I was having coffee with a friend the other day. Father's day was coming up, and we were discussing our relationships with our fathers. I breezily told her of the time my father came to my school in the middle of the day, and took me fishing.
"But Fenny," she interrupted, her face puzzled, "why don't you have any stories of you and your dad after you got older?"
That completely floored me. I stared at her, wondering what could she be talking about.
And I stopped.
It's true. The stories I have of my father and I end around when I was seven or so. The memories after that are usually fraught with arguments and tears.
Away on business, he was very rarely home, but the moments when he was, were exciting, fun filled times - with adventures and presents and trips. Once he left, it was just my mother and I, at home, waiting for his next appearance.
If it sounds sad, it's because it was. That doesn't mean that my mother and I didn't exist when he was not there. Actually, we did quite a lot of things, arts and crafts and living our daily lives…but in the back of our minds, in our every activity, we both knew that it was just empty time to be filled until he would walk through the door.
But that was when I was a child. And I have outgrown so many of my old ideas and beliefs, that I had thought that my father-worship has long been extinguished, along with my dreams of being the first female astronaut princess. But the truth is; I have never outgrown my need for my father's acceptance.
Freud would say it's just the Electra Complex, but that is too simple of an explanation for the torture that I put myself through, and the ideals that I hold him to, and assign to him. Both of which, I must admit now, he has failed me miserably.
I knew, even from very young, and I had somehow disappointed my father for not being a boy. So I compensated by being more aggressive, tougher, louder, anything to get his attention. Between the time I was five and seven, this tactic worked. I was his substitute son. But once my brother was born, my father had the son that he craved, and I no longer knew my role.
Now that he had the prized son, he did not need me to be his substitute. To be the son that he never had. The son that never could be. Now that he had a son, my role has his male-child was over, and he now wanted me to be the docile, sweet daughter that I was meant to be all along.
Maybe it was nurture, or maybe nature…but I have never been able to become that daughter. Even though I was still young, my thoughts and beliefs were already formed. I could not be the docile, quiet creature that my father desired. I only knew how to be audacious.
I no longer fit into my father's plans.
And so, I have spent the last twenty years of my life, confused on where I stand with him.
I hurt when he's gentle and kind to the daughters of his business partners. They have mastered what he wants. And I hate him, when their feelings matter more to him, then mine.
So, I act more outrageous then ever, subconsciously asking myself what I did wrong? What could I do to make things better? Why won't he notice me anymore?
I'm a self-actualized adult. I have a great job, and wonderful friends. I fight for women's rights and for a Chinese-American voice. My relationship with my father has probably caused a few relationships to fail, but my life is not dominated by the presence of my past.
I tell myself that if I really wanted to, I have the strength to walk away from my father and lead my own life, without the feeling of need. The need for acceptance. The need for his attention.
I barely think of my father on most days, and when I do see him (which is rather regular), I do not avoid him, nor do I cower in his presence. I don't always argue with him, and we share laughs like any normal family.
But, at the end of the day, when we are laughingly arm in arm, singing at the top of our lungs, walking to the car, my father will pause, and from the corner of my eye, I see him stare longingly at the other fathers with their unflawed daughters.
So I drive home alone, the windows open, letting the cold night air dry the tears on my face, as I wait for my father to reply "I love you too"…