|My old guitar and my kitten|
You know, maybe I like Facebook after all. I’m not completely sold on the idea of Facebook yet, but recently I’ve been a little more open to it after a turn of events with my guitar.
So, I updated my status the other week. I posted how the tuning knob off the E string of my guitar cracked and fell off, leaving me to tune my guitar with a pair of pliers. Just a screw was left where the plastic knob used to be, which hurt my fingers to even try to twist. I got nowhere using my bare hands. The pliers worked fairly well, although it is time consuming and awkward to manipulate them. I was pulling out the pliers to re tune the old girl up to twice a week, as my beloved guitar is old, warped and has seen better days.
So, a few weeks after posting this status update, my mom called me and said that she and my dad had bought me a new guitar and was it ok if they brought it over? I was sick that day, so they brought it over the next day, Sunday. I was pleasantly surprised. I kept thinking, “Wow, my parents DO care about me. Wow, I AM special. Wow, this is how I and every child is meant to feel… this is how it naturally feels between a parent and child… the parent gives and the child naturally feels like it is good and normal.”
But then I spoke, and out came, “Wow, how did I deserve a cool present like this, is it my birthday or Christmas?” With the underlying thought being, “This is odd. You’ve never bought me anything special on your own, so what has changed?”
Mom said they saw the guitar on sale, and there was one left, and if they saw it the next time they went to the store, they would get it for me. My dad said they hadn’t bought me anything for awhile, so they figured they would. Then I overhear my dad telling K, “A wife is a good thing, and is full of wisdom and intuition. Listen to your wife’s intuition, and you will get ahead in life.”
Later, after my parents left and I had time to reflect, I realized what he meant. It was my mom’s idea to buy me the guitar, and he just went along for the ride. My mom must have been feeling awful for me after her recent visit when I let out the family secret that he abused me. She wanted to cheer me up, and she wanted my dad to man up and show some kindness. I don’t think she ever told him what I told her. She told me it would traumatize him if she told, and she didn’t want to hurt him. What a weight there is on my mom’s shoulders. On one side, she can’t dare to cross him or make him uncomfortable in the smallest degree, but on the other side, it breaks her heart to see her child hurt by him.
I love my mom because she has always treated me wonderfully… except for protecting me from the father figure. That has been damaging to me, but at the same time I can step in her shoes and understand her pain and confusion at being caught in the middle.
But back to Sunday afternoon. When my parents brought over the guitar, and I was strumming it and practicing a few songs, I was grinning from ear to ear. I kept thinking, “I am so happy. Both my parents love me, and I feel special. I am worthy, I am loved, and this is how a family feels. I can get used to this. It feels natural to me. I am quick to forgive, and just as quick to forget, and in my mind, I can imagine that it has been this awesome since I was a child. I can go with this. I feel like I can totally accept this shower of affection as natural, and I accept it, and I’m going with it. I am loved.”
So after my parents left, I was just sitting there in a glow for some time strumming the guitar and thinking these thoughts. I didn’t question it, I just went with it. I’ve been telling myself for some time that I do love my father for who he really is, and who he Really is… is a dad who loves me. If my dad know who he Really is, he would have taken me to the zoo, just me and him, held my hand, bought me cotton candy, bought me new shoes whenever I needed them, read books to me, listened to me when I spoke, encouraged me, and told me I was special, awesome and amazing. That’s who my dad Really is.
The clincher here is that he never accepted who he really is. He thinks he’s some awful, evil messed up person, and he’s so focused on how his life sucks, and how traumatized he’s been since childhood, that he doesn’t have eyes to see anyone else, especially people in need, especially his own children. He is incredibly needy and broken, and if it weren’t for my mom mothering him, he would be a wreck. He sucks all the wonderful life energy out of her, trying to re-do his past. His own mother abandoned him and hated him, telling him she wished he was never born. So every day, my father tries to re-create his past with his new mother… my mom. My father never let my mom mother all six of us because he would get jealous. All her attention and loyalty went to him. True, when my dad was at work, my mom gave us her full attention and was nurturing and mothering. But when he came home, we had little to no access to her. It is the same to this day. He is number one.
But back to who my dad Really is. Who he really is: Attentive, nurturing, loving, completely whole, enthusiastic, giving, compassionate, supportive, encouraging. My dad is blinded to who he really is. The scales never fell off his eyes. He was born this amazing, just like every human, just like every little innocent baby is born this amazing. It’s just that when we’re born, we have forgotten who we Really are. Thank goodness, I now know who I really am and have always been, and that gives me wings, it really sets me free. When I think of who my dad Really is, I can’t hate him. I love him for who he Really is.
I was excited thinking that perhaps his blinders fell off and he had a change of heart. Then I realized that it was my mom who master-minded giving me the guitar. Instantly I started feeling disappointed and almost hating him again for what he did to me, but most of all for how trapped and suffocated he makes me mom feel. But then I stopped. My happiness does not rest on his ability to see himself as he Really is or not. I will still love him for who he Really is.
And when I play my new guitar, I will entertain the thought that perhaps, just perhaps, it may have been my dad’s idea after all to buy me this guitar.