Is Home Where The Heart Is?

Dear Reader, 

I’m sure we have all felt out of place in our surroundings at least once in our lifetime. However, have you ever felt out of place with a certain person only? I happen to get this feeling every time my father is around (which isn’t a lot #divorced). Growing up I had always been more fond of my mother. I couldn’t quite place why, until I got older and understood what a child-parent relationship should look like.

For as long as I can remember I always picked my mom. I felt closer to her because she went beyond the bare necessity, but even more than that I didn’t feel afraid of her. My father is a man of the military and a man of his emotions. That meant that there wasn’t a lot of times I didn’t see him angry or pissed at someone. After my parents divorced and I saw each of them separately, I realized just how uncomfortable my own father made me. It wasn’t that he did anything specific that caused this feeling. I began to pick up on the awkward conversations and silent moments that occurred daily because he didn’t know how to talk to me. Long story short, he moved to England for deployment and I was with my mom all the time. She became my best friend and the woman I aim to be. Her and I don’t always see eye to eye, but we never go to bed angry. 

Recently, I took a week-long trip to California to visit some universities. The only person I could’ve stayed with there is my father (who moved there a few years ago). I took a solo flight out to Sacramento and saw him again after years of not being around him or ever wanting to be around him. I immediately was peeved with the way he talked to me and treated me. The man I saw that day was not the angry father I had gotten so used to seeing. He was worn down and aimed to do everything perfectly. It almost seemed like he wanted to win my approval. I can’t blame him to some degree. The man hardly knows me (mainly because he never tried to). He still called me gross nicknames you’d only call a child, he refused to let me carry my luggage, he kept hugging me, and he continuously made comments about my outfit. These all sound normal, but to me they sound normal for a healthy relationship between a father and daughter. I don’t talk to this man or see him regularly. If I did, he would know that I don’t like being touched, only my mom can nickname me, my sense of style is great, and that I don’t need a man to carry my bags. Throughout my trip I had to cheer myself up by reminding myself that I was in California and I’d see my mom soon enough. I felt like I had no personal space and that I had to be a storybook daughter. Everytime I looked around I was reminded of the life he chose. As horrible as it sounds, I even felt relieved that he chose it. 

It’s uncomfortable to see the dust build up in the garage in the home of a family that's been built without you. To picture the trip they took to buy the tupperware that holds the christmas decorations in the off season. It’s weird to imagine the energy in the car when they took home the roller skates they bought for their new child. It’s eerie looking into the eyes of the dog who watches the daily lives of the family that lives here. To feel the plush of the mattress in the middle child's bedroom where I stayed because there wasn’t a space for me. To be treated differently because I wasn’t his child, I was a guest. It’s especially odd to know I won’t ever see my father at his most natural state because he will always try extra hard on the week that I’m a guest. 

I learned that it's the people that inhabit spaces that make me uncomfortable, not the environment itself. We build homes wherever we see fit, so I know I’ll make little tents at every stop along the way in my journey. 

Sincerely, 

                  Katelyn

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