Regrets, I’ve had a few. We all have, haven’t we? Those moments when we feel a sickening slip of the gut and shortness of breath as we realize that we have said too much or said the complete wrong thing? Reacted too harshly, acted too soon? Or perhaps it was hours, days, years after the fact that we come to an abrupt halt and think “Oh no”. We pause as we walk down the street, read a novel, order dinner or put our child to bed and are overcome by the dawning realization of what we have done, said or left unfinished.
Sometimes we can make amends. Sometimes we can set it right. Sometimes we are simply left with the regret and the hope that we can somehow forget it or get passed it.
My parents separated when I was in grade three, I was about 8-9 years old. While there had been a great deal of fighting leading to the separation, the actual split seems to have been amicable enough. Without legal intervention my father paid a bit of alimony and he paid child support for my older sister and brother and me without hesitation or complaint. Dad took mom and me for groceries every Saturday morning, so I saw him weekly but we were not close. We never really talked much as I recall. I remember one year when disco was popular, dad gave me a K-Tel album for my birthday. “Disco Explosion”. I was quite disgusted, since it was pretty well known that I was a rock and roll girl. I didn’t do disco. Clearly, my father did now know me.
One year in CEGEP I was in a play so I left school fairly late in the evening, due to rehearsals, a few times a week. One evening, while waiting for my bus, a car pulled up and someone called to me from inside. It took me awhile to recognize my father’s girlfriend in the car. Dad was calling from the driver’s seat, what was I doing here so late? I explained and they said this was good luck and I should come for dinner. I made various lame excuses as to why this would not be a good time, maybe another night, and so on, but they would have none of it. Finally, I had to accept or be really very rude. So, into the car I climbed. I didn’t relish the thought of spending the end of a long day with my father who barely knew me and his girlfriend – who he had been having an affair with for years while with my mother and who I subsequently and I think understandably resented and disliked.
The evening passed uncomfortably for me, we discussed various things, my part in the play, my studies and their jobs. I feigned interest in the upcoming wedding of my father’s girlfriend’s eldest daughter, which backfired because my siblings and I subsequently received invitations to the wedding. Since this woman had no relationship with us at all it was pretty obvious that she had been coerced into inviting us because my acting excited for her was, I suppose, Oscar worthy.
A few weeks later my father surprised me by showing up at the performance of the play I was in. I was the first actor to appear on stage and when I stepped from the wings my father stood up and hooted and clapped. I wanted to crawl under a rock, I was so embarrassed. We spoke briefly after the play and I thanked him for coming, I really was quite touched that he had come, as he never attended anything I was in involved in elementary or high school. My father said that there remained an open invitation for me to call and go over for dinner or whatever anytime, but I never called.
My father died around 1989 when I was 21 or 22. At his funeral his co-workers and friends told me how funny he was and how much they enjoyed his company. I ended up hiding in the bathroom, crying. I was crying not because I would miss my father, but because I had never known him at all, and now I never would. I cried because he did try to reach out to me, eventually, but by that time I felt it was too late. I cried because I had always believed that it was my fathers job to get to know me, I never realized that I could step up and try to get to know him. In fact, he had been such a peripheral character in my life for so much of it, that I didn’t even have the urge to take that step, I didn’t think that I was missing out on anything.
The realizations I made following my father’s death changed the way I think about relationships and the fact that I did not make them sooner is probably my greatest regret.
Sometimes we can make amends. Sometimes we can set it right. Sometimes we are simply left with the regret and the hope that we can somehow forget it or get passed it.
My parents separated when I was in grade three, I was about 8-9 years old. While there had been a great deal of fighting leading to the separation, the actual split seems to have been amicable enough. Without legal intervention my father paid a bit of alimony and he paid child support for my older sister and brother and me without hesitation or complaint. Dad took mom and me for groceries every Saturday morning, so I saw him weekly but we were not close. We never really talked much as I recall. I remember one year when disco was popular, dad gave me a K-Tel album for my birthday. “Disco Explosion”. I was quite disgusted, since it was pretty well known that I was a rock and roll girl. I didn’t do disco. Clearly, my father did now know me.
One year in CEGEP I was in a play so I left school fairly late in the evening, due to rehearsals, a few times a week. One evening, while waiting for my bus, a car pulled up and someone called to me from inside. It took me awhile to recognize my father’s girlfriend in the car. Dad was calling from the driver’s seat, what was I doing here so late? I explained and they said this was good luck and I should come for dinner. I made various lame excuses as to why this would not be a good time, maybe another night, and so on, but they would have none of it. Finally, I had to accept or be really very rude. So, into the car I climbed. I didn’t relish the thought of spending the end of a long day with my father who barely knew me and his girlfriend – who he had been having an affair with for years while with my mother and who I subsequently and I think understandably resented and disliked.
The evening passed uncomfortably for me, we discussed various things, my part in the play, my studies and their jobs. I feigned interest in the upcoming wedding of my father’s girlfriend’s eldest daughter, which backfired because my siblings and I subsequently received invitations to the wedding. Since this woman had no relationship with us at all it was pretty obvious that she had been coerced into inviting us because my acting excited for her was, I suppose, Oscar worthy.
A few weeks later my father surprised me by showing up at the performance of the play I was in. I was the first actor to appear on stage and when I stepped from the wings my father stood up and hooted and clapped. I wanted to crawl under a rock, I was so embarrassed. We spoke briefly after the play and I thanked him for coming, I really was quite touched that he had come, as he never attended anything I was in involved in elementary or high school. My father said that there remained an open invitation for me to call and go over for dinner or whatever anytime, but I never called.
My father died around 1989 when I was 21 or 22. At his funeral his co-workers and friends told me how funny he was and how much they enjoyed his company. I ended up hiding in the bathroom, crying. I was crying not because I would miss my father, but because I had never known him at all, and now I never would. I cried because he did try to reach out to me, eventually, but by that time I felt it was too late. I cried because I had always believed that it was my fathers job to get to know me, I never realized that I could step up and try to get to know him. In fact, he had been such a peripheral character in my life for so much of it, that I didn’t even have the urge to take that step, I didn’t think that I was missing out on anything.
The realizations I made following my father’s death changed the way I think about relationships and the fact that I did not make them sooner is probably my greatest regret.
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