I didn't have much of an R with my dad when he was alive. He was born in 1931 in Athens, and was from the old school of men that thought kids were women's work, so he didn't do any childcare of me or my siblings. He did play with us sometimes and used to call me agapayma (darling) when I was a little girl, and he was good at telling stories that he just thought up from his imagination.
But his work took him away from home most of the time. He was a singer and would go wherever the work was, which was usually Greece, Cyprus, Belgium, France. He sang in taverna's and on cruise ships to entertain people and he had a really amazing voice. I wish I could sing as well as he could.
Well, my mother was stuck at home with this kid that didn't walk till she was 5 (me), so she did not go with him. We had a flat in Athens and a 3-storey house in London and he spent half his life in the flat while we were at the house.
He'd come back, in between contracts, loaded with Toblerone and other continental delights (now my favourite chocolate) - I think because he was guilty for leaving us. We always got treats. It seemed like he was only home 5 minutes when he had to go again and I'd get in from school and say 'Where's dad?' and my mother would tell me he was in Belgium. Then I'd have to wait another 2 weeks to see him again.
We went over to Greece a few times and they considered moving back to stay there permanently, but my mother was concerned about raising a disabled child in Greece and wanted to be near the UK hospitals and buildings with flat access which you don't find in Greece so much. So we didn't move.
They started to fight because he was never home and my mother felt used - so he took on a Greek Taverna in the UK and worked at that.
It was quite good because me and my baby bro used to help ourselves to cola from behind the bar, and we ate out for free there every Sunday afternoon. We used to have ice cream even when it wasn't on the menu.
My dad was miserable, though, because he only got to sing once a week at 'Greek Night' so they carried on fighting. Then my mother had an affair with the guy next door because she felt neglected. I thought this guy was great, he did all stuff my dad didn't do, like Bonfires and trips to the park and barbecues. He used to swing my baby bro round by his ankles and he'd be shrieking with laughter.
Anyway, my dad found out and my mother filed for divorce. My dad just went back to Greece without saying goodbye to any of us and without closing the taverna.
Initially he tried to keep in touch and had a visit with us once a month or so, but every time he visited, my mother would incite an argument, so in the end he just left and did not persue contact.
My mother would always say 'your father did this' and 'your father did that' every time he was mentioned, so we learnt not to talk about him. I didn't play any of his music for fear of offending her.
After that I saw him another 2 times in the four years before he died. Once was when I was 16 and I plucked up the courage to call him from a pay-phone so he invited me round for a weekend, the second time was when I got engaged to H and I took H to meet him.
He was thrilled I was getting married (Greek people like early marriage so rather than being yelled at for marrying and being pregnant at 18, he congratulated me - I was doing what a good Greek girl should do).
Then he sent me this huge wedding card and Ł160 to buy a present, in October, two months before the wedding. I was thinking, why is he sending this so early?? There was a letter saying ILY and I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I showed H the letter and he said 'that's a goodbye letter.' I refused to believe him. 3 weeks later he was dead.
He never got to see the wedding or any of his grandchildren.
I have not seen his grave as he is burried in Athens and I haven't been back there since.
I often talk to him in my thoughts, though, and feel I have a better R with him than in life. I have no contact with my mother or my brothers and sisters (that's another long story).
Jo, What a wonderful and yet sad story. In many respects I can relate to your dad. You have got to finish your book! If you don't get at it, I'm catching a cab on next Tuesday on my 4 hour layover at Heathrow and tie you to your computer!
Jo, I am never bored reading your posts. Thanks for letting me into your childhood as troubled as it was.
Not wanting to take sides, I can see how your parents behaviors affected your needs to be with your H. You know someone loves you but can't be with you for some reason and you have the feeling of needing it fixed soon.
I try to look at things from a universal position. Example if I were the W, or If I were the child, or If my mum/dad did that how would I feel and react.
I can imagine your mother's/mum's feelings, having children and no H around. After a while she must have felt emotionally abandoned and stumbled into or sought out an affair because she was lonesome. Then she carried her feelings in to resentment towards your dad and let it spill out to the children that something was stressing her.
I often think of military famalies. What do wives and kids do when the H/dad is gone most of the time? In my ideal world, sopuses in the military would see their SO at least 4 days a week, baring combat situations. In combat situations there would be family week after 3 weeks of patrol time. I would have a 21 day limit on lack-of lovin. But my way would not work IRL.
