I was all therapyizing myself the other night, with my roommate, talking about my parents. I could go all wah wah wah, my parents are super fucked on you, but I won’t. But they are. They are pretty fucked.
It’s like for 28 years I have been blind to certain things in my life, and now is the first time the light is hitting my eyes, and actually its burning them.
The thing is all my life, my dad has had “his space”. When we were younger and lived in Moncton it was the “parlour” which was an unfinished room in the basement, with a TV and about 700 hats. Now it is the garage, with a TV and a workbench. And that is where my dad is the happiest. He finds any excuse to stay in there. This is where he does his thinking, and smoking. And it hit me the other day, my dad pretty much only wants to be alone. People are welcome to come into his space, but usually they shouldn’t over stay their welcome. And he hates to leave it. My dad is always more comfortable in his space.
My mom likes to go out, dinners, parties, keeping up social appearances. My father will come up with any excuse not to attend these things. Usually it is so he can stay in his space. And think. And be. By himself.
The older I get, the more I realize I am like him. I love being in my own space. It is a space I can control. People are welcome to come into it, in fact I welcome visitors, but usually after a couple of hours I start to shut down.
So move over Dad, make a spot for me on the shelf of aloneness.