Memories of Father

I was supposed to meet my father at my grandma's on the Saturday after my birthday. Well, he told her that because I didn't reply to his message, he wasn't coming. My grandmother was harassing me over it. I told her I didn't write back, because it was a simple text, he didn't call, and I was going to meet him anyway, so why reply??? Anyway, don't care, though it was very uncomfortable. They kept going on and on about it. I figure it was because he had something else scheduled, and would rather meet his friends than me. It wasn't the first time. Appearances have always been more important to him than me. He never asked me what I wanted for my birthday, or if I needed help with something, or anything really. I was always someone to be dragged around for his girlfriends and friends, to show off. I never felt that he actually wanted to see me.

We haven't seen each other since, and he doesn't say he doesn't want to see me, but it is implied. Not sure why, but maybe I wrote something on Facebook. Well, if I did, I only wrote what was true. He made this bed, but we both have to lie in it.

There was this one time in 2003. It was his birthday, and he had a party at his place. He invited me over, and told me that there would be a second cousin (I think) I could talk to, who was around my age and came from the US to study Maths. It was just after I found out about mum's cancer, and I was really depressed. I went, trying to get my mind off of something I couldn't do anything about. So I tried to talk to the girl, but she was really closed off. Like trying to get water out of a rock. So since she obviously wanted to be left alone, I went and talked to some other people as well. Then my father came to me and told me off for not talking to her, since apparently that was the only reason for me being there. I can't remember what I told him, but I ended up blurting out mum's cancer. He hugged me. It felt weird. He hardly ever did hug me. I was crying and sobbing and a mess. Anyway, perhaps then he realised how stupid he was being. I think I did tell him that the girl obviously didn't want to talk to me. It was just another example of not wanting me, only using me.

Another thing I remember was when he was living in Szeged in the 90s, I was probably around 10-12. We were supposed to meet for lunch on Saturday. Back then I didn't have breakfast, just a cup of hot chocolate. So I was all dolled up in my dress, and waiting for him by the door, starving. I was sitting in the small chair that we used for putting on our shoes. I waited there for about 30 minutes or more. I decided to call him. I woke him up. He was sleepy, and hung over, and practically mad at me for waking him. He totally forgot. I never expected him to show up on time ever again.

Another memory is probably the last time I ever saw my parents in the same room. It was also in the 90s. My father was paying 8000Ft child support. Mum wanted to talk to him to raise it to 10 000Ft. They sat down in the living room, and mum asked him. Father got really angry. He jumped up, shouted at her that everyone should live according to their means, and called her a bitch. For 2000Ft. It was then that I realised that I was glad they got divorced. I never wanted to see such a scene again.

While he was living in Szeged in the 90s I tried to meet him about once every month. I would try to call him on Wednesday or Thursday. I would first start with his bar, the Dallas Bar & Grill and leave a message with his employees. If I didn't find him, then the car phone. Last, at home, and leave a message on the machine. I would probably have to repeat it a few more times. It was before cell phones. Sometimes he would call me back, or I'd catch him most of the time. Usually when he did call back it was a week later.

I saw less of him after he lost his bar and went back to the US. He worked there some time, then came back for months. After a while he took up the pattern of working there when it was cold, and coming back to Hungary for the summer to lay back. I rarely saw him. I would often see him after he arrived, then for his bday, then before he left. It was usually at a Chinese restaurant that had an all-you-can-eat buffet. My grandma and aunt would also be there. We did talk, but only about our lives, never about feelings. We spent two hours together at most, then went home. He would sometimes bring me some sweets, or a book one time, or alcohol. I sometimes had the bottle when I got a new one next year.

Our relationship was always kind of shallow. I guess partly because by then I just couldn't get myself to care. I never actually developed an emotional connection to my father. It must be strange for those who are actually close with both of their parents. I know he's my father, I can see the resemblance, but the feelings that I have for mum are just not there.

I haven't seen him in a long while. I have talked to him on the phone, but it was only about a problem involving grandma, and a few time on Facebook. Do I miss him? Not really. What I really missed all my life was actually having a father. I used to look at kids who were riding on their fathers' shoulders, having a good time, and I can't remember ever doing that. Or when people said that they could depend on their fathers, or they were a daddy's girl. Their fathers meant security to them, and he never did to me. What I did get him was the knowledge that I couldn't depend on him. That if I needed someone, it wasn't him that I could turn to. Did I miss out? Yes. Did he miss out? Yes. When I was a child I wanted that connection, but I was a child, I couldn't ask for it. How can a little girl tell her father that she never felt that he loved her? She just can't. So I never got that sense of having a father figure. But what he missed out on was having a loving child. I don't have any children of my own. I'm terrible at relationships, at emotionally connecting with men, and it probably largely comes from my history with my father. So it's a possibility that I never will have kids. Do I want them? Oh yes. I'd give anything to have someone to love as much as only a parent can love a child, and to have that returned. I do understand that it's not perfect. We had our differences with mum too. But I'll never stop loving her as you can only love your parent. My father doesn't get that from me, because I can't give it to him. I can't love him like a father. I didn't choose it, but that is the way it is. So that is his loss, and mine, but here we are, adults, and that is just what we have to live with. Can't repair something that never existed.

Will I ever see him again? Maybe not. But I'm fine with that.