Paul

My mind is on complete and utter overload today. I have dozens of things to talk about and I can't seem to get it all sorted out. So, I decided to start writing and see what came out.

I'm having serious performance anxiety about writing today. I've been reading way too many blogs and I just feel that in comparison to a lot of people, I have absolutely nothing of interest to say. But I've decided to decide I'm cool and go with it. Maybe my quaint little views on life are part of my own particular charm.

Both Mark's and palochi's comments from yesterday have me thinking about my father. How friggin sweet is it that Mark's dad called him Punkin? And he was a cop, just like my dad. I know that my father loves me very much, but he has absolutely no idea how to show it.

I don't even call my father Dad. When my brother was a toddler he started saying da da and my father said, "No. My name is Paul." So he called my father Paul and I just followed his lead. I have never called him anything else. Do you know how hard it is to find a non-sentimental Father's Day card that doesn't say Dad or Daddy?

He is an imposing man. He's just huge. A lot of it is fat but he has that broad, thick, HUGE physical presence that no one would want to meet in a dark ally. Plus, when angry he turns a mottled red color and absolutely fumes. I was so scared of my father as a child. It's not that he ever hit me (though my brother and mother both got a few smacks over the years) but he would threaten physical violence. He would say things like, "If I catch you doing that I'll put you in the hospital." I think we sort of believed him.

Because he was a cop, and eventually even the chief, nobody messed with him. He was either everybody's best friend, or a hated enemy. For example, when I got married, I barely paid for anything in town. The florist, limo company, photographer, and bakery all owed him favors. He was the local hero because he had driven the mafia out of town. But the mafia sure hated him.

A couple of times as a kid, I had run-ins with the police. I never, ever did anything wrong. I was so afraid of my father that I would never break a rule or go a mile over the speed limit. But one night a bunch of my friends and I came out of the place we worked and the cops pulled up and told us that someone had called in a report of teenagers loitering in the parking lot. It wasn't us. All I said to the cop was, "You know, my dad is Paul..." I didn't even have to finish. "You're his kid?" they said. "We know there's no way you'd ever do anything wrong. Who'd want to face that? Sorry to bother you."

I can't ever remember him showing one sign of affection or pride once I reached school-age. If I brought home a 96 on a test, he wanted to know where the other four points were. When he got an 88 on his chief's exam I said, "Where are the other twelve points?" and he hit the roof. He must have pointed and yelled at me for ten minutes. It was my fault that he got an 88 (which is really very good) because I didn't help him study and I disturbed him. Nothing was ever his fault.

He was absolutely sick about my wedding. He was terrified of the father/daughter dance. He didn't want to do it. He said, "I'll just be stepping out for a bit," or "I'll just stand there and you can dance."

He was such a wreck the day that I got married that he injured me. We were early for my wedding and had to wait in the limo. When it was time to go in, he grabbed my hand to help me out of the car and pulled. Hard. I smacked my head on the door. Hard. He said, "Oh, you're fine," and kept going.

A couple weeks later, I loaded up my car with everything I owned and drove to New Mexico to start my new life with my husband. He started sobbing as I was heading out the door. He yelled at me, "Just go. Just go." I thought I'd get in the car and start crying but I surprised myself by just getting really angry. He had 23 years to show me he loved me. 23 years to be close to me and build a relationship. 23 years when he could have hugged or kissed me just once, and didn't. And now he's going to cry like I'm breaking his heart. It probably wasn't fair of me to feel that way, but I did.

When my daughter was born my brother asked me what my kids would call my parents. My father piped in with, "Paul works just fine." I put my foot down. There was no way I was going to let him get away with that for another generation. I bet he's glad I did that now. My daughter is his little baby girl. He treats her so differently than he ever treated me.

My father thinks I am this very outspoken, very tough woman. I think he needs to see me that way to feel that he raised me the right way. I'm also the only one who will dare stand up to him. But even now, as an adult, there is a line I will not cross. I state my case, when he starts fuming or making a joke out of my position, I just let it drop. When he criticizes something I'm doing with my kids I always say, "Are they the best kids you know?" Of course they are. "Well, then I must be doing something right. They weren't born this way."

My father certainly wasn't all bad. And hell, what I just outlined really isn't anything compared to what a lot of people go through. But he absolutely shaped who I am. I chose my husband with an eye for finding someone exactly the opposite of him. When my husband does act like my father, I get irrational. But I'll tell you what, my daughter will be calling my husband Daddy on her wedding day and dancing in his arms with happy tears in her eyes. I only hope my father is there to see it.