----------- My dad just went back to Greece without saying goodbye to any of us and without closing the taverna. ------------ What a loss to you and the family. I can only imagine how that felt.
That situation reminds me of a Cathloic saying. Divorce, never. I would kill him/her before I got a divorce. Too bad your parents did not have Divorce Busting books back then. ( are you trying to save your parents marriage some how mentally? Just a thought)
--------- rather than being yelled at for marrying and being pregnant at 18, he congratulated me - I was doing what a good Greek girl should do). ---------- Well Greek is different than what I was used to.
I do not know how many times I heard don't do this, don't do that, wait until you are 21/26 to find the mother of your 2 children. Don't knock-up (slang for the girl getting pregnant) any of the girls you date. Then you are trapen for life.
(recently I read a book about a former culture where the girl had to be pregnant to prove she was fertile, before anyone in that culture could get married.) (IE no baby, the woman or the man was not marriage material)
-------- I showed H the letter and he said 'that's a goodbye letter.' ---------- Your H showed good insight. He still has that quality someplace. Do you think you could find his insight today?
---------- I have not seen his grave as he is burried in Athens and I haven't been back there since. ----------- It took my brothers death ( he was 58) in 1986 and my 20 yr older sisters ( she was around 61) guidance for me to go to the graveyard where my dad is burried, for my first time. So that is an open door for you too, if and when you want to go through it.
--------- I have no contact with my mother or my brothers and sisters --------- What do I say?
I am thinking. Send a card with pictures of your children to your mother. I think every mother is a different person once she becomes a grandmother (GM). If there are problems between her and you I can understand you not contacting her for your sake. My only thoughts are, maybe she is a better GM than a mom and do you want to short change your kids out of having a GM?
I say protect your children, don't feel you have to take poor behavior from anyone, but try to help your kids to have at least a little of a GM.
How long will she live? How powerful can she be in your life. Back then you were a child and she had the power. You are a woman / adult now, now you have the power if you exercise it. If that is too difficult did you ever have a bond with your brother?
Sorry for being the 'Kiss and make up guy". I don't want to over load you. Do or think what you can.
I suppose you should think. How will this effect my getting our M back on track. That seems to be the most important thing now. You need to be mum and have a fulltime H, if possible, so he can be dad to all your girls.
ioavva-just stop by to peek and so your post--thank you for your post, and hope!!! just wanted to know how long your were divorced and how long did it take you to get to this point??
---------- If you don't get at it, I'm catching a cab on next Tuesday on my 4 hour layover at Heathrow and tie you to your computer! ---------- TAG. I was just thinking I wish someone could go to the U.K and visit Jo and all of her family but realise I might not be the person to do that. My last vacation was in 1986 and I stayed in Montana. I do watch many travel programs on TV and bring home video travel tapes from the library.
You on the other hand are a world traveler and go places I would not ever dream of going. I hope you can carry out your threat.
No tieing Jo with any rope or string though. Just bribe her with (Toblerone and other continental delights, her favourite chocolate) to keep working on restoring her family and to keep working on her book.
RE: Doing good to others when a family member rejects us.
When my W sees me spoiling the dogs and asks why I am doing it. I tell her she is grumpy and I can't keep in all of the good feelings I have inside of me, so I let out on the dogs. Tag you do this too with your grand kids. Giving happiness brings happiness.
--------- What a wonderful and yet sad story. ----------- I second that thought tag.
I had this hilarious image of you tying me to my computer.
I am stuck on a chapter at the moment because I'm writing a really terrible bit and it made me cry, so I stopped. I will have to get through the emotional block before I can carry on with the chapter. I'm promise I'll start it again this weekend.
It doesn't go as far back as what I told Lou, it starts at 16 yrs old when I fell for H.
I've been divorced since 21st December 04 but I was already 'seeing' him prior to the D going through (it was too late to stop it, you need 6 weeks from Decree Nisi). He even said 'happy anniversary' 5 days before the D.
I'll admit we've always seen each other on and off through the whole separation (now 3 yrs) apart from the 1 year when things got really nasty in court and he was seeing OW.
Then he came to me in June 04 admitting his feelings, I 'went dark' on purpose from then until beginning of December when he started coming round socially.
