Day 4- Parental units

Parents. I've been thinking about what I should write. So much to say, so little space. Who do I start with? Dad I guess...

My dad. Japanese and military. Two extremely emotional types of people. Not. Geez. I don't even know what to say. My dad was never thrilled that I was born female. As the first born I should have been a boy. Of course. In one essay during college, I wrote that my father had "never forgiven me for being born a girl". I don't feel as strongly about that as I used to. I guess growing up, I mostly just felt indifference when it came to my relationship with my dad. He wasn't a huge part of my day to day. He traveled for work and it seemed strange when he was home. He coached many of my sports teams, created our Halloween costumes and built us a treehouse.

When I was in high school I banned my dad from all of my softball games unless my mom was with him. I played 3rd base and he would be right at the sideline yelling directions at me. I'd be yelling back and it was not a good scene.

The morning after my senior prom, I came home to find out that he had had a stroke. It was scary but he was able to attend my graduation. From then on, he seemed to try and make up for the past 18 years. He wanted to be dad but it was too late. All it did was make me uncomfortable.

The last time I spoke to my father was the day before Thanksgiving, 1997. I was living in Vail at the time. I called and he answered the phone. Normally I would have just asked for my mom right away, but maybe it was the holiday spirit. I took a couple of minutes to talk to him. During that conversation he called me his gypsy daughter and wondered when I would return to school. He mentioned that his sister had called to tell him that I had come out as "bi or whatever" to her. He said that he didn't care, and that my mom was the one having the hard time with it. That surprised me as my mom had been saying all the right things. Eventually I asked for my mom, but after talking to him I felt good. It was the first conversation we had had in a number of years. He had another stroke the night of Thanksgiving and died a few weeks later.

I gave the eulogy at his funeral. He comes to me in my dreams when he needs to tell me something. I've only dreamed about him twice since he died. When my brother dreams about him, they just hang out and drink beer. Typical.

My mom. We are very much a like when it comes to our social butterfly-ness and the way we engage with people. She's a hard core VP at a ghetto high school, and swears like a fucking sailor. She's always been my comfort and my nemesis. I can't imagine my life without her in it, yet she can drive me completely insane with just a few words. We seem to get a long best when I live far away.

When I came out to her via email, she said all the right things. But once I started dating girls, she didn't want to ever speak about it. It made me angry and we had quite a few blowouts over it. My mother is the only one who can make me cry. It sucks. She has this power over me that I am only now becoming immune to. She has always been the priority in my life. But now that I have my own family and Rebeca, she isn't #1 anymore. And it was hard for her to accept that.

Asian mothers. How to explain mine... When I first read the book "Joy Luck Club", it was a revelation. My relationship with my mom was on those pages. When I saw the movie, I completely bawled through the entire thing. It was all up there on the screen. How everything a daughter does, is because of her love for her mother. How everything a mother does, no matter how horrible it seems, is for her daughter. To live it... it makes no sense sometimes. I can't even explain it. We don't say "I love you". We don't hug. We don't have heartfelt mother/daughter talks. But I don't need that from her. Because when it comes down to it, she will love me no matter what.

From The Joy Luck Club: This is how a daughter honors her mother. It is shou so deep it is in your bones. The pain of the flesh is nothing. The pain you must forget. Because sometimes that is the only way to remember what is in your bones. You must peel off your skin, and that of your mother, and her mother before her. Until there is nothing. No scar, no skin, no flesh.


My mom and Maya 5/10