ESSAYS
O, FATHER,
where art thou?
You can’t choose your family members. Even worse, you can’t choose your family members’ morals. What’s a young feminist to do when ethics drive loved ones apart? WORDS BY JACK ROLOW
H
ere are a couple things that I know to be true: First of all, a lot of people suck. The dude who called me a faggot as I was walking down the street is a person, just as I am, and he sucks. The Texas Legislature that is so keen on passing anti-reproductive laws? It’s comprised entirely of people, and many of them suck. We like to think that people “mean well.” I’ve learned, however, that sometimes people don’t mean well at all, and they’re just bound by an archaic system of values and morals that don’t reflect the changing world we live in today. The second bit of knowledge is even more crucial—parents are people, too. Parents can suck. They can suck so, so bad. My father is dying. Everyone is dying all the time, of course, but he’s dying faster. His heart only functions about forty-percent as well as it should, he’s a full-blown diabetic that doesn’t pay attention to what he eats, and he lost his job, resulting in high amounts of stress in his life. He probably won’t die tomorrow, but he’s not going be around to get pissed when I name my first son Icarus, or to tell me how dumb America is for electing Hillary Clinton two terms in a row. THE RELATIONSHIPS ISSUE | 10
Illustration by Alexa Villanueva
He’s also disappointed in me. I called him about a month ago because we hadn’t spoken in a while. I’d recently sent my grandmother a postcard with a picture of my freshly-dyed, fire-engine-red hair, and she’d expressed that she didn’t like how it looked. “Your mother’s a bully. She doesn’t like my hair,” I said, laughing. His response was joyless. “I can’t say I disagree with her. You look fucking ridiculous.” In hindsight, I recognize it was wishful thinking that we could mutually find this funny. The debate that followed was not productive. He was (and is) upset about all my “life choices,” more specifically that I dye my hair, have piercings, and left the Midwest while secretly skirting the larger issues of my homosexuality and lack of religion. I was—and am— upset that he’s upset, so we went around in circles until he said it. “I’m so disappointed in you.” And that was when I realized that my dad sucks, truly. I knew about homophobia and transphobia, and racism and misogyny, but it wasn’t until then that I realized a man who’s aware of his mortality and still willing to let his legacy be one of disapproval probably just sucks, period. He knows he is dying, and still he cannot accept me, his son, for what I am. I still love him. I think it’s important that I do. My father has said and done some vile things in his life. He grew up in a different time, which doesn’t excuse any of his behavior or beliefs, but it gives them context. My father dropped out of school at 16 because he was a “bad boy” and wound up making an incredibly decent living doing backbreaking physical labor all around the country. He wanted my life to be different, so he taught me to value education. That education allowed me to gain a basic understanding of the intermingling effects of globalization, Christianity, capitalism, and patriarchy; it has reached the point where I can understand what has led so many people to be ignorant of their biases without hating them for it. Toxic relationships are a great equalizer. The nature of modern society dictates that it isn’t always our choice whether or not we must interact with someone—and, more importantly, whether or not that person will treat us poorly. As they say, you can’t choose your family. You do, however, have some control in how you deal with them. I’ve spent years of my life feeling embittered toward my father for how he felt about me, toward every aggressively straight, cisgendered male that made me feel uncomfortable and awkward in his presence, toward every politician that dared to stand up on a stage and proudly claim that my friend should not be able to get an abortion even if she were raped, or that I should not be allowed to marry because I would like it to be with a man and not a woman. I spent years feeling this way, and all it did was tire me out. The most freedom I’ve ever felt was on a cold Saturday morning as I lay in bed, realizing that whatever the hell happens, I can and will roll with the punches. Some people in your life are going to suck. Some people are going to be great for you. I believe it’s the imperative of every individual to fill their life with as many of the latter as they can, and to avoid the former as much as possible. There are a lot of things people can take from you, but resolve is not one of them. Resolve to be happy. And if not that, resolve to try.