Dad strikes again
I hereby designate July the Not Much Money Month.
What with one thing and another, my budget doesn't look too healthy. So yesterday I went to the supermarket and stocked up on cans of tuna - the idea is to pack tuna sandwiches to the office for lunch. How sad. *wipes away tear* :D
Called home on Sat night, spoke to Dad, who suddenly asked, "Want to buy a house?"
"Dad, I don't have any money!"
"Why don't you have any money? You earn about $2,000 a month, and you don't have any money? Our family lives on only $1,500 a month! How you - one single person - can spend that much money is beyond me!"
[shamed silence]
"You'd better do something about this!" he continued.
"Yes, I plan to. I have to pay off my debts first." Oops. Wrong thing to say.
"Debts, is it? What kind of debts do you have?"
[fidgeting with telephone cord] "Credit card debt."
"Humph! And how much do you owe the credit card company?"
"$2,000." (Actually, it's more like $3,000. But who's counting? - And another $700 to one of my uncles for the car insurance. No way was I gonna tell Dad THAT, though.)
"$2,000??! What have you been buying?"
"Erm, mostly books... craft books, which are expensive, and books on language, which are also expensive..." [voice trails off with the feebleness of the explanation]
"You'd better do something about this, young lady, or you'll be in big trouble one day!"
"Yeah, I worry about that too."
"GOOD! Worry more, maybe that will help!"
(end of conversation)
*sigh* There's something about talking to Dad - every time I talk to him, he somehow makes me feel less of a person than I am. He makes me feel... diminished. Inadequate. Afraid.
Money is such a big issue with Dad.
Janelle once said that when I talk with Dad, I turn into the little girl that she never had a chance to know (we only met at 17, she and I). A frantic, frightened little girl that she doesn't recognise.
I suppose it's true.
Reading blogs, sometimes I read about fathers who talk about their children with love, with so much affection, with tenderness and a nuturing spirit, and I literally ache.
I know Dad loves us, I know he did his best to be a good father. And I feel like I don't have a right to complain: he provided for us, he disciplined us, and he was always there for us, physically if not emotionally. He didn't abuse us, he doesn't drink or gamble, he is faithful to Mom, and they are still together after 26 years. So many other kids have had it worse than we have.
It seems so wrong to want more.