The Status Quo

It has been more than a week now since I have told my dad about my being molested as a child. I have yet to hear from him again. I imagine that it might have been rather astounding news to him. It was for me, but then again, I was the victim at the time. There is little doubt that he must be reconsidering his role as a father and his shortcoming as a protector, however unintentional.

It is hard to deal with that sort of things at seventy. He is part of a generation who didn’t talk about these matters. Let alone consider that they could happen right under his nose, unnoticed. There must be a tremendous amount of guilt involved unless, that is, he really didn’t want to know what was going at home in his absence. But I am inclined to believe that he wouldn’t have let something like that happen or persist. My dad may be quite imperfect, often inadequate, miscalculated in his reactions, but he is not a coward or unjust. He was very loving in his awkward ways.

My dad was away from home most of the time. He worked hard to provide a good life for his family. His main fault was to believe that my mother was doing just the same. Little did he know that it was not the case. And my mother would certainly not be the one telling him. She probably believed that she was a good mother, that she was doing the best she could, and in some ways, she was. She just was not cut out to be a parent. She could never make abstraction of herself to the profit of others, and she never did. As a result, my dad was kept in the dark about almost anything concerning the family. He is just starting to realize that every time my brother or I complained about my mother, that perhaps there was indeed something really wrong going on.

Years ago my dad had read and cut out an article from a magazine which he carried carefully folded in his wallet until recently. He may still, I don’t know. And now would not be the right time to ask him about it. Anyhow, this article was written by a man talking about his children. He was stating something to the effect that his children had never asked to be born; therefore it was his responsibility as a parent to care for them until they no longer needed him, no matter how ungrateful the children were. It had made a tremendous impression on my dad. It may seem rather trivial right now, but it was as if someone had helped him justify the difficult career choices he had made in life. That clipping became almost sacred and he would pull it out and read it for himself or others quite often. The last time I saw it, ages ago; it was all yellow and torn.

Still, I cannot help but doubt his next move. He asked me several times during our last conversation why I had not told him, back then when it was happening. Clearly, should I have been able to do so, I would have. Realistically however, nobody would have ever believed a four-year old child with an overactive imagination, describing the most horrific sexual depravations. Although… My mother would have killed the conversation with a few nasty words as she often did. There would have been no room for discussion. She would have declared me fallacious, desperate for attention, and jealous of my brother. Worst still, no matter how superb an ally my dad was, the truth be told, he was never home long enough to make a real difference. Soon I would have been left on my own with my mother and my brother and their vengeance. And ultimately what would have happened to me if I had told him and he had not believed me? Was I not better off dreaming of his support than facing heart breaking deception?

I guess the real test is happening right now. Is my dad going to believe his forty years old daughter or will he assume that I have no other ambition than ruining my brother’s reputation? A lot will depend on his partner’s reaction, since there is little doubt that he will eventually share it with her, if he has not already done so. Will she be judgmental like my mother would be or magnanimous?

As you can imagine I have been trained early on to expect the very least from my family. Today is no exception. But it would feel real good to be wrong.