Perhaps a Strange Memory to Have Affect You...

but it does me none the less.

I am not sure how it even came to mind really. I know that I had just remembered a comment my older cousin made a few months ago '... but he's your dad'. It got me thinking about what that means to him compared to what it means to me.

My dad is not in any way the worst dad in the world, I know that. Certainly he was abusive both physically and verbally (toward me more than my sister and brother... pretty sure I was the only kid in the house subjected to his verbal abuse and I certainly got the worst of the physical abuse). He was not, however, as bad as he could have been. I have often told myself that, as far as abuse goes, mine was relatively minor. Now having said that I have also had to remind myself several times of something I tell others who try and minimize their experience: you should try not to compare yourself to others and say 'Oh, well 'so and so' had it so much worse what in the world am I whining about'. The fact of the matter is that if you are having problems dealing with it than it has had an affect on you and that is really all that matters.

Having said that (see, I can be logical when I want to) here's the memory. As I said after recalling what my cousin had said I began to think of the difference between what 'he's your dad' means to me and what it means to him. Somehow this caused me to recall a memory from my childhood. It is by far not the worst sounding memory that I have (and certainly cannot hold a candle to some others may have) and yet as I have reflected on others both voluntarily and during therapy (boy that was fun... have you ever had a therapist keep asking for information you just didn't have -or at least, have access to-?) I have never really had the same reaction to those as to this one.

I can't remember how old I was when this happened only that I was rather young (at least, as 'rather young' as one who is only 25 can get). I can tell you that it was Christmas eve. That year I had found one of those round tins with popcorn in them (you know the ones with caramel, cheese, and regular popcorn?) that I thought was so pretty... it was practically all I could talk about, one of the things I wanted the most that year. It showed a winter scene, probably somewhere in Alaska or northern Canada. It was night time and you could see the aurora borealis. There were lots of Arctic animals on it, reindeer, polar bears, wolves, that sort of thing. All I really wanted was the tin; didn't care much about the popcorn at all). I was really excited when my grandparents (my dads parents) gave it to me for Christmas... I had plans to keep the tin forever (as small children plan such things,lol... I actually did have it for years). At some time during the night (I am not sure if it was sometime right after I opened it or some time later that night) my dad looked at me and asked if he could have the tin after I was done with the popcorn. Something else I can't remember is exactly how I answered, my tone of voice, though I would guess that it was as incredulous as a child can get. I can remember that I told him no. His response (I can't tell you his tone of voice either) was to become rather upset, almost angry, and ask me why not. I remember being confused by his reaction even as I tried to explain to him why I had told him he could not have it. I do not remember exactly how I was feeling (other than confused) but if those feelings were the same as what I come up with when I remember it now I was confused and hurt. That's all I can come up with. I suppose even then I did not understand a father having such a reaction to his child, to something so silly.

As I grew older I came to realize that my dad really grew up; he has remained as ego centric and selfish as is expected out of teenagers (to those of you reading who may be teenagers, sorry, it just happens to be something within that stage of development that happens to be pretty standard). He has always been selfish and immature which in a way I think can account for much of his behavior (though I do not believe it in any way excuses that behavior). Still, this knowledge does nothing to soften the effect of such memories, I don't know why. I cannot fathom why this memory has more of an emotional effect on me than other, seemingly more traumatic, memories. I do know that I hate it, I hate thinking about it, I hate having even the ghost of the memory in my head. And I hate that it seems such a silly thing to be affected by.