An Imperfect Father

Photo by Steve DiMatteo on Unsplash

Yesterday, I was at an anniversary party for my cousin and his wife at their Laguna Beach home. My father showed up three hours in for a short visit. As always, he made a splashy entrance. He arrived in his new Bentley wearing a cashmere Loro Piana baseball cap. In his pocket he had a piece of paper that turned out to be a booking sheet for the arrest of his ex-girlfriend. On the sheet was her mugshot and the details of her arrest.

My dad proudly showed the booking sheet to anyone who would look while explaining that he had gotten her car, a 2019 Mercedes whose interior appeared to have been remodeled by a raccoon, out of impound. The ex-girlfriend is now in her 80s, and her escapades are another story. They are a story about which my father has little interest beyond where he is highlighted.

While most people would not think having an ex-partner with a rap sheet is much of a flex, for my dad it gave him bragging rights. Specifically the right to brag about helping her with her car and now helping her to get the care that she needs going forward. He plans to provide support for her until her children are able to take over. These plans come much to the chagrin of his current partner, for whom he is also caring after a health crisis last year.

In some ways, I am proud of him for this. Caring is not something that I am used to him doing. He didn’t do it when I was a kid and as an adult the care that he has offered me has always come with some kind of a price tag.

In other ways this caring he is doing for his ex-girlfriend is a creative version of the disloyalty he has always brought to his relationships. I can understand how his current partner might view the energy and resources going into his ex a kind of infidelity. Although, he assures me that this is not how she sees it.

I believe that his current caretaking comes from a part of him that wishes to make amends for the chaos he’s caused. Even though I am sure he is far from finished causing it.

This odd vignette above is a tame one among the of hundreds I’ve experienced with him over the years. Most have taken place in beautiful spots like my cousins home. Beverly Hills, Whistler, Vail, and Aspen have all been subjected to my father’s antics. He has lived life committed to a strange behavior in fancy places.

I have long ceased being embarrassed by these moments, although they can still take me off guard. I have also long since made peace with who my father is as a person and to me. I’ve been able to do this through the one condition-less gift he has given me. The gift of honesty about who he is and the life he’s lived.

Sometimes this honesty has been too much and I’ve had to remind him that I’m his daughter not his confessor.

Nonetheless, his willingness to let me see him for who he is has given me the ability to know my own reality without confusion or the guilt that one may feel for calling out a seriously flawed parent. This is not a gift bestowed by most parents of his ilk. I know this as a fact because, while I am a writer, I am also a clinical psychologist and I work with the children of men like my father.

He has also given me the gift of allowing me to write about him. In my upcoming novel, the father is, essentially, my father. Not all of him, but a certain cross-section of his personality. I’ve given him the book to read. He loves it and has given me full consent to publish. I didn’t paint him positively, in fact when he read it he said, “you’ve captured my narcissism artfully.” I know there are parts of him that it would be cruel to expose. I know where the line is. But he is willing to allow for those dark places that I will not include in my writing, to simply be what they are.

Some people who know my dad and the story of my upbringing have a hard time understanding how I consider myself close to him. I understand that. It’s strange, especially for people whose parents had roughly normal-range personalities. Sometimes I question it myself. But at the end of the day it’s about being able to level with him about what reality is.

Many people with his personality tendencies won’t do this. They will gaslight and bend the truth to their dying day. If this were the case, I am sure I would have long since cut contact. The gift of truth allows me to have feelings or memories without questioning them. It would also be different if I were dependent on him in any material way. But as it is, when I see him I can sit back and allow the surreal spectacle to unfold.

All of that is to say, Happy Father’s Day!