Day 04: Something I have to forgive someone for.
Guess who has daddy issues? I know it is totally uncommon because most fathers are so loving, caring, and supportive of their daughters, I know that my nearly opposite experience is rare. I do not want to shock people too much but this is a writing project and I am obligated to write. Plus, I have missed a couple days due to not being around a computer. So, I might as well get going with the snark.
From a young age I was told to marry rich. It was rarely ever advice to be smart, push myself, go to school, get a good job, find a nice guy that respects me and loves me for who I am. No. It was “Fran, marry rich!” Eventually I did start getting the “you are not going to be svelte and dominative forever!” My father is correct, eventually my looks will fade, eventually I will get old. And it is unfortunate that I never had a college fund, stocks, savings bonds, or any type of cushion afforded to me by my parents. My brothers, both older, were given these things. Not all of it was from my parents. Some of the investments where from relatives that had lost interest, stopped caring, or were too confused on what year they were living in to be concerned with me.
My father’s logic was sound. I have to give him that. My brothers are only three years apart, so it makes sense to have college funds for both of them considering my parents would be paying for two educations at once. I am five years younger than my middle brother and eight years younger than my oldest brother. Both of them should have been out of college by the time I started. Therefore, my father figured there would be more than enough available cash to put me through school.
I am sure there was enough, had there not been enough I know my parents would have found a way. But, unforeseen issues arose. Firstly, my Freshmen year was really rough for me. I bombed. Those grades stayed on my transcripts, obviously, and my grandma dying played a large part in my horrid SAT scores. These parts of my high school career did not get me into any Ivy League colleges, or any colleges. So, I did what every kid who has no other options while refusing to go into the military, I went to fake college. Fake college is okay, most people call it community college but really it is high school with older classmates and teachers that give zero fucks. Calling it fake college is way shorter and easier and more accurate.
I was excited for my first quarter at fake college. I did well. I loved being able to pick my classes and picking the subject of my classes, picking the times, I felt like I was able to take a baby-step into adulthood. My second quarter included classes like English 105 and Polisci 100. I loved reading philosophy and participating in class discussions. I was looking forward to participating in the classes study group and then my father fell ill.
Taking care of my father became my biggest duty. Leaving for school involved a guilt trip and a threat at coming home to find my father no longer alive. During class my phone would go off to make sure I would come home after school instead of going to my study group or staying in the library to write my essays. Going to work was an ordeal. School took a backseat. My life was taking care of my father, taking him to the hospital, staying with him when I had to, and being thrown in the middle of my parent’s fights. Anytime I could escape, I did. I loved escaping to school. I loved studying, writing, seeing my friends and classmates, but I had bigger issues to worry about.
I flunked out of fake college my first year. Because I performed so terribly paying for school is now my responsibility. If I cannot afford school, I do not go. Failing out that year is rubbed in my face a lot. It was further proof that I will never be more than a pretty face. To my dad, it set my fate in stone.
I am not entirely sure he remembers, with accuracy, what those two years were like. I am not sure he knows what he put me through, my brothers through, my mom, my uncles. I don’t think he remembers going into my work and handing my manager a letter telling her not to schedule me more than one-four hour shift a week so that I could spend more time at home taking care of him. I don’t know if he remembers all of the times I had to rush him to the hospital. I do not know if he remembers calling my phone non-stop while I was at work, school, or out with friends. I do not know if he remembers calling me away from computer every five to 10 minutes while trying to write seven page essays on Thoreau. Yet, with all of these things he still feels free to cite my lack of drive as the reason to fail. My obsession with bad television and frivolity is the reason he throws out for my failing.
He needs to be forgiven. Maybe he doesn’t know that I am harboring this grudge. This is how I feel; this is how I remember those years of my life. Obviously, my memories are slightly biased, and I am sure there is more I could have done to pass my classes. But, at the end of the day, I can never think of any spare time I had to fulfill my responsibilities and maintain a good GPA.
Nothing gets accomplished by still resenting my father, but I do.
