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Monday, February 07, 2005
It was an emotionally interesting weekend. I was over in Vancouver on Friday, doing a small promotional video for my line of work, and afterwards I picked up my father at his apartment and brought him back to Victoria for the weekend.
He'd made the suggestion a few weeks earlier and, since I possess an overdeveloped sense of familial obligation, I agreed to have him over for a visit. He's turning 67 in April and I suspect that becoming more aware of his mortality has inspired him to have an emotional bond with his son. Unfortunately he's about 40 years too late, but nevertheless I found myself going along with it for his sake.
I'm really of two minds on the matter.
On the one hand, I realize that because he's chosen to alienate every other living relative of his, he's now afraid of what I call "dying without a trace". In other words, the fear that his death won't even leave a ripple among acquaintances and relations.
On the other hand, I find myself deeply resentful that he expects me to ignore his lifetime of self-centered and unpleasant behaviour simply because it now suits his purposes to feel a close bond with another person.
The end result left me feeling distinctly guarded and neutral towards him during our time together. We don't have any sort of rapport - and never did - and I'm both bothered and bewildered (but not bewitched) as to why he'd behave as if we did. I guess I hoped for a little more humility, or at least some recognition that he now desires something that he never cared about before.
And I think that's the real source of my tension...that the arrogance behind his expectation that I will accomodate his fear of mortality is the same sort of arrogance that he conducted himself with all of his life: the world is still revolving around him and what he wants, with no thought to how others may feel about it.
When we parted on Sunday morning, all I felt was relief. The same sort of tired relief one feels when the dishes are done, the carpet is vacuumed or the in-basket emptied.
I hope to Hell I'm creating a better legacy than that with my own children.
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He'd made the suggestion a few weeks earlier and, since I possess an overdeveloped sense of familial obligation, I agreed to have him over for a visit. He's turning 67 in April and I suspect that becoming more aware of his mortality has inspired him to have an emotional bond with his son. Unfortunately he's about 40 years too late, but nevertheless I found myself going along with it for his sake.
I'm really of two minds on the matter.
On the one hand, I realize that because he's chosen to alienate every other living relative of his, he's now afraid of what I call "dying without a trace". In other words, the fear that his death won't even leave a ripple among acquaintances and relations.
On the other hand, I find myself deeply resentful that he expects me to ignore his lifetime of self-centered and unpleasant behaviour simply because it now suits his purposes to feel a close bond with another person.
The end result left me feeling distinctly guarded and neutral towards him during our time together. We don't have any sort of rapport - and never did - and I'm both bothered and bewildered (but not bewitched) as to why he'd behave as if we did. I guess I hoped for a little more humility, or at least some recognition that he now desires something that he never cared about before.
And I think that's the real source of my tension...that the arrogance behind his expectation that I will accomodate his fear of mortality is the same sort of arrogance that he conducted himself with all of his life: the world is still revolving around him and what he wants, with no thought to how others may feel about it.
When we parted on Sunday morning, all I felt was relief. The same sort of tired relief one feels when the dishes are done, the carpet is vacuumed or the in-basket emptied.
I hope to Hell I'm creating a better legacy than that with my own children.
