tamarjacobson

My father was close to my age now, when I was born. Indeed, growing up I experienced him as an old man, a grandfather type figure. He was quiet and gentle and laughed nervously. He has been dead for 25 years and yet this morning when I awoke, I thought about him. My parents were divorced when I was four and from then on until I left home at eighteen, I lived with my mother and step-father, visiting my father on the weekends and sometimes taking a small trip or vacation together. My step-father was juvenile and communicated through teasing and joking. His relationship with my mother was volatile and passionate. I did not think of him as a father figure, but, rather, was afraid to bother him with my presence, how much I ate or talked, for all the teasing that would ensue. I felt trivialized and small with him. Neither man were role models or father figures for me. And so, I chose my brother. Although he was only six years older than me, he was adored by my mother and I decided, very early on, that it was wise to adore what she adored. It just made life easier somehow, or so I thought. He became for me the epitome of manhood. His beliefs became mine. Indeed, his entire way of thinking about life was imported into my brain, poured into my veins. He was my greatest influence. I spent all my life longing for him to notice and acknowledge me. Poor things – both of us. My brother was as unaware that I gave him that role as I was. What a disaster for our relationship. Me with all sorts of wild and needy expectations, and he with his life, plodding along unaware. Not a good recipe for survival!

Father’s Day is complicated for me. Split into three men from my childhood, each influencing me in different ways. In fact, I never experienced the warm, unconditional, supportive love of a father and if I yearn for it, as of course I do from time to time, I do not really know what I am actually yearning for. Is it a movie or television type father figure, or a character from a novel? Most likely. Naturally, relationships with men have been extremely complicated for me throughout my life. At first, I saw them as either prince charming or the devil. I learned very early on to be coquettish and cute, flirtatious and playful, and to sacrifice my needs in order for a man to like me. In addition I transferred the adoration of my brother to all other men. They must all be superior to me in every way: especially in intelligence, but also, and more importantly, by being more rational, and, even, more vulnerable. A trilogy of men in my childhood psyche: one, old and gentle, with large wrinkled hands, unapproachable in a way, who seemed startled, even jumping back if I tried to hug or kiss him; another teasing and distant; and the third, intelligent, rational, purist, and conditional in the extreme. None of them belonging to me or with whom I felt belonging or emotionally safe. Today, I am orphaned of all three. Father and step-father have died. And, I have lost my brother in my reinvention, re-alteration process, although I am not sure I ever had him in the first place, as many of my relationships with men in my life, were illusions, fantasies or dreams concocted in my brain to help me survive.

When I became a feminist in 1992, a world of complexity and emotional choices opened up to me. I wandered through the feminist door in wonder and relief as I began to shed the requirements I had set for myself and relearn the world of human relationships. Men became whole and complex, human and approachable, as I struggled with being authentic and myself without fear. There were, of course, years of confusion as I transitioned out of the old and into the new ways of perceiving my emotional psycho-socialization process. I explored my identity, sexuality, spirituality, in short, my entire concept of my – self. The search and struggle is not nearly over. There is still so much relearning to do because I came to this stage quite late in my life. It feels promising and hopeful to me, though, because I know – indeed, I deeply sense – that there is still more to discover and uncover about my self, and my reality, even as time is running, flying out …

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Saturday stories