Saturday, 06/12/04 - 5:11 pm.
I'm writing earlier today, because tonight I will go to the theater, to see Peter Pan (*insert countless "woooooooh!!!!'s" here*). I love Peter Pan.
That's probably my only joy right now, because I've spent the day trying to read about Maslow and Rogers (I always fall asleep), and torturing myself with the thought of introducing Joseph to my parents.
I'm worried, because my parents are extremely, dare I say, puritan. And I know Joseph doesn't quite fit in, on the surface, the ideal of the man one would want for one's daughter.
Angel: say "dear parents: as a part of our family experience, I like to share my triumphs and failures with you. I consider that the confidence we have in one another is enough to let me inform you about the following, given I want you to know, and I don't want to lie to you; I hope you keep in mind that my happiness is in jeopardy, and I want you remember that you went through the same thing 40 years ago: I am mingling with a gangsterous dude, skillfull knife-wise, vagrant, unemployed, and five years my senior."
Yeah, that's pretty much it.
I almost got a cerebral hemorrhage this morning, when Cel called me. She was in Joseph's house (they're neighbors) and was calling me to say hi. My dad answered the phone, and he knows Cel so up to then everything was ok. But then Cel had to leave Joseph's house and Joseph took the phone, and of course we started to talk. So we were talking and suddenly my dad picks up the other phone, the one in his studio (I had the wireless one, in my bedroom), when Joseph was talking. My dad hung up, HE HAD TO, but freaked out.
I finished talking with Joseph and I got out with my bedroom. Were you talking to Cel? he asked me, in a tone I can't define. I said no, I'd made another phone call afterwards. Obviously he didn't like to answer a phone call for me made by a girl, and then pick up the other phone and discover I was talking to a guy. But, in the first place, HE SHOULD NOT PICK UP THE PHONE WHEN I'M ON IT (or anybody else is, for that matter). I don't do it when he's on it, and I swear I am extremely pissed off at him for doing it. He's like that, at many things. You go "how subtle", although in reality it's just plain rude.
I swear sometimes I just wish he lived far away from me. I love him, I owe him my life and my education and my love for knowledge and books and good grammar, and my critical views on diverse subjects, but Lord, he just gets on my nerves. In freudian terms, he's the goddamn Id, the principle of pleasure, it's all about what he needs, inmediately.
I shamefully admit that somestimes I've wished he wasn't here anymore. It's selfish of me, I realize. But sometimes he's way too annoying, and I feel sorry specially for my mom. He keeps complaining all day long, and my poor mom has to endure that (I don't know how she does it). Ok, so he drives me and my mom around all day long, but aside from paying my stuff, that's pretty much his only function now in my life.
I know that sounds harsh, but it's the truth. I'm afraid I'll regret saying this the day he dies, but that's how things really are. We don't talk a lot, and he's never given me the confidence to talk about anything personal with him. I never have. He interrupts me constantly in whatever I say (like I say, it's all about fulfilling his inmediate needs, so if he wants to say something when I am saying something, he won't be polite enough to let me finish).
He just called me, to describe me two CD holders and ask me which one I liked better, because I'd ask him to buy me one. At moments like these, I regret thinking the things I just said. Because he does care about me, you know? When he goes out to the mall, or to the supermarket, he asks me if there's anything he can get me. Ok, yes, he's a great father. I can't deny that.
Perhaps all this comes down to the fact that I wish he was more open-minded, specially when it comes to...me. My parents always seemed to asume all my friends were female. My parents never talked to me about sex, and the day I got my period for the first time, I thought I had cancer and I was going to die. My mom never told me girls are supposed to bleed once a month. My dad, when he's watching TV and a sexual intercourse comes on, he changes the channel quickly. I feel like asking him if it's because he's uncomfortable with sex or because he thinks I'm still nine years old.
Anyway, what I mean is that they're not very open when it comes to talking to me about important, personal issues, and are completely puritan when it comes to sex. And perhaps I'm not as afraid to tell them "I have a boyfriend" as I am to tell them WHO he is. If he was my age and was studying something I'd have probably already told them, enduring the lecture. But with Joseph, I think my dad can easily think he has the right to tell me "no, I don't want him around you", and he'd STILL lecture me.
And that's where he's wrong. He doesn't have the right to tell me anything, because he's really never told me anything. Look, dad, you have no right to talk to me about sex. You don't talk about that with your daughter when she's already 19, you should've talked to me when I was 12, when I really needed it. I bet I know more about sex than you do, because I'm more open-minded. In case you care to know, I still am a virgin, and I plan on staying like that for a while, but what I mean is that everything I learned didn't come from you or from my mom, I had to find my own sources. You still change channels when people are having sex, it's like you're trying to protect me from something I am very familiar with already.
So that's what's been on my mind today. I even cried about it, I'm afraid of the possibility I will only look down when my dad starts saying Joseph is not good enough for me, instead of defending him and myself. I've never had a fight with my dad, seriously. I don't want to. And I'd hate to begin now, over something so natural as having a boyfriend at 19.
I think about all this, and I try to convince myself that the sooner I tell them, the sooner the conflict will end (and it's better that they hear it from me than from anybody else). I'm trying to prepare myself to fight without losing my respect for my dad, and without losing my patience. The worst thing that could happen is that he doesn't listen to me. I'm willing to endure all his useless advice about dignity or whatever, as long as he gives me a chance to talk and he listens. I don't want to listen to you, I know what's good for you, you don't, that'd kill me. That'd mean he considers me a retard. I'd run to my bedroom and I'd slit my wrists, with the clear purpose of killing myself. My life is over the moment he hints I'm stupid.
I'm taking a deep breath, hoping Peter Pan will help me forget this conflict. Just for tonight.
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