He Blew My Cover

My dad isn’t into talking to me. We’ve spoken exactly twice since he was diagnosed with cancer a few months ago. The first time was an accident; he answered the phone and promptly handed it off to my brother. My mother forced the second conversation on us; I’m sure she thought it was for our own good. She is, after all, a mother. He rattled off a list of medications, told me that he’s maintained his weight since he started chemo and radiation, and handed the phone back to my mother.

As a child I won state piano competitions, earned excellent grades, and followed all the rules and as an adult I am generous and self-sufficient. But over the past few years I have somehow ended up the black sheep of the family. My absence has been a seductive opportunity for my family to judge me. I surfed my way to a web site the other day that sold white t-shirts printed with the shape of a sheep in black. I almost bought one. It would be fitting, like a personal brand for my life.

My dad refuses to have a proper conversation with me but is happy to send regular e-mails to my husband. I think he might feel some sort of invalid connection. In these e-mails my husband made mention of my impending trip to the desert. It was innocent enough. We talk about it all the time. But I specifically told him that I wasn’t going to tell my family until I was absolutely sure, that I would make that call when the orders were cut. Well, my mother is in a tizzy and will be visiting me next week. I’ve tried to calm her, and if I had to guess I’d say that I’ve been at least moderately successful, but every time I think I have a grasp on the home situation my brother phones in with a mom-report of bizarre behavior and outbursts. I’m sure my brother is accommodating her this very moment, probably covering for my persistent absence. He performs with aplomb.

I’m naturally very private because I don’t like to deal with emotions in others that surface as a result of my choices and circumstances. I don’t like heart-to-hearts. They’re not for me, or at least for me with people I don’t know so well. There is one exception: heart-to-hearts are perfectly acceptable, even welcome, with the people in my life with whom I actively engage in love. These are people who I feel I can reasonably expect to gladly, and without judgment, take on a portion of my thought process.

These paragraphs brought to you by Black Sheep Enterprises.