We first slept together again on 30th December (9 days after D!) and things have just been running like that ever since; visits, chats, SL etc.
I am hoping he might start staying overnight in a couple of months, maybe.
Lou, I never wanted to save my parents M, I was so sick of the fighting I wanted it to end, but I wasn't prepared for what happened to my sister after that (she went off the rails and ended up in foster care) so in some ways I have regrets.
I am passionate about M because I think if people make vows they shouldn't break them. If you want a get out clause you should just co-habit.
Also, my H made me happier in those 8 years than anybody had ever done in my life, so I knew if I just accepted it was over, what I would be throwing away. I meant for better or for worse (including the worse) and this is the worse.
I might be D, but not in my heart, and I don't think he feels D in his heart either.
I thought about going to visit my dad's grave in 02, but I was moving house after the separation and having a baby etc so it wasn't the right time, and I'm not sure where in Athens he is burried so I would have to contact the Greek Embassy etc.
The grave will have his photograph on, which is another thing that bothers me. All Greek graves have photos on them, so when you walk into the graveyard, there is a sea of faces looking at you. It used to bug me when I left incense at my grandmother's grave, so I can imagine how it would feel visiting my dad's.
I could not contact my brother and 3 sisters over there as I haven't had any contact since 1995, and they were angry that I wasn't there when he died. Plus one of those sisters I have never met, as she always refused to visit whenever there was any family get together (I am the spawn of the OW, to her). I understand why she feels like that, but it was out of my control. I wasn't even born then.
I had a letter and some photos of my new nephew Costas, in 1995, from one of my other sisters, but that's the last I heard from her.
My sister here, she is a clone of my mother and just as bad so she's sided with her and won't speak to me.
My baby brother is lovely, but he's in the RAF and gets moved around so I have no idea where he is, and would have to go through mother to find out. I'm not going to.
My mother...well, it was partly being a grandmother that made her the way she is...she's as awful as that kid in 'OMEN'.
The type of stuff she has done would make your skin crawl, and I know without a doubt my H and other kids would be here full time if it wasn't for that. I finally said good riddence xmas 03, and I've never looked back. I've already told H our M wouldn't work with her in it, and he agrees.
Although he has sent her some photos of the kids as I think he thought I was being a bit final, both he and I have no intention of re-initiating contact.
She is 61 this September. She will probably die before I have forgiven her. Every time I think about it, I just can't, and I love people, I really do. I think all people have good in them and no one should be judged, but really, she really went to new levels.
Anyway, sorry for being a bit morose. She has that affect on me.
H's parents were as bad in a different way (alcoholism, domestic violence etc).
The love story between him and me and the break up and the court stuff is so in depth I did not want to go back too far, but I might touch on it slightly. Actually, I've just looked at page 1 and I did mention our parents are divorced, here's an extract (it's a fairly mild extract that I don't mind putting on here):
when I was 14 and had gone to a village fete with my teenage boyfriend. We had sat on the grass, watching this competition for quite some time, and when it was time to leave, I couldn’t get up off the ground. My legs had gone like lead. My then boyfriend tried repeatedly to pull me up but he kept slipping so he called for Peter to help him. Peter grabbed onto my arms and tried to pull me up as well, and he too was having trouble. Then he lost his balance and fell on the ground next to me. We both started laughing, it seemed ridiculous. ‘What am I going to do?’, I asked, ‘I can’t stay down here forever.’ ‘Don’t worry’, he assured, ‘I can get you to stand up.’ His face was only inches from mine, and just at that moment, I was overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him. I would have done if my boyfriend wasn’t behind us. Nonetheless, I forgot about this incident shortly afterwards and didn’t think of it again. Then 18 months later I went round to his mother’s house to bring fire wood for her coal fire. It was the Christmas of 1993. Because it was Christmas, I was wearing a very tight, black velvet party dress that hugged every curve on my body. When I took my jacket off to sit down, I saw his face light up when he looked at me, and he smiled. This was the first time he had ever paid any attention to my clothes, and I was secretly flattered by his smile. When I went into the kitchen to make people cups of tea, he followed me in and was very chatty and friendly. The next time I met him I was sweet 16, and just recovering from a break up with the teenage boyfriend, and having all the usual teenage puberty crises. He had got a job as a cab driver and he was employed to drive me to and from college each day. He was also older, more friendly, better looking than I remembered and he had a brand new car, which to a 16 year old is very attractive!
