Lessons from my father...

MAN CHILD

        My ex was a man child.  Definition of a “man-child” someone who resembles a man from the outside but still has internal issues which cause them to act like a child and require mothering rather than typically loving.

        Of course – in hindsight I now see clearly how obvious my ex’s man child actions were.  From small issues to major issues- some humorous and others down right insulting.  But this is not a rant about my ex but rather a discussion of man child’s.

        My ex is not the first man child I’ve had in my life.  My dad resembles the largest man child I’ve ever encounter.  In my twenties, particularly in the years following my heartbreak, I have taken time to evaluate my past and recognize my “childhood issues.”

        I do not come from a home of love, warmth, compassion and sympathy.  It’s not to say I come from an abusive household or one which could easily be identified as a troubled home.  My parents were always employed and have remained married beyond thirty years.  But the love they have developed is not one that I desire. 

        Let me also add I love my dad.  I love my mom and I will always love and cherish them both. 

        My dad and I were always close, very very close.  We talked sports, life, and colleges throughout my life.  By the time I reached high school, it was typical for conversations to start, “don’t tell you mother but I did x”.  Now “x” may have been an investment decision, a large purchase, and even health care decision.”  When the big decisions had to get made, my dad was confiding in me rather than my mother.

        My dad can’t cook.  My dad didn’t start doing the dishes until about three years ago at the ripe age of 62.  My dad has never cleaned the house properly.  He has tried but often causes much more of a mess that originally started.  My dad has never used a tool, fixed a broken light bulb or been able to take the car to the mechanics.  He hates technology, never learned to set the VCR, still doesn’t know what an input is, and often loses everything. 

        Add to that he is has a temper, the language of a sailor, and is by far the most impatient person I’ve ever met.  (He has good qualities too but this is a post about his man childness).  He never knows what my mom bought us for Christmas, he has never sent a thank-you card, he doesn’t garden, he won’t help with holiday decorations, and he is the messiest eater anyone has ever seen.

        In high school, it wasn’t easy being the secret keeper.  Hearing the trials and issues my father had with my mother.  Being positioned against my father with my mother’s constant bickering and nagging. 

        When my dad’s mother died in college, it was me that brought him comfort.  My mom barely even tried knowing that my dad would be far more comforted by me than her.  My dad wanted to go to the bars in his old neighborhood and see some of the people that would remember his mom.  At the age of 21, I drove my dad from bar to bar.  At each bar, he would order us a shot and a drink.  I quickly realized, I would be chugging water in the bathroom and winking at the bartenders to make mine a virgin.  This was not the first time I would comfort my dad, take care of my dad, and realize how the roles in my life were constantly being flipped. 

        Often during times of tragedy, outrage, or distress, I was called in by my mother to fix the problem.  “Talk to him – make him calm down – I won’t tolerate this – you take him to the appointment – you take him to the airport – you deal with it then!” I’ve tried to mediate between them as now I see so obviously where my dad is coming from and where my mom is coming from and how neither are addressing each other issues.

        I’ve taken my dad for medical procedures, separated him from fights at the ball parks, apologized to insulted waiters, fixed his messes, comforted him in times of loss, and tried to stand by him.  It’s been difficult in my evolving times to be tempted to judge my parents at every turn in my life. 

        Instead of judgment, I am trying to learn from my dad.  And what I’ve learned is that I don’t want to marry a man who resembles a man child in anyway!  I want a man that handles stressful situations in life with maturity and compassion.  A man that comes to my side to support me rather than hands me the reigns and watches as I try to fix the problems.  I’ve taken care of two man childs now in my life and I crave someone who can take care of me a little bit.  I want a powerful strong man who is able to confide in me and tell me his emotional problems rather than the crazy I’ve dealt with to get here.

        I love my mom.  I love my dad.  I just crave a love far better than the one I witnesses growing up and with much more maturity and strength than I have witnesses in my life. And I know I will never be satisfied with a man child for a husband.