Imperfect Perfection

My dad was a professional public speaker. He used to travel around to neighboring towns and cities to deliver public speeches. He was a perfectionist and he was as perfect as they come with regards to memorization and deliverance. He would commit an entire hour long speech completely to memory and he had the most endearing and perfect way of speaking. He drew his audience in and you soon forgot you were even listening to a man speak because you would find yourself living whatever he was saying in your mind. He would practice for hours at home in the privacy of his office. I know this because I would secretly stand outside with my ear pressed up against the door, listening. My dad was always an anomaly to me. How could someone so scarred and so imperfect be so perfect? One of the things my dad always taught me about public speaking was that you never write down notes word for word. You only write down the basic thoughts or an 'outline', which enables you to speak from the heart and improvise, instead of reading from a script. 

When my best friend asked me to give a speech at her wedding this past weekend, my initial thought was sheer terror. And if I'm being completely honest, it wasn't terror about speaking in public in front of an audience of 300. I felt terrified because I knew there would be high expectations of me and I didn't want to disappoint him. I'm my father's daughter and he's been gone now for 5 1/2 years, I not only had to do this but I had to do it well because I know he's watching. Outwardly, I made it known I was nervous but on the inside, deep deep down, I was calm. If there's one thing I've learned since my father's death it's that he's making up for lost time. He's there for me and I can count on him, things foreign to me up until now. I knew he would be up there with me, hand on my shoulder, guiding me through.

I felt sick to my stomach the entire day leading up to my speech. A force inside of me begged me to have faith but it was truly hard to do so. I was sweating, I was nervous, I was nauseous. But I have to say, the moment I reached the microphone I felt his hand on my shoulder. He had never put his hand on my shoulder before but I knew that's what it would feel like. He was standing with me and he was comforting me and I felt that same fear of letting him down that I had felt my entire life. I thought I had lost that feeling when he passed away but I am grateful it is back because if I'm not trying to please him or trying to rebel against him, then who am I?

Someone at my table told me to not read my notes and just speak from the heart. I grinned because that's what he would have told me and then I smiled because I wasn't going to listen. I walked to the microphone with word-for-word notes but a force bigger than me took over. I spoke from the heart and he helped me through it. A part of me knew that he would. It was perfect.

It's hard to wear bow ties when you're always wearing v-necks

My dad always had a thing for bow ties. I think he mainly just thought they were funny. I remember paging through my mom's photo albums from the 70's and seeing him wearing bow ties with his powdered blue suits. As a child, I used to sneak his bow ties out of his dresser drawer to dress up my stuffed animals and make them a bit more dapper. I can't say I remember him wearing them a lot in the 90's+ but they weren't really relevant during those years and were likely still on my dolls.

It was around June of 2007 that I really noticed his obsession with bow ties starting up again. He started asking everyone if they knew where he could buy one and he started calling around to the local suit stores. He never wore the standard tuxedo self-tie version, always bright colors or polka dots or stripes. These were surprisingly difficult to find at the time. I traveled to Vegas that July and I remember my mom telling me to make sure I looked for bow ties while I was there because my dad had been talking nonstop about finding one. I didn't really think a lot about it at first and I did look, but came home empty handed. My dad was so disappointed.  At first I thought, What is with the sudden urgency to find a bow tie? Why after all these years does he suddenly need one now? And then it hit me. My dad was never the communicative sort and would never actually say the words aloud but I knew.

It's easy to forget someone is dying when it takes several months for this to happen. You would think that since he was a shell of the man he used to be, his hair had grayed, he had aged 20 years in 6 months and was unrecognizable in every way that it would be a constant thought, and in a way it was, but at some point your mind and body go into survival mode. Your subconscious mind is always aware and that's why you develop anxiety or depression or boils or the inability to handle emotion of any sort but you are still living real life. You still get frustrated and annoyed and find yourself arguing and fighting. And then ridden with guilt afterward. He wasn't in a hospital, he was at home. And he was still ornery and rigid and judgmental. He still yelled and screamed and hated everything. You want to live in this idealistic world where everyone makes concessions for him and has an infinite amount of patience and tolerance for his behavior because you know it's all coming to an end. But there's nothing idealistic about watching your father die and managing just the most basic of emotions and daily tasks become unreachable feats. I was never given a manual. A 'How to properly watch your father die from cancer over a period of 8 months while continuing to live your everyday life and react perfectly to every situation so as to live without any regrets...for the soul'. You just do the best you can. You find a way to get through it. And then you start picking up the pieces. Looking back, I don't think I did everything perfectly. But I know for sure that I did the best I could do in that situation and that's all I could really ever ask of myself. That's all I could really ever ask of anyone.

