The weekend

I think I’ve been given the excuse I’ve been looking for to disown my father and never speak to him again. I’d just never imagined it would come around like this.

We tend to argue a lot. And to clarify, I mean that we’ve had three hour long arguments in the past. Since I was about twelve years old he’s been changing. He’s not the same man I waited for at the top of the steps every night when he’d come home from work. He’s a monster. He throws people away like trash and is only concerned with money. He thinks anyone who doesn’t live in a mansion and doesn’t have top-of-the-line everything is a loser. He once told me I was a loser when he asked me what I wanted in life and I replied that all I needed to be happy was to be able to support the family I want in the future and to be happy and live comfortably.

But as he said, only losers don’t want a castle and 40 cars.

So we get into fights over a lot of things. This weekend we went out of town together to visit my brother. He was okay on the flight out, and even pleasant the first day there. I mean, we’ve gotten along so well for months now and it was refreshing to see that we could coexist peacefully. This wouldn’t be the case for long.

He picks a fight with me on the second day just before noon. According to him, I don’t care about looking feminine (his definition is pretty much a skanky whore) and I need to start caring about my appearance. “Everyone I know says you could be a knockout. Why don’t you act and dress the part?” Blah blah blah.

We argue, it gets very heated, I throw up my hands and go inside, and he and my brother go out to the store. Three hours later? He picks the SAME FIGHT again. Only this time he’s insulting me more personally, and then insults my mother for good measure. Long story shorter than it would be otherwise, he says all the right things to get me furious, I call him out on being a jackass, and he transforms even further into a monster, holds his fist up to my face, and then a second later hits me.

It did not hurt. Not physically, anyway.

I yell at him not to hit me. He yells at me to keep quiet. I get off the couch (yeah, he was standing over me the whole time) and leave for a walk. My brother races after me, not knowing what happened other than knowing there was yelling going on in his house. I tell him, he gets pissed at our dad and brings me to sit in his car while he goes inside to give our dad the “what the FUCK were you THINKING?” talk.

I’ve never had anyone stand up for me. Ever. It was nice. I wish I could have heard or seen it. I almost don’t believe it. Not because my brother wouldn’t do that, but because he NEVER stands up to our dad, and no one, ever in the history of my existence, has stood up and fought for me. I was never able to rely on others because no one would ever be there. No one cared enough to get mad over my mistreatment. And honestly to this day I can’t understand why anyone would. I’m so used to thinking I’m unworthy and unwanted that I can’t accept it when someone steps up for me.

But that’s another story.

So my dad and I played nice after a few hours. I think he really thought I was okay with everything. He was wrong. We are completely not okay. I always said that any man who raised a hand to me would be tossed out of my life faster than he could blink. I just never factored in my blood relatives.

So as soon as we got to the airport and my brother was gone, I steadfastly ignored the man. I could not change my seat next to him on the flight, because everything was booked. I was at the window, so I leaned away from him and looked out and listened to my iPod for the duration of the flight. When we got to the airport, I told him I was getting a ride with someone else.

That someone was Shy. I’d sent him text messages about the ordeal after it happened, and asked if he was free to maybe give me a ride to my car from the airport. He doesn’t live far from there. He wasn’t free. But he made the time for me. In the car he told me how he needed to get home before his dad did or there would be hell to pay – while Shy is not religious, his dad is and they’re Muslim. If he didn’t get home in time for prayer for Ramadan, his dad would be really mad. I mean, it’s their major holiday. It’s when he makes his kids observe his religion.

But he got me from the airport anyway. And he talked. And told me stories. And I was laughing and giggling. And I felt like me again after 4 hours of airport/flight crappiness. When we got to my car I dropped my bag on the ground and then got back in the car and leaned over and gave him a hug and thanked him yet again for everything. I told him it meant a lot to me. He told me it was nothing.

I love how boys ALWAYS look like deer in headlights when a girl hugs them and says something sincere =)

So now I have to figure out if I’m throwing my dad out of my life forever. Yep. Decision making is overrated.