I don’t think I’ve ever had a good relationship with my father. He started Moscow’s first Discotheque and traveled the USSR setting up concert venues for its first pop stars. Alla Pugacheva, Laskovuy Mai, Kirkorov; my father was their early roady and venue manager. He was a cool, popular, charismatic guy. The life and organizer for any party. I was his chubby, nerdy and painfully shy son. We did not hit it off. And when we moved to the US in the 1990s, and he was out of work and moody, and I was an angry teenager, things were not much better. We never came to blows. But there were times when I was ready for it.
During College I supported my parents divorce, to the point of negotiating an alimony agreement with their lawyers. They both hated me for it, as I didn’t give either side what they wanted, but it freed up my mom to start rebuilding her life. I came back to school that year with my first patch of grey hair, not great at 19, but I felt that it was totally worth it. And after the dust settled, during College and later in Yeshiva, I tried to re-build a relationship with my dad. To connect. To talk and see his side of the story. We never got really close. But I tried my best to accept my dad and his reasons for being who he was, and his choices as a husband and father. And to forgive. And to excuse. And be a family. Because family is important.
The last we talked was when we have just moved to California. I’ve never owned a car or driven one much, so buying a new one was quite scary. My dad has been a car dealer for 20 years and currently working as one. He promised to help us get a new car, buy a good one cheaply at an auction and ship it from the East Coast. We made a plan. He started looking. I was glad that we were talking and he was being a part of my life. And then he disappeared. Didn’t answer the phone. Texts. Emails. For 3 weeks. I kept leaving messages, apologizing to my wife, and burning money on the rental car. Finally we went to CarMax, and spent way more money than we were comfortable with on a safe car that we are still driving.
That was 4 years ago. He never called back. And I didn’t call him either. Since then he has become a grandpa to two wonderful boys, that he has never met. He knows my phone number, my email, and we are Facebook friends. We can both reach each other easily. But we don’t. And that’s my current relationship with my father.
I don’t know why he never called back. Or what he thinks or feels about this. If it bothers him. If he is too afraid to call. Or just doesn’t care. Or mad at me for not calling. I know why I didn’t call. I was very upset. This is not the first time he let me down, but this time, it wasn’t just me, he was hurting my wife as well. So I was mad, but if he called, and offered some bullshit excuse, I would grumble but take it, and just trust him even less the next time.
After 6 months passed I expected him to call and just pretend that nothing happened. I wasn’t angry anymore, so I rehearsed asking him what happened in a non confrontational way and letting it go at that. I still didn’t know if he thought we were in a fight or if he just forgot about the issue. We have gone a year without speaking before. So this was “normal” for us, and one phone call would have still restored communications. But when our first son was born I knew that he had heard about it. We sent pictures to my grandmother, his mom, and she says he saw them. But he didn’t call, and neither did I. And then we were definitely in a “fight”.
I was angry, I acted from anger, and I am definitely not blameless here. No “Hey Dad, lets forget the fight. You are a grandpa! And he is the the cutest kid. Wanna come visit?” peace offerings from me. No emails with pictures. No Facebook invite to the brisses. I waited for him to call and I was mad and hurt anew. It wasn’t about the car anymore. I saw becoming a father as a reset. In one day we had both become something new. I became a “Dad” with new responsibilities and new rules for living. He become a “Grandpa” with rights to dispense treats and wisdom to my kids. We just got a whole new giant thing to connect on. To talk as dads and swap parenting stories. I wondered if this meant anything for him, or if he wanted to see his grandkid and restart our relationship for the sake of him.
So I didn’t call. If he wanted to see his grandkid he would have to make the first move. I had the goods now. Who doesn’t want to see their grandkids? So he was going to have to show me that he wants to have a relationship with me and my family. Be decent and make an effort. I know I was being hurt and petty. But I was not going to give in first and swallow my feelings for him to come back. And my kid was the bait for him to finally show that he cares. About his continuity, his genes, and maybe, if only by extension, about me.
Well, my trap failed. It’s been 4 years. No harsh words have been exchanged. No accusations made. No doors slammed. We just have zero contact. Maybe he is angry at me for not calling him. Maybe he’s moved on and doesn’t really care. I have no idea what he feels on any of this.
I know how ridiculous this situation is. This reads like some setup for a new agey relationship comedy with father and son both too proud to be the first to call. Cue plot driven runaway boat towards a waterfall. They both tearfully apologize and confess how much they missed each other. And surprise! The thing they were both mad about is not a thing at all. It was all about communication all along. Roll credits with hopeful pop song.
But this is the sad reality about drawn out family fights. After some years pass, the fight is never about its initial cause anymore. When you let a hurt stay with you for years it will grow and change. I guess same as we do. And rarely for the better. Dramatic waterfall reconciliations notwithstanding, making peace is not that simple after years of smoldering hurt.
