Does anyone have parents who make their lives easier, or is that just a childhood fantasy?
My parents called years ago to announce they were separating after 38 years of marriage. My mom spoke gleefully, like an elephant had been airlifted off her chest. But, my dad's version of the tale was bleak, melancholy and like the elephant and its entire happy family had been dropped on his head. I cried that they were stealing my ideal about the golden years of marriage and my mom asked that I show some understanding, which certainly seemed like a reasonable request.
However, a few weeks later, after realizing they didn't have enough money to live in separate homes, my dad pitched me on moving from New York to Seattle to live with me. I'm sure most 36-year-old women would love to live with their 72-year-old dads. Unable to say no in his time of need, I eked out the most pathetic sounding yes and, before I could change my mind, he was driving cross country with his only possessions tucked -- with room to spare-- into the back seat and trunk of his Hyundai Sonata.
So, Bob moved in. I immediately reminded him about our "no smoking in the house" policy, which was greeted by an insistence that he had quit smoking years ago -- which everyone in the family knew was crap. I told him, "Okay, when you're not smoking, make sure you go down the street to do it and walk around the block until your jacket that couldn't possibly smell like smoke, doesn't smell like smoke anymore."
He was annoyed that I didn't believe him, and I was insulted by his attempt to fool me. A dynamic was reasserting itself, one that has plagued us since I was in kindergarten, spending lazy afternoons creating weekly budgets and cleaning schedules that nobody followed. Even back then, my attempts to change things were laughable.
One week after Bob moved in, the house smelled like tobacco. I fumed, he didn't confess and that continued until my babysitter busted him blowing smoke out the bedroom window like a highschooler. He promised not to suck cancer sticks in my house again.
With limited smoking on the horizon and an understandable desire to get away from me, my dad, a man who had never ventured into using the internet or a computer, decided to date online. He navigated the whole scene with a certain courage I hadn't seen in friends my age. And after a few, he met up with a woman who was 75, smart, incredibly attractive and liked him. I was shocked, relieved, and grateful for her apparent cluelessness.
I mentioned my dad's new girlfriend to my mom and she claimed to be happy for him. I sensed no jealousy in her voice and was surprised to realize this separation just might stick. This meant that my dad would stay in Seattle. And if he got sick or needed anything, it was going to be on me. I began to dislike my three sisters for remaining in the Northeast.
I tried to remind myself that there were benefits to my dad living here: He could play with my daughter, take her to the park, out for ice cream, movies. He could help me out with things -- I didn't know what, but was sure I could think of something practical.
For now, though, Bob was busy impressing his new girlfriend while simultaneously treading the thinning ice of our kinship. He cooked lots of meals, dirtied every dish in the kitchen, and refused to use soap or hot water when washing them. When he wore muddy shoes through the house even though we had a "no shoes in the house" policy, I decided that mopping was easier than hassling. And although he was a constant sighing machine, I managed to exit the room for a happier place when the sighing hit dramatic notes.
As my dad was living out his first months of separation, I found myself about to follow suit. So I asked him to find his own apartment. He pitched me on various options that all involved continuing to live with me, but I firmly said no. He eventually found a place down the street and became engaged in his own scene for a while.
He didn't take my daughter to the park, out for ice cream or to the movies, but we did see him once or twice a week for meals or a walk in the neighborhood and I started to realize the less tangible benefits of having family close by. In this case, they had to do with a sense of not being so alone. It was something. Meanwhile, he continued to date the nice woman he'd met online and I was at home preparing my new living arrangements with my soon to be ex-husband. With a big pack, move, unpack and adjustment period ahead for my daughter and me, I finally figured out a way that my dad could help.
Then my mom called to announce that she and Bob were getting back together. The glee in her voice was once again unmistakable and my dad was happier than I'd seen him in years. "Honey, your father and I have a long history together. And I like his way of being in the world," she told me. And with that, she flew out to pack up his car.
I told my parents about my impending separation. They were saddened. I asked them to stick around for a few weeks to help us pack and move, but they were eager to get home. They left the next day.
I am in great awe of the big love that has attached my parents to each other for over 40 years. And there are certainly worse things than having impractical parents. But, in some fantasy scenario, I've got to imagine there are better things too.