Daddy issues.

The first misunderstanding I had with my father happened when I was 5 or so. I don't remember it, but I saw a home video some years later. The camera was one of those old ones with the little mini video tape, and then you put the mini tape into a bigger tape, and then you play it on an old-school video player. The tape has since disappeared, and even if we found it we couldn't play it anyway.

Anyway, my father is holding this old-school video camera. The camera pans shakily across the kiddie pool, and that's where I am. In a purple/blue onesie, with the little skirt-like frills, and huge orange arm floats swallowing my arms whole. Aware of the camera on me, I do my Standard Camera Smile, and I wave. I brush my wet hair away from my face, then I ask my father to pass me my goggles.

He says, "Get it yourself."

On camera, I whine. All you can see is a 5-year-old kid in a purple/blue onesie and giant arm floats, chest-deep in water, whining. "Alaaaar! Just throw them to me."

Just get them yourself, he says.

Pleeeeeeeeaaaaaaaase, I whine.

Just get out of the pool and get them yourself.

The tape ends.

I might have sulked, my Standard Didn't-Get-What-I-Want Sulk. Perhaps, he thought it would do me good to learn that I can't just ask for things and get it, that it would build character if I got the stupid goggles myself. In my mind, they were in the backpack by his feet, and surely if his effort to toss the goggles is smaller than my effort of getting them myself, he has an obligation to help me?

Eventually I might have climbed out of the pool, walked the 6 and a half steps or so and gotten the goggles myself. Or eventually, maybe my father would have put the camera down, picked up the goggles and tossed them to me. I don't remember.

I do remember resenting him, for the very first time.

I don't remember ever asking for his help again.

+++++

It's my recent daddy drama that triggered this memory.

If I were to complain about every single daddy drama, this would be a very long blog entry. In a nutshell, he wasn't happy about my job, even though it is perfect for me. He thinks I will lose out on valuable experience with a Big Organization. (The company that hired me is tiny). Also, he doesn't like the undisciplined lifestyle of the stay-at-home freelance writer.

Although I told him I was happy at my job and the money is good, he took it upon himself to call his "Contacts" and give them my CV, not understanding even a little bit that I did not want his 'help'. If I'd wanted work at a Big Organization, I would've applied there. My mother and stepfather are also very well connected, aren't they? They've got "Contacts", don't they? But I wanted to do it on my own, which is the whole point.

Suddenly, when I didn't ask for the goggles, he throws them in my face and I should be thankful.

+++++

I pulled out of the family trip planned last weekend. I argued with my sister. I got angry. I hurt my own fist on the punching bag.

And, I think it affected me more than I thought. I haven't written anything new. Everything I write sounds dead, dull, boring. My deadline was yesterday.

Let's see if it helps, now that I've gotten it off my chest.