Yesterday, I went to my brother’s for Thanksgiving (along with my parents). I wasn’t planning on going ,but my brother really wanted me to go because he had made too much food. That’s what he told me, but I knew that meant he wanted to see me. I was able to rebuff my mom asking me to go, but this was my brother. He didn’t ask for much and he’s done so much for me in the past few months. I didn’t want to go, but I felt I had to for his sake. Plus, he was making brisket so I knew I would eat well.
I went. It was great. The brisket was fantastic as always. Chatted with his family (including wife, two kids, mother-in-law, and sister-in-law) for a few hours and then came home. My parents really enjoyed themselves as well, so it was all good. Until dinner.
We were having a light dinner later than we normally would. My father had had a paranoia episode before we went to my brother’s and I was wary of a return. There wasn’t one, but the threat of one made me tense. I knew it wouldn’t happen during the Thanksgiving lunch because my father can control it that much so he doesn’t go full-blown paranoid in front of outsiders (which begs the question of if they’re part of the dementia if he can control it).
At one point, my father set down his fork and got that look on his face–the one that meant he was about to say something problematic. Whether in an ‘ism’ realm or some paranoid shit, I couldn’t say. But I was sure it was going to annoy the fuck out of me.
My father: Lunch was so good.
Me: Yep. (Waiting for the other shoe to drop.)
Him: It’s even more impressive because a man cooked it.
Me: …. (quietly adding money to my PP donation as I had decided I’d do when one of my parents annoyed me. PP being Planned Parenthood)
Me: (in a carefully bland voice) Why doe you say that?
My father: Because they don’t have the opportunity to learn. (Pauses, gears in brain churning) Many famous chefs are men, though. (Which he had said earlier at lunch as well.)
Me: Yes, they are. (Thinking, patriarchy!) And it’s not any harder for a man to learn to cook than a woman.
My father: (Rambling lots of bullshit while I grit my teeth and add money to the donation)
This is the shit that comes out of his mouth on the regular. And my mom says not a thing. I push back, but it makes no difference. No, Dad, ‘housewives’ are not too stupid to figure out Costco. No, Dad. The ‘ladies’ don’t want to just shup and gab over coffee with friends. And, no, Dad. All ‘ladies’ do not like random gifts given to them by any man who happens to be nearby.
These are all beliefs he has voiced in the last few months. I’ve pushed back on each one without screaming that he’s a misogynistic pig, but it’s not made one whit of difference. It’s especially galling when the statement he makes is something that could apply to him, such as the Costco one. He made that sterling observation after my brother took him and my mother to Costco. He said, “People like us are smart enough to figure it out,” (after marveling at how big and vast it was), but what about your average housewife? Would she be able to figure it out?”
Side Note: I fucking hate the tone of voice he adopts when he asks these questions. It’s this pseudo-intellectual tone, as if he’s asking an important scholarly question. No, Dad, you’re just voicing an ignorant opinion, that’s what you’re doing. There’s absolutely no science behind it–only prejudice.
Back to the Costco example. Here’s the thing. He absolutely could not ‘figure it out’ if he went to Costco on his own. He would be lost in the dairy aisle, frightened, and not able to find his way out. So it’s doubly dickish for him to ‘wonder’ about the ‘average housewife’ (which, by the way, welcome to 2021! Where most women are out in the working world!) and whether she’s smart enough to figure out Costco when he, himself, couldn’t do it. But that’s the name of his game. Having an inflated vision of himself and looking down on others. I tried to explain to him that shopping at Costco isn’t any harder than shopping anywhere else if you have a plan. Also, at least half if not more of the people shopping at Costco are women. Also, women are not some other fucking species that can’t be understood. For fuck’s sake.
It’s amazing to me that he can say these things without even a hint of self-consciousness. When I’m able to detach, it’s quite the lesson on pure sexism through the lens of narcissism. And how the living breathing example of someone who is the opposite of what he believes a woman to be (that would be me) means nothing.
He’s a big reason I’ve questioned my gender. Not that I think he’s right about his beliefs, but it’s hard to stay strong in the face of them day after day. Especially as he’s just saying out loud what many people think. He may be extreme, but he’s not completely out there. Many people still think women can’t do/don’t care about X, Y, or Z, whether it’s math or cars or sports. It’s been unrelenting. Add that to my mother’s softer sexism (her pushing me to get pregnant for fifteen years, followed by her insistence that I needed a husband to take care of me when I got older. Which, I mean, log in your eye, etc., etc.
I knew he was sexist, but to see it on such stark display has been sobering. He really doesn’t think much of women. Again, I knew this, but I didn’t KNOW it like I do now. He’s 82. He’s been like this all my life. That’s almost impressive that he’s held stubbornly to his archaic and obsolete ideas. It’s not surprising, however, as he has not changed his opinions in a positive way at all. I can explain things until I’m blue in the face; it’s in one ear and out the other.
I know better. I really do. He’s not going to change. Not just because of his age, but because he’s incapable of change. I don’t like to say that about someone, but it’s true of him because he has no capacity for introspection. He has never once said he was wrong about something. Ever. If something is wrong, it’s not him–it’s everyone and everything but him. Or if it’s him, then it shakes his whole world to an inappropriate degree. Like he misplaced something yesterday. Not surprising. Everyone misplaces things. Also, he’s having issues with his memory. So, again, not a surprise. But he was completely rattled by it, saying he was so sure it was some place and it wasn’t. He shook his head and I swallowed what I was thinking. Which was, “You do that all the time. Your memory is shit.”
My brain is not always nice. I try to keep it under wraps, but it’s rough. Especially being around my parents 24/7. I’m much better when I have space to breathe. But I’ve had to keep a tight rein on my brain for the past two months and the cracks are starting to show.
One week and one day. That’s hopefully all the time I have to deal with this before I get to be by myself again. That’s another thing. My father cannot comprehend that I actually prefer living alone to living with someone. Because he would die on his own. He doesn’t exist without an audience so he can’t understand how I can choose to be by myself.
I know that he’s not going to change. That’s not me being defeatist: it’s the reality of the situation. All the scales have fallen off my eyes and there are no more illusions. I was able to each a sense of equilibrium before I landed in the hospital by interacting with my parents to a minimum degree. I’m hoping to reach it again once they go back, but I know they’ll want more interaction–my mother, at least. I’ll deal with that when the time comes. For now, the best I can do is just bite my tongue and keep adding dollars to my Planned Parenthood donation total–at least some good is coming out of this.