Chalk and Cheese

Chalk and Cheese

Dad loves all things British; William and Kate, tea and crumpets, The Crown, saying the loo, not so much queuing though….. People in our small town treat him like he is a rare and exotic bird. "Lovely," he says. It is baffling to me to watch the faces of folks in conversation. The faces of both men and women brighten when near him. Most of the people around here have never traveled out of the state, much less another country. Just between you and Me- neither has dad. 

"Do you guys have the same father AND mother?" I wondered last Christmas. My Aunt, dad's sister, visited. She seemed to know the root of my question and didn't take offense, "Your father struggled. He has always been feminine. Anything 'different' (she actually used air quotes) wasn't accepted; however, I am happy to report, things are improving." I still wondered if both of their parents were the same, but something told me I'd find out more if I didn't interrupt.  

"Gary the Fairy was what kids called your dad," Aunt Judy said as she looked out the window. "Kids can be cruel." How did I not know that, I wondered. "He had to detach himself from the small minds of Vander City." She said, "When he turned 15, that's about the time he started to change, coincidentally right after he watched Mary Poppins something in him changed."

"That explains a lot," I said with a laugh. 

To prepare for this years' Dry January Dad started storing his Gin in his boot, err is it bonnet? I don't know. What I do know is last year his attempt at Dry January almost killed him, the alcohol withdrawal resulted in days and days of vomiting. He was tired and irritable. Instead of his light, jovial joking he couldn't even bring himself to speak with a phony British accent. Last year Dad lasted for 16 days. He endured 16 days without calling a cookie a biscuit or going to the 'pub'. I was proud of him; mom was proud of him. He confessed that he had not been sober for 16 straight days since high school. 

"The goal this January is to be dry every day except for my birthday, of course. I am gutted to report my first three days have been bloody Hell." Dad said as he removed Christmas decorations. "Is your mother coming to my birthday party this year? Oh, look at the Blue Jay, darling. Isn't it marvelous?" He hoped to arouse Pip to see the bird and hoped the cat might instinctually chase after the bird. "Go on, go on. There it is." Sadly, though, the cat showed no interest in the Blue Jay. Dad yelled at Pip, scolded the cat, "You are a cat, act like a bloody cat." Silently I noted the irony, you are American, act like an American. 

"Do you want her to come? You know if you are planning a dry party she will not come." I said, trying to get the feel for his intentions. I have asked him in the past to call her mom, not 'mother'. I should've taken that as a clue to his mood. 

By the 13th of January, scones had turned into pop tarts, empty pop tart wrappers were stacked high on the side table, blueberry, frosted strawberry, cinnamon sugar. "Dad, the smell of cat litter is sickening. Where is Pip? Dad, you asked me to come over. If you want me to clean- forget it." His printed, bright pink, Liberty of London shirt was tight, the buttons were fighting to stay closed. Should I say something? Out of caution I lowered my readers over my eyes just in case a tight button exploded from the shirt. 

"I am so embarrassed. I have gained 5 1⁄2 pounds. I don't want people to see me like this," he said. "Nobody wants to watch a fat person eat, God knows I don't." 

Impatiently I asked, "Well, Dad, what do you want to do?" I really do try to be passive with him, but it gets old. He only started the Dry January challenge to further his 'I'm British' charade. "Don't you ever get tired of all the pretending?" I asked, hoping to break through, to dig deep into the real part of him, his soft center. 

"Don't be so dreadful. Why are you so negative?" He asked as he approached with his buttons (weapons) of mass destruction. The tension was real. 

"Me? You think I am the one being negative?" I started to gather my things. Where did I put my hoodie? 

"Believe it or not, I love you. Why can't you just accept me- for me?" Just then one of the middle buttons sprang from his shirt, and thwacked Pip on the tail. "Crickey," he shouted as his left hand covered his heart. "You see, it’s just been an awful two weeks." 

"Sorry Pip." I whispered. Too late I realized I should've protected him.

Not surprisingly dad suddenly had an 'Emergency'. "Cheers. Of course. It has been lovely spending time with you, but I'm knackered." He then walked past me, his daughter, no hug, no handshake, nothing- into a closed-door room then shouted, "You are behaving most indelicately. Can you please take out the rubbish as you leave. Bye now darling."

I petted Pip knowing that it might be a long time before I returned, the innocent cat scratched my hand as if asking me to rescue him.

Dad didn't reach out to me, nor did I reach out to him. Weeks passed. I found out through Facebook that Dad's birthday party was canceled, allegedly 'Due to weather'. I suspect that his vanity made the decision.   

He posted that he read Harry Potter while he was 'drying out'- I don't believe him. 

He also posted that he kept his January goal-I don't believe him. 

Happily, Pip is now safely living with me and my other two cats and he has a clean litter box. Incidentally Pip chases squirrels now.