When I was little, before my parents divorced, my father used to go out for a run every day. At least I remember it being every day but it may have only been on weekends. And on Christmas mornings. Which was sadistic since my brothers and I weren’t allowed to go downstairs to view the loot under the tree until he’d returned from his run. And which was particularly cruel, in hindsight, when we learned that his hour-long “morning run” actually consisted of a mere 6 block round-distance detour to his girlfriend’s house.
For a long time, I had begged him to take me running with him. Though I can’t begin to fathom it now, I idolized him. He was strong and self-assured and powerful and in my desperate effort to prove myself worthy of his attention, I promised him I could keep up. So one Saturday, to my delight, he acquiesced. I was ecstatic. I immediately jumped out of bed, got myself dressed and hurried to tie my sneakers as he was already moving down the stairs toward the front door. I followed behind him to the front porch where he stopped, looked at me and asked “are you ready”? Before I could answer, I watched his long legs carry him, in one giant easy leap, over the stairs and along the walkway to the sidewalk. I scrambled to follow his lead but he was across the street and half-way up the block before I stepped off the curb. I chased him as fast as I could but he was running at full speed and I knew I couldn’t catch up to him. By the time I crossed the intersection of our quiet corner, watching his white t-shirt disappear up the block and around the corner, I had disintegrated into a hyperventilating mess of tears. He’d left me. Purposely.
I was furious by the abandonment and humiliated by his trick. But I got the lesson and understood my place in his world. I knew right then, as I made my way back home to the comfort of my mother, tears dripping off my face onto my shirt, that he would always leave me behind and even worse, that he took obscene pleasure in the power of doing so. With him it always boils down to control and I recognized it then. We haven’t spoken in 24 years.
This morning, as we’ve been doing on Sunday mornings and several evenings each week after work, Sam and I loaded Ruby in her stroller, leashed Ella and headed out the door for a family run. I love this time with my husband, my daughter and my dog. I feel so fundamentally bound to them despite any lack of shared genes and so grounded to the earth. This, my chosen family, is what makes so many fucked up things in the world seem a little more bearable for me. As we complete this ritual of ours, I imagine a day when Ruby is able to run side by side with us, to run faster than I can and to set goals for herself. I look forward to helping her succeed rather than setting her up to fail. And I promise her now that I will never run faster than what she can keep up with and I will never leave her in my wake. Ever.
11 responses so far ↓
1 Amy // Apr 30, 2006 at 5:29 pm
Aaryn,
Wow…very powerful post…I got the chills!
Amy
2 Paida // May 1, 2006 at 11:59 am
dito above
Right wingers are always mocking how much liberals care about the “self-esteem” of their kids. As if humiliation was character building. Pathetic.
3 Anonymous // May 1, 2006 at 2:06 pm
Aaryn,
Wow is an understatement. I have tears in my eyes for you, as the hurt child, and for your beautiful daughter who is going to have an amazing life with a mom like you who is going to create a world full of opportunities and love.
Jennifer T-L
4 Anonymous // May 4, 2006 at 11:50 am
There are blood ties, and there are love ties. Love ties are stronger.
Best, Gail
5 Anonymous // May 4, 2006 at 11:53 am
There are blood ties, and there are love ties. Love ties are the strongest.
Best, Gail
6 Mom // May 5, 2006 at 2:55 pm
After having read this, I had to wait.
Count to 10?
Not enought time.
Took a shower….
Enough time to make me angry.
Enough time to remove the block that had made the memory disappear.
Enough time to again see what an awful being served as your father.
Enough time to wish that I’d been a good enough parent to outweigh his ugliness.
Enough time to wish that I’d dumped him before you were left with this kind of memory.
Not enough time to forgive him….but
Enough time to know that YOU are the best thing about him, &……..
For that, I am forever grateful.
7 Kath // May 10, 2006 at 12:22 pm
As if the images from that awful morning run (away from his daughter’s attempt to connect with her daddy) didn’t make me sad…more disgusted than anything…disgusted again at his selfish bullshit…I wept at your mother’s entry/posting. It absolutely ends on the best note, as you are the best thing about him. But I add this: a “thank you” to your mother, for being so sexy as to get him juiced up enough to squeeze out the seed that was necessary to create one of the best friends I’ve ever had in my life…ever! Does that sould weird?
But on to what you are passing along to lovely Ruby: the joy that comes from understanding the lesson that hurt provided and turning that understanding into a beautiful future, full of possibility and confidence and groundedness and most of all…love. The love of a mother, choosing to be a mother and seeking out her child in this wild world, finding her child, first finding her husband, her first chosen family and then feeling great enough about her own capabilities to go out and create a home full of love and keep filling it with love, every day that starts and ends, every new discovery, every photo of those beautiful toes. That’s the journey…and you, Aaryn, are what make it what you want it to be. If I wore a hat, it would be off to you for all that you have survived and overcome. Proud to be your friend…too far away to enjoy a spontaneous family run with you. In loving awe,
8 Amaya // Nov 27, 2007 at 12:14 pm
Wow. At the risk of insulting someone else’s parents (a known taboo), your dad sounds like a douche.
I love that you’ve taken what was a horrible memory and turned it into a family bonding experience.
9 kcinnova // Apr 1, 2008 at 5:19 am
Sent over by Cheri (blogthismom!) via her 3/31 posting.
Powerful & Empowering.
Also, your precious daughter is as blessed to be yours, as you are to be hers.
10 A Catastrophizer + Google = Bad Idea // May 8, 2008 at 10:38 am
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11 Martha // May 9, 2008 at 8:36 pm
I think your father and my step father were separated at birth.
26 years for me.
Fuck the lot of them.
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