Friday 55 & Da Count-Sensible Shoes

FRIDAY 55

A first job for a teenage girl

means so much fun shopping.

She can finally buy the most outrageous shoes

that Mom would never get for her.

My how times changes things.

They don't match anything in her closet.

They hurt her feet.

She's going on a backpacking trip.

Time for a new pair of shoes.

DA COUNT

Those two pairs of shoes both belong to Calypso.  She bought the yellow ones a couple years ago for a stupid amount of money when she got her first paycheck.  The second pair we bought a couple weeks ago to get her ready for a 9 month internship at a camp/farm.

Last month Calypso was cleared by the doctor to participate in the program at the camp.  The first week will include a 4 day backpacking trip in the Rockies.  Given that my girl spent 11 months growing increasingly unwell before she was diagnosed accurately and treated effectively I am amazed by this and deeply grateful. 

This week she took a big step toward breaking in those practical shoes by successfully completely a 7.4 mile day hike on some pretty rocky terrain.  She has also done a shorter hike on a trail that was also incredibly rocky and on a very significant incline.  If you had asked me six months ago whether she'd be able to do this I probably would have welled up in tears wondering if she'd even be able to just get through a day of school without dropping over.  Now I just well up with gratitude at how far she has come.

Da Count-Da Dad

Those of you who have been with me for a long time may recall some of the pieces I've written about the somewhat difficult relationship with my dad.  I don't write about warm, fuzzy memories of him from my childhood because that ain't how it was.  That's not to say I have no happy memories just that the overwhelming impression of him was of a distant, angry man who was impossible to please and who could easily be pushed into frightening rage. 

I often wondered if he loved my brother and me.  I came to the conclusion eventually that he did.  It was just expressed in withholding his worst from us rather than blessing us with his best...or maybe even that withholding his worst was the best he could give at the time.

I also concluded long ago that if I were to be at all healthy I'd have to find a way to forgive the things he did inflict on our family, not because it mattered to him but because I needed to lay the hurt to rest and let it go.  It was a step in healing to give up expecting an apology that would likely never come.

Then a couple years ago in a completely unexpected way there was a small, unsolicited acknowledgement of wrongdoing in which he took responsibility for causing some harm.  It wasn't an outright apology but it was an olive branch.  I was stunned but I received it quietly and gratefully.

In the last couple of years there have been certain small overtures on his part to which I have responded favorably.  In the last year, as you well know, there have been an inordinate number of trials in the life of our family.  At times when I've had to report the latest chapter in the seemingly unending saga Dad has asked if there was something he could do to be of assistance.  Sometimes there has been something small I've dared to ask for, more often there has not been anything that came to mind.

Recently, I felt compelled out of desperation to ask for something very significant, something I vowed I'd never ask for because the risk was too great.  However, it was related to Calypso's welfare and I felt powerless to deal with this particular issue from my own resources.  Dad was not only favorable, he was emphatically and repeatedly reassuring that he was at my disposal with regard to me request.  I was overwhelmed with gratitude and relief as I told him thanks because all that mattered was my kid's well-being.  He looked at me and agreed that a Dad should do whatever it takes to make that happen for his own kid.

And so, though I have only one memory as a child of my welfare being a clear motivator for him (though later I did come to realize there were other indicators) I am deeply grateful for a milestone in my adulthood in which he blesses his child and grandchild with good rather than merely restraining his dark side to avoid causing harm.

Unmitigated Praise

Dad is not one given to speaking an encouraging word.  He is disinclined to giving praise in any form.  I'm not kidding here.  When I brought home report cards that were straight As I'd be asked why they were not A+s.  If he was in a good mood I'd be told, "That will suffice."  There are exactly two things which will earn some small measure of positive reinforcement.  One: I can thumb my nose at authority.  Dad's chest will puff with pride if I publicly get in the face of some Napoleonic figure and tell that person where to get off.  (And with that admission I offer you one more peek into the bizarre universe that is my psyche...)  Two: I can bake him a funny cake (find a picture and recipe at the bottom of this post).  This will generally prompt a comment along the lines of, "Damn, kid.  This is good stuff."  He will then make happy noises as he devours it rapidly.

You also need to understand that Dad is not prone to spontaneous correspondence.  In the last two decades pretty much the only time he initiates contact is to let me know his itinerary for some trip he is taking ( so as to both induce envy and to let me know from where I might need to ship his body if some horrible fate befalls him, which is a very real possibility in certain instances) or to ask if my kids want him to renew the subscription to whatever magazine he sends them.  I'm pretty sure I can count on one hand the times he's opened communication without it being related to some other topic....though to his credit he did make the first move when I only had one good hand for counting since the other one was mangled beyond use at the time.

Bear in mind this post is in no way intended as a complaint or to evoke pity.  I'm at peace with Dad.  We're cool.  I accept who he is.  I think he mostly accepts who I am.  You just need to understand who he is to quite grasp the magnitude of the email which I found in my inbox last night.  Here for your pleasure (and for all posterity) I reproduce, in it's entirety, the email which was for my edification.



Michelle:


Your funny cake is always good, but as your wicked stepmother* said, this one is "spectacular". Perhaps it is because the goo on the bottom is thicker than usual. Whatever the reason, I have difficulty in restricting myself to 1/4 pie per serving.


Dad


* for the record, she is the most unwicked stepmother ever as evidenced in this post