As sad as this is going to sound, especially since I am a 49-year-old grown-ass adult, I got into a really bad fight with my parents last night. Without getting into all of the gory details, my Dad asked me a question and then proceeded to talk down to me after I gave him my answer. My dad is a good guy but like so many of his generation, he almost completely lacks any self-awareness. So when I told him that he didn’t need to talk to me like I was an idiot, he asked how he should talk to me about this situation. Unfortunately, I am TERRIBLE at confrontations, especially with my parents, and I said, “Not shittily” (is that even a word?). At that moment he turned, told me to leave, and stormed off. Attempts to talk to my Mom while I walked out also did not go well. Let’s put a pin in that last part and come back to it in a bit.
My folks recently moved back to Oklahoma. Dad attempted to retire early and they built a house on the water in southwestern Florida. The place was gorgeous; their dream house and they were so proud of it and happy there. They were completely moved to the Sunshine State sometime in 2002, not too long after our second child was born. Over the next 20 years, they came back to visit a few times. Due to the jobs I was working for a good chunk of that time, I was unable to travel to visit them. We were able to get down there a time or two before I started working in libraries, and after that, we were able to travel a bit more. Even still, during those 20 years, I saw them less than ten times and my children saw them less than that. There was a month-long trip that the kids took to Florida when they were in elementary school but it ended up being a bit of a disaster.
Fast-forward to Thanksgiving 2022. Mom and Dad came up for a visit and started talking about moving back to Oklahoma. Actually, Dad talked a lot about moving back to Oklahoma and when I asked Mom what she thought, she wouldn’t answer the question. At that point, I took an I’ll-believe-it-when-I-see-it stance.
For context, my folks are both 78 years old and neither are in great health. My brother and his wife also live in the Oklahoma City metro area, but their relationship with him has been…strained?…difficult?…let’s just say that it hasn’t been great for a lot of reasons (none of which I am getting into here). Still, their children and grandchildren are all in Oklahoma and they are looking down the barrel, realizing that they don’t have a lot of time left.
Some other context that is needed for this story to make any semblance of sense centers around money and college. Dad is great with money. Always has been. Conversely, I am terrible with money. Always have been. Right out of high school, I was given the choice of two colleges to attend—The University of Oklahoma and Oklahoma State University—since they were the ones footing the bill. See, Dad’s a bit of a snob. Not in a high society kind of way, more in an upper-middle-class kind of way. And like so many of the Baby Boomer generation, my parents preached the mantra of "You can be anything, just get your education." What a load of shit that turned out to be...
Anyway, I dropped out in the first semester of my sophomore year. Eventually, I did get an AA in Broadcast Journalism. After that, I made another attempt at going to a university (not the one I wanted to go to mind you, but since once again Dad was paying the bill, I had to pick from the schools he liked). Needless to say, that didn’t end well and I dropped out after two months. (Side note: I did eventually graduate with a BA, but it was 28 years after I graduated high school.)
From there I started my long and illustrious career in customer service which took me from retail to call centers before I finally lucked into a job that I didn’t loathe. Anyone who has worked in these industries will understand that they are not the best-paying jobs in the world, thus we struggled financially. Hell, we still struggle with money and probably always will.
I went from growing up middle- to upper-middle-class to being a member of the working class as an adult. Because of this, my parents had to bail us out a lot over the years. Our house, my car, my college…they’ve paid for so much and I am eternally grateful. I was also very cognizant of the fact that despite having a nice retirement savings nest egg, they lived on a fixed income. That was exactly why I only told them about the things that were emergencies and everything else we learned to deal with and work around. Hell of a way to raise a family…
I harbor a lot of guilt about the fact that I couldn’t provide for my family the way that I wanted to and the way that they deserved. Struggling sucks. There is also a lot of built-up shame and embarrassment bubbling in my head from the years of having to be bailed out by my parents. If I didn’t hate myself already, this would surely send me over the ledge of self-loathing.
When I became a parent, I made some decisions about how I would be as a father. One such decision had to do with priorities. I made it a priority to put my family first, above all else. More than that, I wanted them to know and feel from me that they were/are my top priority in life, that they were loved unconditionally, and that I would always be there for them no matter what. Everything else came second. Especially my job. Granted, I hated most of my jobs with a firey passion but I NEVER wanted my kids to think or feel that my job was the most important thing in my life because I knew exactly how that felt.
Look, I know that I suck and that if the Jesus people are right, I am going straight to Hell, but goddammit I am a great fucking dad. I firmly believe in putting others first and in trying to do my best every day to live my life in service of others. Because guess what? None of this shit matters. We can’t change the world or fix anything…that ship has long since sailed. All we can do is try to be good to one another.
So, bringing this back to the beginning, as I was leaving my parents’ house my Mom told me that my Dad was very sick (which I knew) and that I had no idea what was going on in their lives. When I responded that they had no idea what was going on in my life, she said that they knew more than I thought because they talked to my kids. This was the moment that I bit my tongue and held back a retort about pointing out the fact that they were back in Oklahoma for nearly a month before they called their granddaughter and that the only reason they called their grandson was because Dad needed help with his phone. She went on to tell me that I sounded angry every time we’d talked since they moved back. This was news to me but also after I thought about it, not that surprising.
My stress and anxiety levels have been through the roof since all of this talk about them moving back got serious. So, yeah, maybe I am angry. Maybe I’m angry at the fact that my kids grew up with absentee grandparents. Maybe I’m angry that so many of the interactions that I have with my parents are transactional. Maybe I’m angry at their entire worthless fucking generation that is so completely self-absorbed and entitled that they can’t see how badly they have screwed the pooch. Maybe I’m angry at my Dad for never letting shit go (he’s like a dog with a bone) or never admitting he was wrong. Maybe I’ve had enough of a lifetime of being talked to like I’m an idiot or a servant. Maybe I’ve had it with people who automatically think the worst about others and refuse to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. Maybe I’m angry because I’ve lost hope that there will be a better future for my kids. Maybe I’m angry because my parents have blown off or disregarded my concerns about my mental health. Maybe I’m angry because even though I bend over backward to help people and put the needs of others before my own, anytime I stand up for myself or try to create boundaries, somehow I’m the asshole (Seriously, what the fuck is with that?). Maybe I’m angry because I was born all fucked up or because I’ve been depressed for about as long as I can remember. So, yeah, maybe I am angry and maybe I have reason for being angry.
At this point, I have no idea where I stand with my folks or where they stand with me. I’ve got a lot of shit that I need to work through. On top of that, there are things that I should work out with my parents but I have to wonder if it’s worth it to try. If history is any indication, my concerns and thoughts will be either ignored or discounted. Obviously, I am the one with the problem and there is no way they could be at fault for any of it. Obviously. Then there’s the fact that they are not long for this world and they, more or less, moved here to die. I know that sounds crass and blunt but it’s also the truth.
I know that I have problems. I recognize them and own up to them. I’m not so arrogant or self-absorbed to think that I bear no responsibility in all of this. I also know that my folks are going through a lot between the medical issues, moving across the country, and the general crap that comes with old age. That’s a lot.
Here’s the deal, I don’t want to hurt anyone but something has got to change. I just wish I knew what it was…
Since we are the same age I understand some of what you are going through with your parents. If you ever want to talk about it I’m always around to listen.
I hate you’re having a tough time with your folks. Even though we are thousands of miles away and never met in person, you’re still an incredibly important friend to me. Know that I’m rooting for you to gain some kind of peace, however that looks like for you.