Mothers/Sons… Fathers/Daughters

Daddy’s little girl forever and always… today is my dad’s birthday.

I used to use real pictures of my dad and me but the new sharing ability where someone can just take my articles and post them anywhere they want to without my permission put an end to that.

Today is my dad’s birthday. To have ever read anything I’ve ever said about him, you know how much he means to me. My dad is my hero. My gravity. My world revolves around him in many ways. Making him proud matters more to me than anything from anyone else on the planet. Because he was once the only person in the entire world that loved me.

I had no one but him when I was little. A nurse took care of me while he was at work and my mother ignored me. My brother and I were normal siblings with normal sibling rivalry until we were teenagers. And I didn’t live at home starting at only 7 years old. I was alone in the world. But I never felt like it. Because of my dad.

My relationship, or lack thereof, with my mother is not normal. But I do think that there is very frequently a distinct difference between the mother/daughter relationship and the father/daughter relationship. There is also a difference between mother/son and father/son. Mama’s Boy and Daddy’s Little Girl are commonly used terms for a reason.

But what is that reason, exactly?

You can get Oedipal on this if you want to but personally… been there, done that, got the degree. I want to examine it in terms of my life.

My mother loves my brother and hates me. My dad and my brother get along great, they’re close, and they love each other — but it’s not the relationship that I have with my dad. There is a big difference. Some of that may be my father making up for the love that I don’t have from my mother. He is two parents in one for me whereas my brother only needs him to be one person.

At least, when I was little, that might have been the case. As an adult, I don’t need him to be two people — I’ve found adoptive mothers who take on the role of mom for me. Some of them are my friends’ parents and they’ve always been there and remain a big part of my life. One of them is at work and she will be there for me when I need someone. One is on Medium and always says exactly the right thing exactly when I need to hear it. These women are amazing and I’m grateful they’re in my life.

But no parent — adoptive or otherwise — could ever hold a candle to my dad.

Except today, because it’s his birthday so I’m sure people are holding candles up for him to blow out. I wish I was one of those people but I live in a different state.

When my dad tells me he loves me he says, “I love you more than air.” I tell him, “I love you more than words.”

I sing Landslide (Fleetwood Mac) and Because You Loved Me (Celine Dion) to him. He sings Lullaby (Billy Joel) and Father and Daughter (Paul Simon) to me. We have a lot of songs but those define us the most. Some of the lyrics to Lullaby along with “I love you more than air” are tattooed on me in my dad’s handwriting. He wrote it out for me and the tattoo artist copied it perfectly.

My dad isn’t a fan of all of my tattoos but he was pretty amazed at how exact the handwriting was. He said it looked like he’d written on me with a Sharpie pen. 😂😂 But it’s my way of having him with me permanently.

I stupidly got a tattoo in my mother’s handwriting too. My dad said I should have them draw a line through it and he’ll write, “Don’t listen to that bitch” to have tattooed under it.

I might. 😈

My mother’s relationship with my brother is now strained. Some of that is because my brother is protective of me and doesn’t like how she treats me. Most of it is because she voted for Trump and with my brother, there’s no coming back from that.

I mean, voting for an open Nazi sympathizer when you have a Jewish son is pretty… on par for my mother… but also about as low as someone could go.

That wasn’t lost on my brother.

Growing up though, she did everything for him. He was in his late 20s when he first learned how to do laundry and over 30 before he asked ME to teach him how to cook.

He likes my cooking better than hers, a little fact that amuses me greatly.

I not only had to teach him how to cook (from a distance since I lived in FL at that time) — I had to send him pictures of the correct pots and pans to use as well as give him ingredient descriptions and where to find them in the grocery store.

She. Did. Everything. For. Him.

All through college. All through grad school. Even as he pursued his doctorate. Even though he lived in other states. He would bring his laundry back to New York and spend the weekend, leaving with clean clothes, and a giant container of food. She even bought special coolers for which to do this along with ice packs and new Tupperware every time because he never brought any of it back.

He has so many coolers, ice packs, and containers it’s insane.

Now, he’s engaged. My mother found out last weekend and I’m sure she’s still grieving. She doesn’t realize how much she’s already lost him because her head is too far up her own ass to see it. Plus she’d never see anything negative in the golden child.

My mother is a malignant narcissist who had splitting behavior with her children. One could do no wrong and the other could do no right. I fell on the wrong side of the split. I was disposable. He never could be. If she lost him she would die.

I know she’s going to want to put on some act at his wedding to make it seem like everything is fine between her and me. I plan to stick like glue to my father because she’ll avoid him. Hopefully. Or I may run her over in the parking lot with my car. Twice. I’ll wait til it’s over though, I won’t ruin my brother’s wedding.

It’s a strange thing for me to think about because my family is not exactly your typical situation. But I have wondered about these dynamics before.

I don’t think Oedipus is the answer. I find that rather unseemly. And I know there are plenty of sons out there who have awful mothers and plenty of daughters who have terrible fathers. That’s how strip clubs were invented. They’re built on daddy issues. But when things are “normal,” whatever that means, why are these relationships stronger than those of same-gender parent and child relationships?

I honestly am asking. Sometimes my prompts are born of things I don’t understand and I want to see if anyone can explain it in a way I like. My psychology professors didn’t. What do you guys think?

Meanwhile… happy birthday to my daddy. The greatest man in the world.

If you disagree, that’s only because you don’t know him. And you’re wrong.

This is in response to prompt number 16 on December’s Deep Thought Prompt List

Brett Jenae Tomlin, The Sturg, Vidya Sury, Collecting Smiles, Trisha Faye, Karen Schwartz, Katie Michaelson, Michelle Jimerson Morris, Amy Frances, Julia A. Keirns, Tina, Pat Romito LaPointe, Brandon Ellrich, Misty Rae, Karen Hoffman, Susie Winfield, Vincent Pisano, Paari, Marlene Samuels, Ray Day, Michael Rhodes, Pluto Wolnosci, Paula Shablo, Bruce Coulter, Ellen Baker, Leigh-Anne Dennison, Carmen Ballesteros, Marlana, MSW, Patricia Timmermans, Teisha LeShea, Rachella Angel Page, Lynn L. Alexander, Adrian CDTPPW, Lisa Guard, Rampath, Sweet Honeylu