Where I Come From...Where I'm Going: Part 1:
The Step-Father's Story
I was moved to England at the age of seven...an unfortunate by-product of my parent's divorce and my mother's subsequent remarriage. I had experienced the typical family unit; Mum, Dad, 2 kids (one girl, one boy), dog and cats. Now it was all ripped apart, thanks in no small measure to my father's wanderings. So, off we went. We moved into an ancient house (literally...it was 300 years old) which was crumbling from the inside out and outside in. It was gorgeous if you used your imagination. Poor as churchmice, we couldn't afford to fix the place up in one go...instead, we eeked out an existence without a kitchen or a shower. My step-dad had to do all of the work himself, to save money. Therefore, our "kitchen" for 18 months was a plastic tub for dishes and a microwave. Mum figured out how to cook complex meals using just the "high" setting. It was incredible. My step-father was a professor at Cambridge, not exactly bringing in the big bucks. My Mum worked as an office manager. We got by. Dinner was beans on toast, fish fingers. Not fancy, but filling. At the time, I never realized we were poor, because I never felt it. Sure, we didn't get the latest clothes, or a new car to drive around in, but we were fed, we received an allowance (meager!) and we were allowed pets. All in all, a happy time. Two more children followed, making us a family of six.
I never used to question what my Dad thought of all this. For the most part, Mum didn't speak of him. I would overhear the general cursing of his name every time our child support cheque was late (every...single...time) and the arguements over where I was to go to school, and who was going to pay. I tried to block it all out, it was, after all, adult stuff. I loved my step-dad, I had a real soft spot for him, and I believe, he for me. On the day of their wedding, I asked him if I could call him "Dad". He laughed and said "I'll never be your Dad". At the time, I was devestated, my world just froze for a second. I know he did not mean what he said, at least in that context. I knew he didn't mean to hurt me. I was only 8 and I don't think he thought of the effect on a young heart. We underestimate the effect of a parent on a child. I called him by his first name for the rest of our time together. He would drive me into school in the morning, on his way to work. It was our time together. We sat in silence, listening to the radio. Sometimes he would ask me about school. I got the impression that he never knew how to relate to me. I would make radio requests on his birthday and he would give me a hug, which was nice.
The only time he would get really animated was during my math homework, which I hated. As a mathematician, he would excitedly explain all of the principles in my book, in far more detail than I ever needed to go into. I humoured him with "Uh-huh's" and "Oh, ok's" and turned around and got C's. I think I disappointed him a lot. He was good when I was choosing a university too, offering good advice and helping me through the process. In my first year of University, it happened...he sold a business that he had formed with friends! We made a million pounds! We couldn't believe it, after all those years of struggle, all that time of sacrifice and night after night of those bloody fish fingers, we had done it...it was all worth it, finally. He went and bought a BMW to celebrate.
When I was in my third year of University, he came up for business and we had Indian food. I felt like a grownup. I didn't know that it would be the last time I would eat food with him again. I look at that whole time with a sense of sadness, impending sadness. Mum called in May to tell me that they were divorcing. She had found letters. The secretary, of course. He took the money and left...back at square one. Crumbling house, crumbling life, starting over with a fresh taste of loss in our mouths. I crashed my car that day (into a Mercedes, of course) and cried like I have never cried before. It was almost laughable...make a million, buy the Beemer, f*ck the secretary, get a divorce, take the money and run.
Afterwards, I told him I didn't blame him for divorcing my mother. I still don't. I do blame him for the way he did it. If you fall out of love with someone, for god's sake, you let them know before moving on to someone else. People fall out of love every day, it happens (with my Mother, it is easier to fall out of love with her than others, I'm sure). But do it right. I received a pair of tiny diamond studs on my 21st birthday from him. I threw them away and guiltily retrieved them afterwards when my Mum wasn't looking. I don't wear them, but they are my reminder, the only gift he bought for me personally in 15 years.
I became angry, so physically angry. I was now the "head of the household" as Mum was in no fit state to deal. I was still at University, but tried my best. I fired off a seething letter to the secretary, one of those "How dare you" this and "how dare you" that, along with some choice expletives. It was a good letter. I ended it with something like this "You can ask God for forgiveness, but he won't give it to you". My ex-step dad sent a copy to my Mum (who was aware of the whole thing) and told her what a horrible, spiteful b*tch I was. She cried when she saw it, she was so happy just to have someone, anyone in her corner. She thanked me for speaking my mind at a time when everyone else was being polite and dancing around their anger. I was angry enough for everyone I think...it shone like starlight from me.
I never heard from him again, just a brief moment when I was visiting with my siblings, and he picked them up. He smiled. I smiled back. His hair was much more grey and he was leaner. He looked like I remembered him.
After having "the snip" reversed so he could sire a kid with the secretary, and the immediate birth of the blessed baby, the secretary divorced him and fled to Yorkshire. Secretary cited my sister (all 18 years old of her) as the cause of the divorce. I'm surprised I didn't get an honorable mention after my letter of 6 years past. While my brother and sister never exactly wished her well, they never intentionally wished ill of her either. She was devestated to be cited. While crying, I reminded her that the love of two people could never be destroyed by a child...what she was doing was blaming somebody, something, anything. She is not permitted to contact her new sister, ever.
And so we soldier on, moving through light and shade, finding solitude in each other. Fortification of the soul in numbers. We are now five, spread across the world like stars in the dark.
