Blessing in disguise
By M on Sunday 14 January 2007, 19:19 - Journal - Permalink
This afternoon I was with a friend who noticed that I was not taking calls to
my mobile. Her curiosity was aroused. The next time the phone rang and I
ignored it she made a point of asking: 'Aren't you going to answer that?'
'No, it's just my father again.'
She paused for a minute and then, with palpable wistfulness, said: 'My father never calls me.'
It made clear to me the peculiar relationship we have with our parents - peculiar in the sense of individual, particular, specific. I am now nettled by the continuous stream of calls I get every day from dad, each of them having two distinct parts: pretext (such as his need for food, money or medical attention) and purpose (discovering when I am next going to visit). It may not always be so. Although I cannot, at present, imagine feeling abandoned and neglected as a result of not hearing from my father, I can appreciate that there are many people who do.
And who knows, it is possible that when my father finally forgets how to use the phone, and cannot remember any of his family - when everything goes dark - I may look back at this twilight-time of communicativeness with some kind of nostalgia.
'No, it's just my father again.'
She paused for a minute and then, with palpable wistfulness, said: 'My father never calls me.'
It made clear to me the peculiar relationship we have with our parents - peculiar in the sense of individual, particular, specific. I am now nettled by the continuous stream of calls I get every day from dad, each of them having two distinct parts: pretext (such as his need for food, money or medical attention) and purpose (discovering when I am next going to visit). It may not always be so. Although I cannot, at present, imagine feeling abandoned and neglected as a result of not hearing from my father, I can appreciate that there are many people who do.
And who knows, it is possible that when my father finally forgets how to use the phone, and cannot remember any of his family - when everything goes dark - I may look back at this twilight-time of communicativeness with some kind of nostalgia.
Comments
Or, you know, the lack of your father's calls may be the blessing, allowing you to remember and savor, again, days when calls from your father we eagerly received. I don't believe that it is necessary, or even desirable, for us to regret the way we respond to any current situation that demands response (or lack thereof), such as your father's incessant telephone calls. "Fading from Memory" often works very well for those of us who congratulate ourselves on having "good" memories. Perhaps that's the way it's supposed to work within a healthy mind, so we can get on with what's in front of us.