Not My Parents

Numb, that’s how I have felt as of late. Actually, lets not kid myself. I’ve felt this way for quite some time. I imagine it really started when my Mum died, but part of me believes it has been creeping up on me for longer than that.1

Since I became a father.2

I believe that part of me has made me this way on purpose, the only way of avoiding turning into either of my parents. They were both passionate people in all the wrong ways. So, my response was to make myself numb.3

My Dad was short-tempered. Not that he lost his temper often, but when he did it was generally like being stuck in an explosion. On finding a dirty dish in my bedroom, he pushed me against a wall and threw books, and memorably, a fork, at me. His arguments with Mum were legendary, usually involving a lot of shouting, broken dishes and the occasional slap. Ah yes, and there were the slaps.4

It is no surprise to find that us three children lived in fear of him, which Mum used to her advantage. ‘There will be trouble when Dad gets home’ was generally an honest and often threat.5

This was even before the accusations that he had supposedly raped my older sister. Whether there was any truth in those accusations still plays on every moment I spend with him.6

My Mum, on the other hand, flashed between outright boldness and being a shaken drunken wreck. Even on managing to break herself off from what seemed an impossible relationship with my Dad, her life was still a long line of whiskey bottles and suicide notes. It did not surprise me when my little sister rang me to tell me Mum had been taken into hospital after trying to overdose on pills.7

It surprised me even less when Mum eventually succumbed to cancer due to too much drinking and self-abuse.8

So, on becoming a parent myself, I was faced with an illogical but ever-present fear that I would end up like my parents. Worse still, when I felt that I was turning too much into them, I cordoned myself off from activity with my own children.9

But by then, it was already too late. My own short temper meant that I was the one who ended up shouting at them, and over-compensated with not touching them, by using my voice as a weapon instead. My wife realised this, and the old threat of ‘There will be trouble when…’ was back, despite at the same time her complaining that I was shouting at them.10

Of course, this was only one of many contradictions that she threw my way. I needed to move up in my job, but I also had to be there more for the children, I also apparently had to learn to drive and help more with the housework.11

It was no easier for her. I’m not stupid. She also was handling the majority of the housework, the children stuff, her university course and part-time work.12

I ended up doing the majority of the cooking, simply because she had almost completely fallen asleep by the time I got back from work.13

When it looked like she was finally going to switch to full-time work, I brought up the possibility of switching the roles and going onto part-time work myself, if only to manage the things that apparently she so desperately needed me to do.14

This, of course, was unacceptable. Only later would I find that this was the case because she had no intention of moving onto full-time work, only taking up another course.15

Her resolution in her mind was to move closer to her parents, so that they could take over some of the load of childcare. My concern, that we would end up relying on them too much, destroying their well-deserved retirement.16

Stuck in an impossible situation, my wife made the final decision and hid it from me for months, until I came home to find a half-empty house, the children gone, was given a twenty minute speech in front of her parents, then watched as she walked out of life.17

My one passionate moment since the children were born, me beating the floor in tears and screaming at an empty house.18

Three months later, I would finally get to see my children again. The night before, I was given a quick call by my ex-wife, asking me to threaten to my daughter that if she did not eat her tea, she wouldn’t see me tomorrow. I managed to do it through tears, before pounding my fists against a toilet wall.19

By the time I moved 300 miles to be closer to the children, I found myself so cut-off and numb that besides work I barely interacted with the world at all. 20

I struggled to engage my interest in anything. I still do. I hover like a zombie at work, making stupid mistakes because I find it hard to be bothered. My once-father in law tells me he is now unhappy with his current situation, both his daughters and his grandchildren crowding out his retirement. 21

I’ve gone through the rigours of divorce at my ex-wife’s request, allowed her to change the children’s names with barely a flinch. Listened as she parades a list of lovers down the phone, then seemingly taking glee in letting me know of her current affair with a married man and asking for my relationship advice.22

And I still don’t care. I still won’t let myself get angry, lose my temper, dissolve into pathetic drunkedness. I can honestly say I will not be my parents.23

But something is lost. As an afterthought she asks if I’m dating.24

Of course I’m not. I cannot get passionate about the search for another lover. Don’t want to go through the same nightmare again, I’ve seen enough break-ups and arguments. I’ve seen enough of my parents in them and myself.25

I’m too numb to go through it all once more. This way life cannot get any worse.26

But part of me is very well aware, it will never get any better either. 27