jobs.

When dad started to work, I was belittled, ignored, and beaten.  –  Not physically beaten, but mentally.   I became a non-entity.

Which is kind of how I feel like I am right now with Jason.
I’m a disembodied voice on the phone most of the time.  I don’t feel like I’m really part of his world, but just kind of a stand-in – a ghost of what might have been.

———   I have way too much time on my hands without a class and it snowing outside.  =)
First Castro and now this.

But, I’m keeping my resolution and trying to write more!

Anyway, Jason doesn’t have to be verbally abusive to me.   I’m pretty good about doing that myself.  However – if he ever said anything like that, I think I’d have enough strength to drop him like a hot rock and definitely let him know how a non-entity feels.

———–  I think I’m going to watch some anime now.
–  Peace –