My father and I were very close up until I was about 19 or 20. Coincidentally (or not), this was when I first entered serious therapy. Our relationship became tempestuous as the truth about many things in my past life started to unravel, and as I started to make demands that things be on my terms for a change. As soon as things stopped being on his terms, though, things fell apart. I began to see that the handsome, brilliant, worldly, and sensitive man I had worshipped my whole life was actually an ignorant, angry, tortured narcissist with just average intelligence and capabilities--and below-average parenting skills. This process continues to this day, and at age 39, I finally see my father as I believe he really is.

All of this is not as black and white as it may sound, though, which is one of the things I've learned. Though my father may truly be the most self-absorbed human being I have ever encountered--to exist in his presence, and in his life, requires that you delete yourself and submit completely to him--my father isn't a mean person, and would never consciously do another person any harm. He has worked very, very hard his entire life, and provided financially and materially for his family more than he ever could have dreamed. And, he does love his children to the best of his abilities. And, he has always yearned for a family, though he never had any training in how to get or keep one. At nearly 70 years old, he is tragically alone--after two divorces and a host of relationships.

The last time I saw him was nearly two years ago, when he came to visit us for the weekend. Since he is heavily allergic to cats, he stayed at a Bed and Breakfast place just two blocks away. The weekend progressed "smoothly" at first, with small talk and submission being the main items on the agenda. Finally, on Saturday night, I sat with him on the porch and we had a few beers. Suddenly, we were smack dab in the middle of my adolescence--the peak of my childhood misery. My voice was getting louder and suddenly I was exclaiming, But I was miserable and deeply depressed--didn't you know that? and Why didn't you do anything about it? Why didn't you ever talk to me about it? To this day, you've never even acknowledged it.All I wanted at that moment was for my father to acknowledge that he never tried to help me or connect with me during that time. But all he just said was, Of course I knew you were miserable! --with the same angry helplessness he had displayed countless times over the years, as when my mother would stand over the dinner table, calling us Fuckers, in front of guests, while he would just lamely sit there.

Right now, I don't recall specifically how this line of thinking entered my brain at that moment, but it probably had something to do with the fact that both of my parents have always just superficially glossed over this (and other) dark period(s) in my life--which truly shaped me, and which still makes me cringe--telling themselves that since I am "OK" now, they clearly did their job as parents--and so are off the hook for anything that may have fucked me up. I'm sure they've even patted themselves on the backs more than once, though the truth is that all of the good parenting I've received has come from elsewhere.

In any event, I didn't get what I wanted from my father that night, and succeeded only in inflaming him. He yelled at me, despite the fact that his granddaughter was asleep upstairs, and miraculously, I managed to contain my own temper and didn't yell back. The screaming and irrational defensiveness continued, until I finally told him to just leave.

The next morning, P walked over to the B&B to fetch him, but he was gone. To our shock, the hostess told him that my father had left at 6:30am for the airport. And that was it. Not a word since. We've sent him birthday and holiday cards, and photos of Lo, but he hasn't returned the efforts. No matter what his feelings for me may be, his deleting his only grandchild is to me, inexcusable, and pathetic. In the last two years, we've grown even further estranged, if that's even possible.

My father is essentially still a child. This is P's theory regarding people who remain stuck in ruts from their past, and who never had their childhood needs met, and I think it's true.