Except. I don’t actually believe that. Making peace is totally doable. And I 100% know and believe that. If you can make the choice to not be run by your anger and ego you just make a call. You offer to talk things out. You take responsibility for your end of the conflict and express a desire for a new start. You apologize if the other person needs to hear it. Because it doesn’t really matter who started it. Peace is always better than conflict.
After 4 years of Yeshiva, therapy, and men’s groups I believe this to the core of my being. I’m a completely insufferable peacemaker. I bug my friends and family to always talk things out, I try to mediate and reconcile if I am asked to or not. My middle name is Aaron and wear it like a press pass. When watching romantic comedies I am the guy yelling at the characters to just talk it out already and let go of their egos for just a moment. It drives my wife nuts. And I genuinely try to make peace when I can, because it’s the right thing to do, and it makes me happy.
So I have the conviction, the skills and the practice at making peace. Heck, I am the perfect person to make peace with my father and restore our relationship. But I haven’t. Its ironic. Its shameful. Its hypocritical. Pick your adjective. But my non-relationship with my father has been looming over my own fatherhood for the last 3 years. Something that is always there in the background for me at family events. It makes my chest hurt when I see the boys playing with their other grandpa. It’s something that I’ve felt guilty about for the last 4 Yom Kippurs in a row.
We don’t even have to be close. We never were before, and my kids didn’t have to change him in the way they changed me. I can drop my fantasies of swapping fatherhood stories and settle for talking about cars and work. We can be civil and in basic communication. He can see his grandkids and our ranch. He can be content in his old age. 5th Commandment fans rejoice. I can “honor” my parent without seeing him that often. All I need is to call for 10 minutes and try to patch things up. Roll credits with hopeful pop song.
But I haven’t called.
At first from anger. Then from Ego. Then as a hurt kid manipulation. I could have called and made peace all through these 4 years. I could have assumed the best about my dad or tried to hear his side of it. And it’s a choice that I have been, and still actively making.
So what I am about to write, it’s not from any moral high ground. I have lots of reasons and justifications, but I am also fully responsible for this situation. I want to be honest about that. Before my boys, before my dad, before God. I had the option to make peace, and I didn’t. I knew that I can, and I knew that my dad would welcome it. In the high court of my heart, that much is on me, and always will be.
But long fights. They change people. Those 4 years of non talking had an effect on me as well. And I was not ready to be honest about it until that phone call with my mother. There is still a part of me that dearly wants my father’s love. A part of me that wants his recognition and respect. Another part wants him to admit that he was wrong. While another is just angry and wants to hurt him for my childhood and the way he treated my mom and sister. There is pain, and guilt, and ego and everything in between. But here is the final reason why I haven’t called my dad.
I don’t want to call my dad because I don’t want this situation to be fixed.
At first I waited for my dad to call. Even in my anger I wanted him to call. Every time we sent a new round of pictures to my grandmother, a part of me waited for a phone call. An email. An anything. But after 3 years of my own fatherhood something changed. I started feeling a new emotion. And it took me until last night to realise what it was. And its fear. I am afraid that he will call and try to fix up. And I am afraid that I will let him because I believe in peacemaking and family connections. I am afraid that if he calls me I will have to let him back into my life. Because its the right thing to do. And because I have principles. And because I want to be a good Jew who always makes peace when someone wants to make peace.
Its very hard for me to admit that I don’t want my father back in my life. Or in my boys life. In any capacity. Do I have the right to make that decision for them? But I know what I feel. And I don’t want him to meet my boys and worry about what he will tell them. I don’t want him to make any promises and see them be disappointed. I don’t want them to learn anything from him. I am afraid to let him stay in our house or for him to know where we live.
It’s not rational. Or clean. Or neat. Or nice. Or moral. But this is where I am. I’m not proud of it. But it’s there. And I can write another 20 posts about my experiences with my father. I can defend these emotions. I can justify this. I am not just an angry kid, I have proof. I am a peacemaker and a family builder. He deserves it!
But not in this post. Here I all have is my emotions. And I don’t want to defend them. They are there defensible or not. Such is the heart. And it’s truth is that I don’t want to call him to make peace. I don’t want him to call me either. I want to continue living my life without him. I am terrified that he will reach out and I will have to take him back in. And it goes against everything that I think I am as a peacemaker, family builder and Jew.
And here is the final embarrassing truth. And as I write this now, deep inside, I am finally glad that we have had this stupid fight. Its started over silliness, it continued over even less, but it’s been a blessing all this time. I needed this distance and time without him. I needed to be a father who saw a grandfather not care to know his grandkids. I needed this dry haystack or pain and anger to build up in me over these 4 years. Now all that was missing was a spark.
And then my mom called.
And I finally decided to make a very imperfect choice.