I was a bit wild at the time, a very strict vegan who wore tie-dyed clothes and had a different hat for everyday. I was involved in the live export protests of the 1990’s and I had an opinion on every subject imaginable, a very LOUD opinion. I wanted to save the world and what’s more, I actually believed I could. I think Peter liked this attitude. We talked about everything, the weather, my ex-boyfriend, our families, college. I really liked him, more than like, but he had a girlfriend, Zoe, who he had been with for 2 years. He was also 19 years old, which I thought was probably too mature to be interested in me.
I used to feel pangs of jealousy every time he mentioned her, and I’d secretly stare at his crotch when I thought he wasn’t looking, and then look the other way (!) I used to imagine what it might be like if he touched me, and then correct myself because these weren’t platonic feelings for my ‘friend’. He would hold my hand quite frequently, because we both had a minor disability, and he’d always open the car door for me when I got out, like a real gentleman. I was secretly turned on by his charm. I never thought anything would happen because in my childish inexperience I didn’t even realise he was interested in me, and because my ex-boyfriend had just left me, my parents had divorced and his parents had divorced, I was naturally cautious.
He started chatting for an hour before he dropped me home, inviting me for drinks, hugging me when I wanted to moan about my ex and holding my hand even when we were sitting down. I spent hours at my dresser, putting make-up on (the first time I had ever worn make-up!) and I STILL didn’t get it.
We had one of the coldest winter’s I remembered, that year, and it snowed heavily in March, heavy enough to build snowmen. It was very unusual for there to be so much snow that late in the season, and I and my college friends had great fun pelting each other with it. Once Pete had arrived to take me home, I threw a snowball at him and when he looked up, I fibbed and said it was his brother who had thrown it, so the two of them started pounding each other with snow, then Pete threw some at me. ‘You did it, didn’t you?’, he asked, hand poised, ready to take aim at me. ‘No!’, I said, ‘he did it, he did!’ ‘I don’t believe you’, he grinned, and I shrieked as I tried to get out of the firing line. He threw another snowball at me, which narrowly missed me, and ended up hitting my mother’s porch. I looked on in horror – oh my God – she would go ballistic. But before I had much time to contemplate this, he was running at me at full speed. ‘No, no, no!!’, I screamed, as he pushed me to the frozen ground. They don’t call it snow for nothing. I almost swore from the shock and then pulled him down too and we lay there laughing like idiots.
Then on my 17th birthday, he called me from a phone box in Somerset, saying he had broken up with his girlfriend that day and could he come round? I said yes, very quickly! When I arrived home from clothes shopping, he was waiting for me at the door. We sat listening to romantic music and holding hands, with my then step-father looking at us through the door and smiling. Even then, I knew I loved him but didn’t ‘twig’, even when he told me he’d left his girlfriend because of me. He would arrive as early as 7.30am just so we could spend all day together and we talked and talked and talked. We would just get in the car and go anywhere – anywhere away from our parents –all day together. One day we even drove all the way to Manchester as a joke! We wandered round Manchester, taking photographs, listening to classical music and laughing. On the way home we ate chips with curry sauce so hot it almost killed us! And had hysterics when I had to ring my mother and let her know where we were. ‘Oh, we’re just in Manchester, we might be a bit late home!’ On the drive home through the Derbyshire Dales his hand never let go of mine once, and then his fingers started stroking the palm of my hand, which I knew meant he secretly wanted me. An electric shiver ran down my back. I wondered if he could feel it too. Both of us were silent, fearing that speech would break the moment. We arrived back at his house and as we walked through the front door, he still didn’t let go of my hand. He walked to the bedroom to fetch something, and as we reached his bedroom door, I stopped. I could feel the sexual tension between us and knew if I followed him, I’d be ripping the clothes off his back. He apologised and looked awkward and we both stood there looking at each other, each knowing that something profound was happening, but neither one knowing what to do about it. There were no words, only truth. When I went home later that night, I knew that we were no longer ‘just friends’, even though nothing sexual had happened, we had shifted the balance, somehow.
See, in there somewhere it mentions divorce - but maybe I should elaborate, only I don't want my mother to think I blame her. We don't speak, but I don't want to hurt her all the same.
Jo.
PS: his name isn't Peter. I changed it for the book.
