Had a weird day yesterday. Went to Merced to drop off some gifts (very short sticks like the rest of you got) and visit folks. Mom was off gambling. (Diane keeps saying I should call ahead, but I just don't.) Had a nice visit with Suzie and Katie.
Then there was dad.
Went there first and spent about two hours. Julie was there for part of it, but mostly it was just him and I. And as we talked, I kind of kept waiting for him to ask questions about my life. How's Diane? How's the house? How's work going, natural things like that. But they didn't come. The conversation was about his life, his health, the child support he once paid, paying Chad's mortgage now, etc. (Can you believe that? It baffles me.)
Anyway, he and I went out to lunch and at the end of it he asked two questions: If I was still doing work in Stockton, and was I still teaching at Columbia. And I'm convinced he asked them to be polite. Certainly neither elicited new information.
And it struck me: He really just doesn't care. Not anymore. I don't believe it's social ineptitude or whatever damaged coping mechinism he's used all his life. It felt different. I honestly believe he's sort of filed me (Us? I don't know) away is some distant-past folder.
It's an odd realization. Lord knows I went through several stages of trying to understand and cope after the divorce, and I'm in a good place. But this was a bit unexpected.
Anyway, I wanted to write it down. Next time: Why egg nog is proof the Devil is alive and wants us all to go to Hell.
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2 comments:
You know I'm not going to defend him, even though I'm the daughter he remembers. Still, Julie says even though he's improved somewhat, he's definitely not "Steve" since the brain thing. I doubt it's a matter of filing us away, so much as the brain he has left only focuses on himself.
Could be, I suppose. Who knows.
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