The Saint Father's Day Massacre
It's easy to preach when you're immersed in self and anger
Bill Ward - "Hate" - When the Bough Breaks - 1997
I became especially aware of how little regard Mom had for Dad on Father's Day around 2011. All remaining parts of our nuclear family were present and we had a very pleasant day.....mostly, but for some reason, Mom was picking on Dad.
1.
First, talking about the steaks I would soon be grilling, Mom announced to the family that Dad had never cooked a steak for her properly in their entire near-50-year marriage. Mom liked hers almost raw and pale gray outside and Dad apparently just couldn't make himself do that. Yeah, far from a capital offense, but grilling a steak is considered an important part of the manly arts.
2.
Then, as I spoke of almost being washed out to sea on a trip to Mexico when I was very young, Mom interrupted and made sure everyone was reminded about the time Dad ignored her plea to top off the gas tank and we all ended up stranded in a Mexican desert. Mom will haul out "I told you so" even for things that happened 40 years ago.
3.
Then, she ridiculed his family by describing their reaction the first time some of them saw our new, custom home over 30 years ago. She would perform an extremely unflattering, and, frankly, inaccurate rendition of them yelling “ahh yoaz-all rish ur sumptin'?” It was very insulting and I heard her do it many, many times.
I never understood Mom's clumsy "yoaz-all" interpretation of "y'all." Never had I heard Dad's family, or any hillbillies, hicks, rubes, yokels, sons of the soil, coal miners' daughters, country boys, country gals, or cows say that.
Ironically, she was very sensitive to ribbing over her accent or speech, and once looked at me like I was crazy when I said that Mutchie spoke "kinda funny." She would ridicule rural southern Americans to no end but was so defensive over eastern Europeans that she couldn't even see the humor in Taxi's excellent Latka character, who sometimes seemed as normal as June Cleaver compared to some of the shit I had to live through.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Mom detested June Clever, finding her neat appearance, pearl necklace, sensible demeanor, and respect for her husband insufferable.
4.
Then, she revealed that the one time she put Dad in charge of paying bills, back in the 1960s, the lights got turned off. I've no idea if that's even accurate and cant remember how the subject of paying one's electrical bill even came up.
By this time, I was quite annoyed, feeling that Father's Day was not a good time to be giving a seminar to Dad's assembled family on his shortcomings.
After dinner, we presented gifts. Neila, in one of her finest moments, wrote Dad a long, heartfelt card expressing how grateful she was for his long and steady history of excellent service to our family. It was truly nice. Rare, too, for we don't really do things like that - every card I got from my parents says the same thing. This was an exceptional moment.
5.
The card touched on when he was last in the hospital, for back surgery. The moment that occurred, Mom started speaking over him, reflecting about how she barely survived the experience of having to go to the hospital to support him.
I couldn't believe it, and the rest of the seven or so people in the room were, at least, taken aback. Neila may well have a video of it. Once I finished cringing, I gestured to Mom to cut it out, she did just that, and Dad finished reading the card. I was very pleased to see him get singled out for substantial recognition for all he'd done.
6.
He then opened the associated gift. I forget what it was, but he liked it. A few seconds passed as he held the item and turned it to and fro, examining it as one normally does. Just as he was about to look up from the item in his lap and most certainly thank Neila, Mom's voice rang from the sofa:
MOM (firmly): Aren't you going to say “thank you?”
I was aghast. Why would she treat an 80 year old man who gave her his life like a child. Hell, even with a child it would have been inappropriate, for she didn't allow him time to regard the gift thoughtfully before flinging directives.
Dad, I'm still thrilled to say, actually pushed back and told her to give him a moment to figure out what he was holding. Bravo, sir! Dad essentially never told off Mom. It just didn't happen, and the few times he strayed, he paid.
Context and history were not on Mom's side. I'd never so much as handed Dad a flashlight without him giving thanks. He was raised to be courteous, had regard for others, and that's that.
I tried to understand. Was it because she wasn't the center of attention for one minute? Was it because Dad was the center of attention for one minute? Must she simply strive to gain control over every situation? Was she just out to get him? The mini-barrage of indignity she'd delivered upon him (and his family) before that latest jab suggested so.
If she was doing it thoughtlessly, that's awful; if done with intent, that's worse. There was no need for a bulwark against Dad's notorious thanklessness, for such never existed, and Mom's treatment of her faithful partner and servant that day was a disgrace.