My Father, My Fellow Human...

Dad doesn't read my blog. I'm not sure the in's and out's why--it could be that their computer rivals the Tandy 64K color computer in age and memory capacity. It could be that he really just doesn't get into the whole "web surfing" thing these young kids today are doing. For all I know, he may view most of the web as a tool of Satan with pockets of righteousness far and few between...! I've never really asked because I don't feel like my friends or family have to read my blog to continue being counted among my friends or family--I *like* it that some of them do, don't get me wrong! But it certainly isn't a deciding factor in whom I love or like more or less (otherwise the husband would have been long gone as well!)

I could call Dad a shit-kicking, dumb-ass, ignorant son-of-a-bitch if I felt the urge (and who hasn't at some point in their lives thought this of their father?) and the only reason he would be the wiser is because my mother or my sister would tell him. (Tattle tales...)

However, I won't do that for two reasons:

1. He's my father, and I love and respect him too much to say things like that about him behind his back, and
2. It isn't true anyway...

Add in for good measure that I usually respect his opinions on things with nary a horrible thing to say, and we have a pretty good relationship--a fantastic relationship, truth be told, especially considering the relationship he has with his father...

Be that as it may, however, he is one stubborn, ass-backward thinking individual at times, and arrogant to boot! (Hey, I had to inherit these traits from somewhere, right? The stubborn and arrogant parts, at least...)

But see, here's the thing: He has somehow managed to convince himself that I actually do believe in god, with Jesus as my savior and sidekick (with guest appearances by Casper), that I subconsciously know he is right and am too stubborn to admit it for some reason, that science will somehow magically "prove" his interpretation of scripture is correct (not too mention the young earth it "teaches us" about), and that OT god was of course morally right and good for allowing the Israelite's to kill men, women, and children to live on a piece of land that he "promised them" as his children...

And that was just our conversation over dessert when the parents were over for dinner last weekend... There is a lot more that was discussed over dinner...

I wasn't even sure where to begin...

My father is a smart man--a really smart man, if I'm allowed to boast a tad here. He can design a building with nothing but a pencil and a sheet of paper, to scale, with all the electrical, plumbing, and architecture sound and stable. He can get a notion into his head about adding three feet onto the living room of his house, and do it from beginning to end without a lick of outside help. He can look at any problem, anywhere, at any time, and come up with a solution that works wonders on the problem, and foresees and forestalls future problems that weren't even problems yet. He has more talent in his pinkie finger than I could ever hope to possess in my lifetime...

But I can't help but wonder how he checks that brain out the door when the topic of religion or god or Jesus (with guest appearances by Casper) come up... I don't know if it's the very idea that they may not exist which makes him run screaming, or if it's just that he's been so deeply brainwashed by his father of a Baptist minister, or even if it's something else entirely...

I'm okay with the fact that he believes in a young earth, believe it or not. I'll argue with him the facts and theories of the matter til the cows come home on it, if for no other reason than I maintain hope that a seed of logic and rationality will plant itself and he may actually look into the pseudo-science he's been peddled all these years. But it really makes no difference here or there if he believes the earth is young or old--it really doesn't.

I could even care less when he or Mom tell me they're praying for me, or that they felt god helped them make a decision, or that they felt better about this or that after some deep thought and prayer about a situation--it floats their boat, it keeps them sane, whatever...

And far be it from me to tell people what crutches they can or cannot lean on when times are tough.

HOWEVER...

And I'm not sure why he thinks this was okay. I'm not even sure if he even realizes how just not okay this was...

And I've promised myself I'm going to call him to talk about this just as soon as it stops making me angry just thinking about it...

You see, he told me what I believe. Not what he thinks I should believe. Not what he wishes I would believe. He said, "You know I am right, and you know there's a god."

Excuse me?

I think I actually said, "Huh?" The "excuse me" may have been implied. I know my head was shaking, but then again, we both shake our heads at one another when we are busy disagreeing vehemently on all things of a supernatural nature. It's kind of how we Hughes's role. When we disagree, we shake our heads and try to make sure that the frowns on our face, with matching furrowed brows, conveys the deep amount of disagreement we are currently feeling.

How we Zartman's role, however, is a different matter entirely. (Kudos and props to my mom's side...) We speak up, say what we mean, mean what we say, exercise our right to free speech, and don't give a great big goddamn who agrees or disagrees.

So while my Hughes half is busy shaking it's head, furrowing it's brow, and frowning most vehemently, my Zartman half is going, "How can you even think that?! Do you not hear the words coming out of my mouth?!"

We all say stupid things. A lot of stupid things. I realize my parents are also prone to saying stupid things. A lot of stupid things. They are not perfect, they are people. Just as I am not perfect, and also say stupid things, mostly because I am a product of them, but partly because I am human. (Hughes arrogance notwithstanding...)

But he sat there on my deck and told me what I believe.

I'm not sure if he gets just how "not okay" that is. I may be wrong (see above about saying stupid things), but I'm pretty damn sure I don't run around telling people what they actually believe "deep down." I share what my beliefs are. I share my opinion on what your beliefs are. Hell, I've called their beliefs stupid (an opinion I still hold to be true) in what I feel are tactfully blunt ways, meant in love and with what I feel is a proper amount of respect. (Again, though, I could be wrong, but I doubt they would continue to talk to me, offspring-status notwithstanding, if I were that rude, outrageous, or disrespectful...) But I'm also pretty sure I would never feel the urge to say "This is what you believe, you just don't want to admit it."

Never mind that that's supposed to be god's job (knowing what people are thinking and feeling), never mind that "psychic" has never been a family trait. If fact, let's even disregard the fact that maybe he hopes and truly believes that I do believe--is it really okay to make such assumptions about another person's life and values? It isn't like I decided to be an atheist while on the crapper last Tuesday, just because it seemed like atheists would have softer, more gentle toilet paper, and better reading material while shitting on the third rock from the sun!

In fact, this is the second time my father has trivialized decisions I've made in my life, the first time being when he found out I was gay, and decided, upon our first conversation since my coming out, to ask me if I was "still being stupid." (Because this decision, too, was obviously decided one random Wednesday morning on the crapper, when I decided that homosexuals were afforded more comfortable toilet seats beside windows with better views...)

Perhaps I'm not understanding something. Maybe I'm being too sensitive when it comes to Dad's words... Perhaps I do still seek his approval on levels I don't even realize, therefore when he makes such grand judgments, they hurt more than they should, or carry more weight to me than they actually do from his perspective?

All I know is I'm pissed, and until I can calm down, I can't talk to him about it, otherwise I, too, my end up saying something stupid to the father I love... Hell, maybe I'll pull a classic Hughes maneuver and just never bring it up again--who knows? (We Hughes men rock at not talking when we get in the mood...)

I just... Sigh... I just don't get my father sometimes...