Dating : Sorry, A Little of My Upbringing Slipped Out There

I started this notebook for a couple of reasons.

For one, Cassandra is always up my rear end about not having enough “interests” outside of work. I don’t see the big deal, personally. I’m interested in her. I’m interested in our kids. I’m interested in the Sunday paper. Isn’t that enough? Isn’t that a wife’s dream — to have a husband that makes lots of money and doesn’t make her talk about sports?

Sorry. A bit of my upbringing slipped out there.

Anyway, that argument with Cassie — that’s nothing new. We’ve been fighting that battle for years. Possibly since the day we got married.

What’s new is this: her dad died.

It’s not that she’s depressed. She hated the guy, far as I can tell. When we started dating, she explained their past (rocky) and their current relationship (nonexistent) in a few sentences, then never brought him up again. So I didn’t either. Case closed.

Except… not case closed.

Because then the old guy kicks the bucket, leaving everything to a daughter he hasn’t seen in over a decade. And I mean everything — the house and the bank account and the whole family business, this massive chain of grocery stores I had no idea were even tangentially related to my wife.

So now my father-in-law is dead, my wife’s a millionaire, and my kids… well. They’re fucking pissed.

The twins never knew their grandfather. They assumed he was dead. And let me tell you: they just about lost their shit when they found out he’d been alive and kicking and just down the block that entire time.

Especially Claudia. The look on her face… Geez Louise. Damn near shit my pants.

Nothing scarier than an angry 12-year-old girl.

It wasn’t just anger, either. It was anger and shock and disbelief and something like… pity. As if she saw through the mask that all fathers wear, the one that separates Parent from Regular Human Being in the eyes of his child. She saw right through it, right to the truth below — that I wasn’t raising her, had never raised her. That it was Luck this whole time.

And what’s worse? She’s right. I never said the guy was dead, but I didn’t say he was alive, either. I made no conscious decision. Never took the time to sit down and think about whether the kids should have a relationship with their grandpa. Let the wind dictate it, as always.

That’s why I’m writing this, I think. To take stock of where I am now. To figure out where my mind ends and my life begins, and why those two points seem so damn far apart.

Death does that to a guy, you know?

Makes you want control.