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Being an expressive, heart-on-my-sleeve person since birth, I simply do not understand tough love. I demand coddling. You tread gently around me, or I will cut you. Kidding! I'll probably just cry and write a poem. But in any case, I am a sensitive creature.
Therefore, how ridiculous is it that I would be my father's daughter. My dad has two settings: Neutral and angry. Its an on and off switch. Not to say he doesn't love me, he says he loves me and has provided for me as a father should. He just doesn't understand me or I him. He would make what he called the "practical" choice where I was a more emotional decision maker.
The year I was seventeen, I thought he needed some help picking out my mother's birthday gift. I suggested he get her a diamond necklace. I found a beautiful one at Macy's I knew she'd love. He gave me a blank stare and went to Kragen Auto Parts instead. What did Mom unwrap on her birthday? New windshield wiper blades and a gift certificate for an oil change. I was less than impressed. Dad's reason for getting the gift? He wants Mom to be safe, so her car must be kept in good condition. I rolled my eyes and thought I'd never be caught dead married to a man like that.
Dad also did not sugarcoat. When I wanted to try out for my high school's dance team? All Dad had to say was, "Go try out, I can't stop you. But you got thick legs. Those girls who dance at football games? Skinny legs. Just keep that in mind. They might only pick girls who got skinny legs." When I signed up for a charity relay race with my friends? Dad was again the first one to speak up: "You haven't trained. You'll just drag the team down. Maybe you can help them collect money or something, but girl, you are not a runner." Dear old dad.
But the moment between Dad and I that was the most significant wasn't about dancing or running. I was twenty years old, and my first real boyfriend and I had just broken up after three years together. I was crushed. I took two days off work to cry and listen to The Smiths. My mother brought me tea and told me I was beautiful. My father said nothing, at first.
After several months I still hadn't healed but had became an expert about faking it. In front of my parents I portrayed myself as strong, confident and totally over the loser. My close friends knew I was still drunk-dialing him and having meaningless one night stands in a desperate attempt to fill the hole in my heart.
One Sunday over lunch with my family, my aunt asked how my love life was. Momentarily I considered smiling and cheerfully confirming everything was good, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I surrendered. I was exhausted and hungover and sick of lying. So I told my parents and aunt and uncle that I was still really sad about the breakup and I didn't think I'd ever meet another guy to make me feel the way he did. I didn't go into further detail but by this time everyone knew I was in despair. I choked back tears and took a sip of water.
My Dad spoke first: "Why would you get so bent out of shape over a guy who obviously doesn't want anything to do with you?" Before anyone could say another word, I got up from the table and went to my room.
Dad and I didn't talk about his harsh observation ever again. My mom made a kind of half-assed "you know how your father is" kind of apology and we basically left it at that. I didn't think about it again until five or six years later when I again found myself on the bad side of a breakup. And oddly enough, my father's words gave me some comfort. It was like I could hear him saying that this guy obviously isn't it for me, so its time to move on.
This lesson wasn't delivered to me in the most graceful fashion, it had to come slowly. Like anything really worth learning it was challenging and a little painful at first. But finally, I understood and appreciated my father. Tough love is still love and as demonstrated by his relationship with my mother, sometimes his practicality is the most romantic thing a man has to offer.
