My father always criticized me for being too cautious of other people. My response was always simply, "Why shouldn't I ever be cautious of those who are more than likely to be the ones who will influence my actions?" I always tended to find my father's questions- typically annoying, actually very opposite of my mother's questions which were always a bit more challenging. My father tended to bore me with his ignorance. Maybe it was because he always questioned a woman's mind and thought of it to not be as ahead as a mans, when in reality, we are much smarter than any incompetent man... the only difference is, we don't have to boast about it every five minutes. We are more humble, at least most of us women are. You see, my father always asked me questions that I believed only flew out of his mouth, simply for the hell of it, or just because he knew he would irritate my nerves by asking me the same questions, simply revised every time. "Simply". That was the word. The adjective, 'simple' was what described my father; he was simple to the point that he was boring.
Now, don't, for a mere second, confuse this talk as me degrading my father in any way, for I adore that man. I had loved him, still love him and will always love him. He's still alive now- well barely. As I think of it, he's not really living after all. After my mother became sick- sick of him, left him, took from him, he became quite silent. He barely spoke a word to us. To us- there were seven of us by the way. Adam passed last Spring and Rose passed back in January. Father refused to attend either one of his children's funeral, only because he believed that children should never die before their parents. Mom showed, even though it was painful, she thought at least one parent should be present, and then of course they were her children, she brought them into this world, but did not expect to see them leave it. I remember how he didn't sleep for weeks at a time. I think it was just haunting him. I wouldn't have have been surprised if he blamed himself, or maybe he just felt that he could have spent more time catering to us instead of trying so hard to get mom back; it was clear that she was never coming back to him. He wouldn't stop crying and refused to eat after their passing. They were actually mother's favorites, and even though they left him when she left, they never turned their back on him. They always came to visit on the weekends and never treated him any differently. They were his only memories of mom.
I always wondered what he would think of me, if I were to die before him I mean. I'm his favortie, but would he, also, not attend my funeral if I were to die before him? What would his reaction be like? He's suicidal you know. He's to be kept under a watchful eye at all times. There were times when I blamed his actions for not being able to find a husband and have a family of my own. I have become a loner, simply because I chose to tend to my father's needs, but who will tend to mine? After my father is gone, what will I do? Father sometimes reminds me of a chimpanzee. He keeps still until something, a tragedy most likely, happens and kicks into his brain. He'll start jumping all over the place searching for something, someway to rid himself of the misery that flows through his body.
"Let the old man drown himself in an overdose. I'll happily tell everyone it was an accident, even though everybody knows he's a weak bastard who's suicidal." I never spoke to Peter after that, at least no longer than a minute when it was to answer or to tell him something regarding the family. He said that six years ago after mom left. Peter was always siding with mom and thought of my dad as a mere, less than mediocre, husband and father. When mom left, Peter left with her, never looking back to see the look on his own father's face. Father never made it easy for Peter, he was the oldest and one day father hoped that he would follow in his footsteps in becoming a doctor. Being quite the opposite, Peter refused to be anything like our father.
Peter always thought he was born a man, thought he skipped puberty all together. Anyway, he was just a pain and not worth dealing with. He was definitely not my favorite brother but unfortunately, my brother all the same. I remember when I was younger, how badly I wished that we bonded like other siblings. The Petersons siblings had a really close bond with one another, along with the Andersons and the Whitmans; then I grew older and knew that there was no way that I could bond with a man as arrogant, none the less, ignorant as Peter. Even though he was my blood I've never seen such a thing where blood no longer mattered.
