Fear and Loathing in my car

My sister from Vermont has been here all week, helping with my Dad. She is one of the most thoughtful, kind and  attentive people I have ever known, and she constantly grows in her own inner fabulousness. And shares that wonderful spirit unhesitatingly. This week we had dinner at a different house every week. First Peggy's, then Cheryl's, then mine, and back to Cheryl's last night. Now, Tuesday night we all trooped up to Cheryl's, about 8 houses from my house, my Dad, Marleen (Vermont sister) and my daughter, Colleen. I'm driving, and as I get closer to the house, I see there isn't exactly room in the driveway to pull all the way in, so I kind of angle the car to a position where my Dad can get out safely and onto a flat surface, positioning the car so his door opens onto the sidewalk as opposed to the inclined apron of the driveway. Sounds great, right? No. Loudly, and I mean shouting, Dad's response to my park job is "Back the car up! Back the car up!!! Back the car up!!!" Always in threes when he's giving directions, maybe that's why 3 is my lucky number? Anyway, I'm trying to explain why I'm parked where I am, my sister is frantically jumping out of the car, kind of swiveling between opening Dad's door and getting back in the car, a look of grim panic on her face. My daughter is silent. Absolutely silent. I'm saying, Dad, don't shout at me, please don't shout at me. He continues to demand the car be moved, and I'm trying to get a word in, but it just isn't happening. "Why are you arguing with me?? Just move the car!!!" he shouts. Beaten and humilated, embarassed and my ears are hot with this emotion, I back the car up. "STOP!! STOP!! STOP!!! Perfect, thank you!!" he starts to open his door and get out, but first leans toward me and says, "I don't know why you had to be so difficult, it was only going to take a drop of gas to back the car up." Uh huh. Now we're joking????? Sure. I spend the rest of the night avoiding him, and believe me, I'm good at that. I've been doing it since I was 5. The whole next day I feel this sad, beaten down feeling. I just don't know how to shake it. Another dinner, this time at my house, my aunt from Pennsylvania, Peggy and her fiance, Juliano, my daughter Theresa and Marleen, and the father. Whom I am still avoiding. Avoiding eye contact, avoiding conversation, avoiding getting anything for him, letting Marleen take over, which she so kindly does without question. The next night is my sister Cheryl's turn, but Dad stays home. When I get back to my house, he's on the couch. Sitting in his favorite spot, reading. I am dreading this, but I know I have to speak up. "Dad, I have something I need to talk to you about." "Ok." He puts his book down. I have his full attention. The words spill out, not rehearsed, but within me, like a waterfall. Letting him know that he hurt me, that I was upset for the entire next day, that I just can't have him yelling at me like that. He apologizes, he knew he "did wrong", he wanted to say he was sorry, but the occasion hadn't been right with all the people around. "I know, Dad, I wanted to wait till we could speak in private, too. And I know you were upset and scared, and I understand that, but please remember, I would never do anything to endanger you, I want to always be sure you are safe. And if something makes you feel fearful, as I suspect you were feeling that night, you can always tell me and I'll make sure you are safe. But you cannot shout at me like that, I'm 52, not ten." Then we hug. and it is a gentle patting on my back from this once fearsome and fierce man, that brings the tears to my eyes.

Today, I'm smiling and walking around like my normal (ha, totally relative term!!) self.

It's a good day.