“Nah, I mean you too, sunshine. You’re part of the team. Don’t sell yourself short. You have a bad habit of doing that. You need to puff yourself up a little. Be proud.”
I don’t know what crack my father is smoking, but when I was younger, hell, even up until recently, he’d never say anything like that. My father wasn’t exactly one of those encouraging parents. In fact, he was a perfectionist, and demanded excellence from all of us. Just because I was the only girl, and the youngest, didn’t mean I was off the hook.
In fact, I think he was tougher on me than the rest of them, maybe because he wished I was a boy. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but when you’re the only girl out of four very active and competitive brothers, you can’t help but think it. That’s one reason why I threw myself into sports when I was young enough to remember. I just wanted to be one of the boys. I wanted to be included, and I wanted my father’s attention and approval. The more I played, the more involved I was, whether it be soccer or tennis or ice hockey, the more he seemed to respect me.
Suffice it to say, I didn’t grow up hearing things like this. It was a lot of tough love, and we were never allowed to boast about our wins or our accomplishments. It taught me to do the work without expecting recognition, and maybe in the long run, it actually helped me get to where I am today.
“Well, don’t worry about Christmas,” he goes on. “We’re having it at Ted and Josephine’s house, and it’s going to be hell. All their kids terrorizing the place, it ruins the occasion.”
“Charles, they’re your grandkids!” my mother’s muffled voice pipes up again. “It’s going to be lovely!”
“Well, I didn’t ask to have ten grandkids, did I?” he shouts back. “Thalia, I know your mother gives you shit for not having kids with Stewart, but thank god you didn’t. All your brothers’ kids are more than enough. Your old man needs a break.”
Surprisingly, the mention of kids, and my lack thereof, doesn’t cut like I thought it would. It just slides right off me.
“Dad, can I ask you something?”
“Of course you can.”
“Can you keep it between us? As in, not tell Mom?”
“Do you think I tell her everything?” he whispers into the phone. “A man needs to have some secrets too.”
I giggle. “You can say the same for me, because I happen to have a secret.”
“I’m not going to guess, lest someone overhears and starts to wonder…”
“Right. Well. Okay, I don’t really want to talk sports. I mean, it’s kind of about sports because that’s my life, but it’s also…I know I don’t talk to you about this stuff normally but I figured maybe you’d be the best person to ask, because I’ve never asked for your opinion on it.”
“Lay it on me.”
“I need advice, Dad. About my love life.”
“Ohhh,” he says softly. He clears his throat. “Okay.”
This is totally out of left field for him, I know that. Like I’ve said, my father and I have never had a very deep and open relationship. It’s only as he’s gotten older (and as I’ve gotten older, I suppose), that we’ve become closer, more like adults than father and daughter. It’s a tough zone to move out of, but I think having moved away right after high school, going to university and then to LA, really helped in setting that up. In fact, I think that going off on your own and creating a bit of separation from your parents is the only way you’re really allowed to grow and become the person you’re meant to be. You can’t do that if you’re forever trapped in old roles you’ve outgrown.
“I kind of told Mom about this a few months ago, but I lied, and even with the lie she disapproved. I’m not looking for approval. I don’t need a lecture. I just need advice on what to do next. Maybe I just need someone to listen to me and not judge me for once.” I take a sip of coffee and stare at the cactus. “I have developed some very strong feelings for someone that I work with.”
“I see. Another therapist?”
“No. No, that would be…easier. It’s a player. And I’m not going to tell you who, although I’m sure you will figure it out.”