Brutus and Caesar

A while ago I blogged about being the douchest daughter ever. And I wrote a poem and everything.

Well, my 7th house was in mercury? I mean the poem is a srs achievement, but it's gonna take more than one blog entry to get the job dunzzo. As such, I'd like to take a moment to elaborate on the complex relationship I have with my father. To paint a picture in charcoal, he left the nest when I was sixish and contact has been spotty every since. About three years ago, which is both a long and short time, I visited him in Japan and it was an experience of various emotions. I felt everything.

One particular day, I felt hassled. Or idk I was being hassled. Either way hassling was in this charcoal picture. My dad was rushing me and giving me the "timeliness is important speech" followed by the "tardiness is unbecoming" and its companion "schedules ought to be followed" speech and considering that I wasn't even about to do my hair, I got a dose of the Q&A entitled, "why is taking you so long to get ready?"

And I was like 'whoa dude'...:        (<--some of the worst puncuation I've ever seen)


First of all, time is a relative concept and is experienced differently according to the values of individual cultures. Also, you should note that this is MY vacation so the only important date marker is the end of this sojourn. Everything between here and there is arbitrary and I'm gonna do whatever I damn well please. Not only that, but I'm a single girl doing the single girl thing which means I'm outta practice/outta caring for other people's planz/when you're a PARTY OF ONE everything is quintessentially on your own time.

(ugh, it retrospect...never mind.)

His reaction was maybe a little shocked? Taken aback? Proud? Proudish? I'm not really sure, but I can say that from that bizarro conversation the timetable became a bit more lax and BOLDnot only that,BOLD but a few days later, he came back with this:

Kandy, I'll try to keep in mind your singlegirlness and how time is predominately relative to you. Please keep in mind that I am not on vacation and that I don't have the same flexibility that you do. Also the train doesn't care if you're pantsless.

:) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :)

We still had our ups and our downs, but the point of this blog and the life lesson of that exchange is that my dad diligently considered what I said--no matter how crazy/lacking in social grace--and sought compromise. He did not scoff.¹ He did not dismiss what I had to say. And most importantly, he did not at any point use my opinion against me.

I've come across a lot of assholes between then and now who purposely take my words and twist them into something ugly and metaphorically stab me with them. Sometimes the stabbing is mortal because I've shared something that still wounds me of its own festering accord. Sometimes I laugh because of the absurdity of hurting me with ammunition that I've provided--I mean obviously its blanks. Sometimes it catches me right in the vertabrate because I'm not even aware of the potential duplicity. It sucks when you pick the wrong confidant(e) and unfortunately sometimes you can't know until shit hits the fan. Lately, I've been coming across a lot of Brutuses and looking back, I'm so pleased and so fortunate that I got to experience that kind of confidence and trust and good-naturedness.

In that regard, I could never ask better father or parent.





 ok maybe since parts of my justification were borderline illogical