This post is a follow-up to I will not wait for you. We did eventually Skype with B on Saturday, and it was awkward as shit. Here’s how it went down:
Me (9:27am): Are you still good for this morning?
B (12:10pm): I haven’t had a chance to get a webcam yet, I will go this afternoon.
I really wanted to reply with something like “Uh hello, no comment on the fact that you stood us up this morning? Did you fucking see my message? A normal person would ANSWER the question in a decent time frame. Were you fucking sleeping?!” Instead, I chose to avoid confrontation about his noncommittal way of dealing with this situation. Getting his feathers ruffled does me no good, I know too well. Not only that, but I would be blue in the face before I could convince him that he has actually done something wrong. A lot like my dad in that respect… sad and scary.
Me (12:24pm): I thought you could do it on your phone?
B (12:25pm): I can, but the quality isn’t that great. Want to do that?
Me (12:50pm): That’s fine .. she’s nervous about it. Want to just do this so she’s not anxious wondering what it will be like. We’re out shopping for soccer n ballet stuff now. I’ll text you when we get home.
B (12:54pm): What time u thinking?
Why do you care what time? Do you even own a time telling machine? Do you have PLANS that your first-born might interfere with, douche bag?
Me (12:55pm): Hmm … kinda far from home so probably 3ish?
B (1:04pm): OK just keep me posted.
Me (2:45pm): 3 still looks good here. You?
B (3:02pm): Yes
Me (3:09pm): Okay. She’s super nervous so don’t mind the awkwardness. If we could keep it kinda short that would be best for the first time.
B (3:11pm): No problem. Give me about 5 min.
This 5 minutes he requested turned into 20 minutes. While my 8-year-old sat on my bed next to me, squeezing my hand and telling me how utterly terrified she was and begged me not to go through with it. We had to sit and wait 15 minutes AFTER the time he said he would be ready. Just waiting. On his fucking time.
He eventually calls and we all chat and it’s the weirdest fucking thing I’ve ever done in my life. And I’ve done some pretty weird shit. He looks like a punk. A little less punk-y than the last time I saw him (6 years ago in court), but a little more punk-y than a 29-year-old with “three” daughters should look (although biologically related, I still don’t believe he should have ANY fucking claim to my kid). Trying to pull off the faux-hawk look like a lot of the high school kids I see at J’s football games. Loser.
He’s standing in a backyard chock full of shit. A trampoline next to an above ground pool next to a little plastic playhouse next to a swing set with 2 dogs running around barking their heads off. He was outside to use his cell and get better service. I don’t quite know what to make of all the shit in his yard. Is he doing well for himself? Or is he just a poor decision maker when it comes to spending money? He does live in a shitty ass ghetto neighborhood (I know because I Googled it, duh) so I imagine the mortgage on his house probably isn’t that much, comparatively speaking. But.. he clearly didn’t buy a little ol’ webcam as he told me he was going to 2 weekends ago. Priorities, my friend.
The conversation left a lot to be desired. He spent a lot of time smiling a goofy smile and laughing nervously. He really, REALLY struggled to ask engaging questions and keep the conversation going. I spent most of it saying “Why don’t you tell him about ……” which I fucking hated. Don’t you want to know who this kid is? Aren’t you absolutely awed by her age and maturity? Could you really not think of a single fucking question that would spark a conversation with an 8-year-old? Closed end questions get you one line responses.. idiot. Your other two spawns are 3 and 5… how the fuck do you manage with them? Just send them outside to play on all your “STUFF” and leave the intelligent conversations for their Mom?
I always walk around saying how I want to have a civil working relationship with this clown and that I want Little J to know who her “Father” is and have a relationship with him as well… but truthfully, I just wish he would die. If he were dead, I wouldn’t have to worry about faking and being nice to him when all I really want to say is: I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHAT YOU’VE DONE, WHAT YOU DO NOW, WHO YOU THINK YOU ARE, HOW MANY CHILDREN YOU HAVE, ETC. IN MY MIND YOU ARE STILL A PIECE OF SHIT PSYCHO ASSHOLE!!!!!! (Now ask me how I really feel, I dare you.)
But alas, I can’t really say that, can I? Because then it gets ugly again, and this tense little string that is tying us together will snap and then back to square one. But the next square one would include a little girl conscious of the fact that she does indeed have a father…. the first time, she didn’t know. No harm, no foul was my motto. If I was just a little more cold-hearted, I would tell him to go fuck himself and get a court order if he wants to move things forward, but then I lose control. And when I say that “I” lose control, I mean that I would lose the ability for this process to happen in a way and on a time line that’s comfortable for Little J. ON HER TERMS. Because after all, isn’t she the most important part of this equation?
Somehow I feel like B is still gaining the most… while doing the least. How the fuck did that happen?