So, when my dad first started talking about bow ties in June of 2007 I wasn't immediately cognizant of the reason. I brushed it off as yet another silly obsession of his and put forth the absolute bare minimum of effort in helping him in his search. It wasn't until the beginning of August that I realized why he wanted one and by then I had lost so much valuable time. I quickly went online and ordered 5 bow ties in an assortment of colors and patterns and had them shipped to me. The second they arrived at my doorstep I took them over to my dad. By this point, he couldn't really move his body on his own and had lost the ability to eat, drink, piss or shit about a week prior. I will never forget how he looked, laying there. How he smelled. How he sounded. I told him I had a surprise for him. He didn't open his eyes at first and his wrinkled dry lips quietly asked me what it was. I told him I had brought him 5 bow ties and they were spread out on the bed next to him. He mustered up the energy to reach over and briefly pick one of them up and then something happened that had never happened before in my lifetime. My dad closed his eyes and his shriveled grey lips mumbled "Thank you".

I had been waiting my whole life for some form of verbal validation from my dad. I had never heard him say please, thank you, I'm sorry, I love you, etc. - to anyone. Ever. It was a really satisfying and equally heartbreaking moment to hear him say those words. He passed away the following week and even though he was cremated, I made sure the funeral home dressed him in a button up dress shirt and the red bow tie.

My dad is on my dresser

August 21st of this year was the 5 year anniversary of my father's death. They always tell you that it will 'get easier' but what they never tell you is that it will get better. I had an extremely hard time adjusting to my father's absence in my life. Not only was he only 52 when he passed but he also died at the point in my life when I needed him the most. This is something I wrote to my dad 6 months after he died, right after I watched The Oscars:

February 24, 2008
"I actually went into the Oscars this year with complete ignorance, having no idea who was hosting. Those of you who know me well know that I am a huge television whore and am usually painfully up to date on everything Hollywood and celebrity related. What a pleasant surprise it was when Jon Stewart walked onto the stage. Stewart is a brilliantly hilarious comedian with political views and a comedic style that very closely mirror my own. It's not exactly a coincidence that I am a fan as I tend to grow fond of people who are most like myself, famous and ordinary alike.

Stewart's opening monologue spewed out witty one-liners, refreshingly new political satire mocking the atrocity that is and will always be the American Republican Party and its supporters and typical yet priceless celebrity roasts.

I found myself laughing out loud hysterically to the point of tears. As tears streamed down my face and being completely caught up in the moment I reached for my phone, as I do every time I find something to be extraordinarily funny and clever. An instinctive reaction that I have yet to conquer. I can't share these moments with him anymore. I can't call him up and ask him if he's watching the Oscars. Ask him if he's impressed that Stewart is hosting again. Ask him if he just heard that last comment comparing Obama with Hitler and how f***ing facetious it was.

I owe every ounce of my comedic nature to him. I owe him my wit, my sarcasm, my tendency to make light of very serious situations. I owe him my quick sharp-tongued responses, my lack of normal human reactions, my reluctance to trust camouflaged with inappropriate humor. Not all of the aforementioned may seem at first glance to be things for which to be indebted. But trust me, they are.
F*** I miss you."

I did that for months, years even. Every time I thought something was really funny or I got a flat tire or I felt like I needed to be told what to do I reached for my phone to call him. Sometimes I would realize what I was doing mid-reach and I would stop but sometimes I even dialed the number. Regardless, it always ended the same. With me in tears, realizing I was on my own now.

