Easter holidays have just finished, the rain marks the beginning of the summer term.
I have worked intermittently during the holidays and have really enjoyed the last four days of the Easter weekend.
On Good Friday we had the annual visit of “Our father”, our father who lives in Malaysia. Each year the dates of the visit coincide with a Stamp collectors AGM in Dublin. We are informed of when the trip will be taking place via an email. My father then travels from Malaysia, catches up with a few close old friends and allows 24 hours to see his two children and five grandchildren. It is strange to write about this annual ritual as it makes me realise how bizarre it really is.
On Friday when the doorbell rang and I answered it, for a fleeting second I actually found myself starring at this man on my doorstep and thinking who is it, then I remembered, OMG its my dad!
The brief visit centres around wine, food and chat, which I have to admit I thoroughly enjoy. The conversations are topical, usually about current affairs and engaging, we listened with interest as my father talked about his missing Malaysian Airline theory. Spooks would have loved it, we certainly did.
During my fathers brief visit I did want some divorce advice, another set of ears. A fresh perspective. Although in the matters of the heart my father is bloody useless, he was however an excellent business man.
On Easter Sunday before his departure we sat at the kitchen table over cups of coffee and talked. He had some sound advice but one thing struck me, how bloody sexist he still is. He has always been proud of this fact, and in HK where he worked for some time, he used to find it amusing when he wore his MCP tie. As my father is sitting talking to me I get the distinct feeling that his answer is for me to re-marry! You could argue it’s encouraging he thinks a man should look after a woman, surely that is exactly the point I am fighting. My estranged husband should ensure the boys and I have enough.
I am not sure I get the advice I really sought but then do we ever.
I am realising time and time again, we are the only ones who understand our own situation, we are the only ones that can fight our fight. Which is also rather depressing because sometimes I want someone else to carry my mantle, to fight my fight, as I am tired of it, exhausted and emotionally on empty.
One thing did amuse me rather this weekend….my brother asked to spend Friday night here, so he could catch up with dad and drink a few glasses of wine. His family ( wife plus two small children) then joined us early Saturday morning to spend the whole day here. I cooked delicious food all weekend, provided warm hospitality and good wine was flowing. Both my Dad and brother on two separate occasions have muttered to me about living within my means and having to be aware I may need to change my lifestyle. Apparently I’m too generous!
My brother arrived with some just out of date beer and two bottles of mediocre wine. My father arrived with an Easter egg for each grandchild, nothing for his daughter the host!
Just saying.
Family – you love ’em but don’t always understand them.