The Papa Principle

Lately I've had a lot of mental tossing and turning about my father, as evidenced by the fact that I'm writing about him a lot here.

My mother wrote this to me yesterday:

I think your "love" for your father is nothing more than "potential" love unresolved and unmet, the never-ending pursuit of and hunger for what should have been given freely by him, but never was. As dark as this may sound, I believe the only relief you will feel from this will be his death, which, by definition will end the pursuit of what is not, and never has been, available to you or to anyone else in his world. Hope I didn't make it all worse for you.

She didn't make it worse. Don't get me wrong -- my mother and I have had real problems in the past, significant ones. I barely spoke to her throughout much of my 20s. We got into it during her recent visit and she sat crying on my couch. Ultimately, though, the fight was productive. My mother is flawed like the rest of us, but she is totally human and willing to try to see other sides of an argument.

Then there's my father. My father brooks no argument. My father is right, whether you think so or not. And if you disagree with him, well, you're wrong.

If it were only that, we'd be all good. As it is, my father is a father when it suits him. He came to my wedding and crowed. He watched me make my New York stage debut and wrote a glowing email to the rest of the family ... Subject line: "A Star Is Born."

When he's nice like that, it hurts so much. That's because the rest of the time it's so painful to be around him.

I want a father. I want a daddy.

From Augusten Burroughs' A Wolf at the Table:

"Maybe you can just work around what’s missing, build the house of your life over the hole that is there and always will be."

Maybe.