This doesn't happen anymore. There isn't even one teeny tiny ounce of my being that forgets he isn't here and for even a split second thinks about calling him. You might be thinking it's because so much time has passed that I'm forgetting him but if you thought that you would be terribly wrong. The reason I no longer reach for my phone to call him is because my dad is no longer a phone call away. He's right here, with me. I am not a religious person by any means but I know he is here. I feel closer to him now than I ever did when he was alive in the flesh. We've bonded now and we understand each other now. He is with me every time I make a tough decision and every time I cry and feel defeated and want to give up. He gives me the courage to be myself and follow my dreams and believe you me, those were not things he did when he was alive.

I hate that wording. He IS alive. He's more alive now than he ever was in his miserable and trauma filled material life. He's at peace now and I am too because for the first time in my life I am no longer fighting him, I'm working with him...he probably really hates that.

On August 21, 2012 I unpacked my dad's ashes. He had been sitting in a Rubbermaid container in my closet the past 5 years and he is now sitting on my dresser.

 

Part 2 - Soul Mates are only slightly different than Play-doh

Read Part 1 here - http://www.organizeddysfunction.com/2012/09/my-mom-married-black-man-off-internet.html

When asked how my dad and mom met, my mom's answer was always the same. She has told me since I could understand words, and everyone else that would listen, that she was in love with someone else. She was engaged to someone else. Her fiance was killed in a tragic tractor accident and my mom was so devastated that she wanted to die. She didn't care what happened in life after that and so she married the first man that came along. Aside from being just a beautiful, romantic and inspiring message of love for her children - knowing their mother didn't love their father - this was a true reflection of my mother's outlook on life and a realistic representation of her person.

Fast forward 30 years and my father had just passed away. And although she never wanted to be married to him in the first place, there is only one thing my mom wanted less: to be alone. One would think that you would take some time to reflect on your life in a situation like this, pinpoint your mistakes and then take action to ensure you learn from those errors. But One doesn’t think. My mother had convinced herself that her entire marriage was dysfunctional because of my dad. She didn’t, and continues to not, understand the concept of taking responsibility for herself and her actions and her life. Now, with her late husband out of the picture, my mom had but one mission: “To find her soul mate”. Her words, not mine. What a ridiculous concept. Believing that there is just one perfect person sitting there, waiting for you somewhere in the world and the only effort you have to put into the relationship is finding that person is about as senseless as believing in the Tooth Fairy. Regardless, this was my mother’s mission.

I tried talking to my mom. I tried telling her a bit about the grieving process and how she should maybe be a little less aggressive in her 'soul mate search' until she was thinking more clearly. I tried encouraging her to take a step back and give some thought as to what she really wanted and needed in a relationship. My mom was very clear with her intent. She started writing messages to every man she could find online that said “Are you my soul mate?”. Men would write to her, telling her a bit about themselves and their lives and asking her to describe herself in return and she would respond with “I am just looking for my soul mate, are you my soul mate?”.

I remember feeling truly embarrassed for her. She was making herself sound desperate and that's the last thing I wanted for her, for fear of people without the best intentions. Love interest #1 told her he was in between paychecks and asked for her to pay for his trip up to her house and then for a trip to Hawaii together with promises of paying her back. And he did pay her back, by dumping her the day they left Hawaii. Love interest #2 I don't know much about except that my mom paid for herself and two of her friends to go to his city to meet him and it was over before she left. But it wasn’t until love interest #3 that I started to grow curious. My mother, who was a 55 year old white woman from North Dakota (she’s still white and still from North Dakota, she’s just no longer 55) seemed to have a new very specific type.

So, I did what any daughter who is monitoring her mother’s online dating activity weeks after her father’s funeral would do, I asked. I told her I was noticing a common theme between all of her suitors and I was just curious as to how that came about. My mother then confessed that when she submitted her online profile on the dating website it had asked her for her preferences in men and she had checked the boxes for:

-BLACK ONLY
-FROM CALIFORNIA, TEXAS, HAWAII, ARIZONA, FLORIDA

In a state of shock and even though I knew I would regret knowing, I asked for an explanation. How could she, in one breath, say she wanted to find her soul mate but then say he had to fit some tiny manufactured mold in the next? And I then learned that she was only interested in black men from warm States, so she could move somewhere warm.