Guess who has daddy issues? I know it is totally uncommon because most fathers are so loving, caring, and supportive of their daughters, I know that my nearly opposite experience is rare. I do not want to shock people too much but this is a writing project and I am obligated to write. Plus, I have missed a couple days due to not being around a computer. So, I might as well get going with the snark.
From a young age I was told to marry rich. It was rarely ever advice to be smart, push myself, go to school, get a good job, find a nice guy that respects me and loves me for who I am. No. It was “Fran, marry rich!” Eventually I did start getting the “you are not going to be svelte and dominative forever!” My father is correct, eventually my looks will fade, eventually I will get old. And it is unfortunate that I never had a college fund, stocks, savings bonds, or any type of cushion afforded to me by my parents. My brothers, both older, were given these things. Not all of it was from my parents. Some of the investments where from relatives that had lost interest, stopped caring, or were too confused on what year they were living in to be concerned with me.
My father’s logic was sound. I have to give him that. My brothers are only three years apart, so it makes sense to have college funds for both of them considering my parents would be paying for two educations at once. I am five years younger than my middle brother and eight years younger than my oldest brother. Both of them should have been out of college by the time I started. Therefore, my father figured there would be more than enough available cash to put me through school.
I am sure there was enough, had there not been enough I know my parents would have found a way. But, unforeseen issues arose. Firstly, my Freshmen year was really rough for me. I bombed. Those grades stayed on my transcripts, obviously, and my grandma dying played a large part in my horrid SAT scores. These parts of my high school career did not get me into any Ivy League colleges, or any colleges. So, I did what every kid who has no other options while refusing to go into the military, I went to fake college. Fake college is okay, most people call it community college but really it is high school with older classmates and teachers that give zero fucks. Calling it fake college is way shorter and easier and more accurate.
I was excited for my first quarter at fake college. I did well. I loved being able to pick my classes and picking the subject of my classes, picking the times, I felt like I was able to take a baby-step into adulthood. My second quarter included classes like English 105 and Polisci 100. I loved reading philosophy and participating in class discussions. I was looking forward to participating in the classes study group and then my father fell ill.
Taking care of my father became my biggest duty. Leaving for school involved a guilt trip and a threat at coming home to find my father no longer alive. During class my phone would go off to make sure I would come home after school instead of going to my study group or staying in the library to write my essays. Going to work was an ordeal. School took a backseat. My life was taking care of my father, taking him to the hospital, staying with him when I had to, and being thrown in the middle of my parent’s fights. Anytime I could escape, I did. I loved escaping to school. I loved studying, writing, seeing my friends and classmates, but I had bigger issues to worry about.
I flunked out of fake college my first year. Because I performed so terribly paying for school is now my responsibility. If I cannot afford school, I do not go. Failing out that year is rubbed in my face a lot. It was further proof that I will never be more than a pretty face. To my dad, it set my fate in stone.
I am not entirely sure he remembers, with accuracy, what those two years were like. I am not sure he knows what he put me through, my brothers through, my mom, my uncles. I don’t think he remembers going into my work and handing my manager a letter telling her not to schedule me more than one-four hour shift a week so that I could spend more time at home taking care of him. I don’t know if he remembers all of the times I had to rush him to the hospital. I do not know if he remembers calling my phone non-stop while I was at work, school, or out with friends. I do not know if he remembers calling me away from computer every five to 10 minutes while trying to write seven page essays on Thoreau. Yet, with all of these things he still feels free to cite my lack of drive as the reason to fail. My obsession with bad television and frivolity is the reason he throws out for my failing.
He needs to be forgiven. Maybe he doesn’t know that I am harboring this grudge. This is how I feel; this is how I remember those years of my life. Obviously, my memories are slightly biased, and I am sure there is more I could have done to pass my classes. But, at the end of the day, I can never think of any spare time I had to fulfill my responsibilities and maintain a good GPA.
Nothing gets accomplished by still resenting my father, but I do.
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