I think of him often.
I was moved to England at the age of seven...an unfortunate by-product of my parent's divorce and my mother's subsequent remarriage. I had experienced the typical family unit; Mum, Dad, 2 kids (one girl, one boy), dog and cats. Now it was all ripped apart, thanks in no small measure to my father's wanderings. So, off we went. We moved into an ancient house (literally...it was 300 years old) which was crumbling from the inside out and outside in. It was gorgeous if you used your imagination. Poor as churchmice, we couldn't afford to fix the place up in one go...instead, we eeked out an existence without a kitchen or a shower. My step-dad had to do all of the work himself, to save money. Therefore, our "kitchen" for 18 months was a plastic tub for dishes and a microwave. Mum figured out how to cook complex meals using just the "high" setting. It was incredible. My step-father was a professor at Cambridge, not exactly bringing in the big bucks. My Mum worked as an office manager. We got by. Dinner was beans on toast, fish fingers. Not fancy, but filling. At the time, I never realized we were poor, because I never felt it. Sure, we didn't get the latest clothes, or a new car to drive around in, but we were fed, we received an allowance (meager!) and we were allowed pets. All in all, a happy time. Two more children followed, making us a family of six.
I never used to question what my Dad thought of all this. For the most part, Mum didn't speak of him. I would overhear the general cursing of his name every time our child support cheque was late (every...single...time) and the arguements over where I was to go to school, and who was going to pay. I tried to block it all out, it was, after all, adult stuff. I loved my step-dad, I had a real soft spot for him, and I believe, he for me. On the day of their wedding, I asked him if I could call him "Dad". He laughed and said "I'll never be your Dad". At the time, I was devestated, my world just froze for a second. I know he did not mean what he said, at least in that context. I knew he didn't mean to hurt me. I was only 8 and I don't think he thought of the effect on a young heart. We underestimate the effect of a parent on a child. I called him by his first name for the rest of our time together. He would drive me into school in the morning, on his way to work. It was our time together. We sat in silence, listening to the radio. Sometimes he would ask me about school. I got the impression that he never knew how to relate to me. I would make radio requests on his birthday and he would give me a hug, which was nice.
The only time he would get really animated was during my math homework, which I hated. As a mathematician, he would excitedly explain all of the principles in my book, in far more detail than I ever needed to go into. I humoured him with "Uh-huh's" and "Oh, ok's" and turned around and got C's. I think I disappointed him a lot. He was good when I was choosing a university too, offering good advice and helping me through the process. In my first year of University, it happened...he sold a business that he had formed with friends! We made a million pounds! We couldn't believe it, after all those years of struggle, all that time of sacrifice and night after night of those bloody fish fingers, we had done it...it was all worth it, finally. He went and bought a BMW to celebrate.
When I was in my third year of University, he came up for business and we had Indian food. I felt like a grownup. I didn't know that it would be the last time I would eat food with him again. I look at that whole time with a sense of sadness, impending sadness. Mum called in May to tell me that they were divorcing. She had found letters. The secretary, of course. He took the money and left...back at square one. Crumbling house, crumbling life, starting over with a fresh taste of loss in our mouths. I crashed my car that day (into a Mercedes, of course) and cried like I have never cried before. It was almost laughable...make a million, buy the Beemer, f*ck the secretary, get a divorce, take the money and run.
Afterwards, I told him I didn't blame him for divorcing my mother. I still don't. I do blame him for the way he did it. If you fall out of love with someone, for god's sake, you let them know before moving on to someone else. People fall out of love every day, it happens (with my Mother, it is easier to fall out of love with her than others, I'm sure). But do it right. I received a pair of tiny diamond studs on my 21st birthday from him. I threw them away and guiltily retrieved them afterwards when my Mum wasn't looking. I don't wear them, but they are my reminder, the only gift he bought for me personally in 15 years.
I became angry, so physically angry. I was now the "head of the household" as Mum was in no fit state to deal. I was still at University, but tried my best. I fired off a seething letter to the secretary, one of those "How dare you" this and "how dare you" that, along with some choice expletives. It was a good letter. I ended it with something like this "You can ask God for forgiveness, but he won't give it to you". My ex-step dad sent a copy to my Mum (who was aware of the whole thing) and told her what a horrible, spiteful b*tch I was. She cried when she saw it, she was so happy just to have someone, anyone in her corner. She thanked me for speaking my mind at a time when everyone else was being polite and dancing around their anger. I was angry enough for everyone I think...it shone like starlight from me.
I never heard from him again, just a brief moment when I was visiting with my siblings, and he picked them up. He smiled. I smiled back. His hair was much more grey and he was leaner. He looked like I remembered him.
After having "the snip" reversed so he could sire a kid with the secretary, and the immediate birth of the blessed baby, the secretary divorced him and fled to Yorkshire. Secretary cited my sister (all 18 years old of her) as the cause of the divorce. I'm surprised I didn't get an honorable mention after my letter of 6 years past. While my brother and sister never exactly wished her well, they never intentionally wished ill of her either. She was devestated to be cited. While crying, I reminded her that the love of two people could never be destroyed by a child...what she was doing was blaming somebody, something, anything. She is not permitted to contact her new sister, ever.
And so we soldier on, moving through light and shade, finding solitude in each other. Fortification of the soul in numbers. We are now five, spread across the world like stars in the dark.
I think of him often.
posted by Jennifer @ 1:30 p.m.
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