There is only one idea more ludicrous than believing there is just one perfect person sitting there, waiting for you somewhere in the world and that is believing you can put bizarre and idealistic limitations onto your already absurd belief. So which was it? Was she looking for her soul mate or was she looking for a black man from California, Texas, Hawaii, Arizona or Florida?

I think we all know how that one turned out.
 

My mom married a black man off the Internet and moved to Texas - Part 1

My mom married a black man off the Internet and moved to Texas. This has been, among other things, my Twitter bio and go-to punch line in most of my jokes for some time now. At first glance, it may even appear racist on some level. And it is. Let me explain.

You see, my mom married a black man off the Internet and moved to Texas. Five years ago, my father passed away from cancer. In a strange way, I thought this would be some sort of relief to my mom, since she has been telling me my entire life that she hated him and wished she had never married him. My parents were still married at the time of his death but because my mom has told me countless times that the only reason she stayed married to him was because of me and her restrictive religion, I thought in some way his death would bring her freedom. I realized that losing your husband, regardless of your feelings for him as a person, would not be easy. But I really did think that with him gone, she would become a whole person. Something I had been eager to experience for years. My mom, I believed, would finally become my mother.

After my father passed, my mom - whom I have been raising my entire life - regressed further into childhood. This was disappointing to everyone in her life and we all tried our very best to guide her. She didn't seek counseling. She didn't take time to grieve. She didn't reach out to her friends and family who had already lost their husbands to disease and unfortunate circumstance. She didn't buck up and become the rock her children needed. She didn't do any of the things that could be considered reasonable, for a grieving widow with grieving children. 

My mom did, however, sign up for an online dating service immediately after my father's death. In amongst her suicide threats, her impulsive rash decisions and her desperate cries for desperation, she managed to submit an online profile on a dating site. Now, I have no problem with my mom 'moving on' and finding a new partner in life. I was actually happy for her. I thought to myself, 'My mom hated my dad and was miserable the entire 30 years they were married. Now is her chance to find someone she's compatible with and become the woman I've always yearned for her to be!'.

It wasn't until I found out how my mom filled out the online dating profile that I realized nothing had changed. She was still the same person I had always known and it was then that I realized history was about to repeat itself.

To be continued....

Why I'm not a brilliant man

A brilliant man that I've never met recently said that he always censors his writing. He argued that his thoughts were for himself, and those were uncensored, but his writing was for others and therefore was always censored.

I personally don’t know how he does it. My thoughts were stolen from me at an early age. My thoughts aren’t my own and they certainly aren’t uncensored. I have to be very careful with my thoughts and how long I let them float around my mind because I will usually quite quickly dispute them. I have learned to squash any particles of hope and remove completely any silly ideas like success or happiness.

The only way to truly convey my feelings to myself or to others without censorship is to write. When I write, I am free.  Writing gives me the ability to allow my true thoughts to emerge. I become vulnerable when I write and it is impossible to censor what I am feeling. The words just flow as an extension of my fingers and my thoughts suddenly appear on this blank white background.  I am able to release these thoughts from my mind before I am able to sabotage or edit them.

I love that I am able to write. I talk a lot about how I am a writer. I talk a lot about things that I have written. I don’t know how I would make any sense of all of the mumbo jumbo in my mind without my writing. I am truly blessed with this gift. This gift: being able to perfectly convey how I am feeling or what I am thinking or all the hurt inside me or all my ambitions for the future. It’s all written down; recorded. It can’t be changed, it can’t be manipulated and I can’t talk myself out of any of these things. They already exist in writing and they are permanent.

Please don’t ask to see or read any of my writing though. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem sharing these pieces of writing with you. I love the feeling of being vulnerable and having other people read about my thoughts. But I’ll just tell you about them, ok?  You see, the problem is that most of these pieces of writing only exist in my mind. I just visualize myself writing and I am able to write down all the words in my mind. In fact, I write 100’s of articles, emails, blog posts and essays in my mind every month. After all, my writing is the only way I can grasp the purest form of my uncensored thoughts.

I don’t know how he does it. Having all those uncensored thoughts in his mind all the time must be overwhelming. I admire him for his transparency but I think I’ll just stick to writing.