Sunday, November 07, 2004
The Father called this evening (because I sent him an e-mail requesting he phone for a tuition matters discussion) at 7:55. I started to tell him about the classes I wanted to take next semester, but he cut me short, telling me how to secure more student loan money through his bank. Then I explained the job situation. He grunted replies and appeared disinterested. I meant to expound on several other subjects, but at 8:05 he said,
'Well, I have to go now.'
-Oh? Where are you going?
'I'm not going anywhere.'
-Oh? Why do you need to get off the phone?
'It's getting late, and you know this is a long-distance call to Lubbock.'
-Um, Daddy, it's eight o'clock.
'Yes, but I have to go, what do you want?'
-Well, I thought you would want to [here I sighed audibly] ...fine, you know, nevermind. Goodbye. [click!]
The Father is not stupid, and I respect him more than he might be aware (or deserves, I am coming to realize), but...
HOW CAN HE BE SO FUCKING STUPID?Must I spell it out- I am begging for attention. He cannot bring himself to pretend he cares about anything other than whether my next action will cost him something. But when I tell him I don't want to stay at The House of Usher over the holidays, he'll feign injury. He's pulled that sort of hokum every time I've tried to have an adult conversation with him since I moved out.
He still has no clue about what parenting entails. The Father mentioned he hasn't sold the old house, and that they are 'hurting for money'. Every few weekends, though, he and Terri make trips to Austin for football games or to visit her parents. Ritually every Friday night he and Terri "escape" the children to eat out together. But somehow he cannot afford to spend more than ten minutes on the phone with me.
I want ice cream.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 6:33 PM]