Little Bits of Pixie Dust

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, body thourougly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO, what a ride!!"

Friday, March 17, 2006

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

I have two things to tell you all. Well, maybe two and a half, because I think one of them needs to be told with a little back story. But anyway, let's get the good thing out of the way first....


Woo hoo!! I am so excited. The nurse called me yesterday at work and told me the good news, that the insurance company had approved me and that I was all set. I have wanted this for so long, I don't even know what to do with myself. I had hot flash after hot flash as I made exhillerated calls to A*, my mom, my grandma, and everyone else I could think of. Then I got in trouble for making personal phone calls at work, but I was too excited to even care. I can't wait!!

Okay, now the next thing has to do with my dad. Let me just tell you a little bit about him and our relationship, though, before I start.

My parents got divorced when I was two. In a way, I think this worked out better for me because I don't remember them ever being together, so I never had any kind of problems with them being apart. Plus, I wasn't one of those kids that tried to get their parents back together, either, because the only life I knew had Daddy in one house and Mommy in the other. For a long time, I thought this was how all people lived, and by the time I knew that wasn't true I was just used to it.

My dad had visitation with me on Saturday. Now, I have to say that he always showed up, and always spent the day with me. However, that was the ONLY time I saw or heard from him. The rest of the week, it was like he didn't have a child at all. If I had some kind of function in the middle of the week, he wouldn't be there. I would never even think to just call him out of the blue to tell him something exciting that had happened during the day... we just didn't do that. And yeah, I could have called him, but I kind of think that I was the kid and he was the adult, so it was more up to him. He didn't come to choir concerts, swim meets, award ceremonies... Saturday. was. it.

When I was about seven, both my mom and dad got remarried. My mom married a wonderful man, who I feel is my dad too. He taught me how to ride a bike, took care of me when I was sick, and never missed a choir concert. He refers to me as his daughter, and I refer to him as my dad. I love him very, very much. My dad married a witch of a woman, who didn't like me from the very start because I was a product of my mother. And I guess in some ways I was a threat. I don't know what kind of woman would be jealous of a seven year old, but she was. The Saturday visits stopped, because I was miserable at their house. We worked out a new plan, and my dad and I met once a week for dinner together... minus his wife. This went on for years, and it was fine. Just the same way as the weekend visits had been.... Wednesday nights only.

Then, right around the time I was about a junior in high school, my dad remembered that he had a daughter. He came to one of my swim meets. He came to the Prom Grand March. Sometimes, he would even call me just to see how my day went. I don't know what happened, but I thought it was nice. As I got older, we just got closer. Now, I still try to see him at least once a week, but we also email each other a lot and call. I feel like now we are actually really good friends. He told me he was proud of me for the first time just a couple of years ago, and it felt so good. I count myself lucky to have two dads, not just one.

That being said, I was so hurt and angry at my dad the other night. I don't know if I am making a big deal out of nothing or not, but all I can say is that it really hurt my feelings. So, we're out for one of our customary Wednesday dinners. Everything is fine, we're chatting, and I tell him that I finally got approved for the breast reduction. He was excited for me, and I told him a little bit about it, but not too much, because, as he said, "I am your dad, and this is a little weird to be talking about with my daughter. Keep the details to a minimum, please." I can understand that, so I just told him the basics. He told me he was pleased that I could do this.

Then he added, "And after you get that done, you can start working out!" Okay, yeah, I can. I agreed with him, and explained that right now any kind of running or even walking fast or jumping around causes me pain. He nodded, and then said, "Because you know, I was looking at your senior picture the other day, and you were so pretty! You could get back there really easy." I must have had a foul look on my face, because he was quick to add, "Not that you're not pretty now! But man, in that picture you just looked so good, and you really could get back to that."

So now my father has told me how ugly and fat I am... now. But I "used" to be pretty. I didn't say anything, because it isn't worth it. But I felt really offended! What is wrong with the way I look now? Does a couple (or a lot) of weight have that much bearing on it? If it does, should it? So now I feel pressured to get the surgery and right away to whittle myself down to that elusive "high school picture" look. I was kind of hoping to just enjoy the new small perky boob look for a while, before I started working out like a maniac. Am I less successful because I gained weight? Am I not as good of a person? I don't think so. But that is how those comments made me feel. Do you think I'm overreacting to this?

Oh, and just an aside to that... when I got home I told A* the story, and OBVIOUSLY he was supposed to say, "No way, you are so beautiful and way better looking than you were in high school." But what he really said? Was, "Well, everyone looks better in high school." Ha! My self esteem is just up to the roof now.



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