My coworker has his office door open and is talking to a salesman. I feel like my dad’s in there, and his voice is making me feel embarrassed.

It wasn’t until I was 21 that I became embarrassed of my father. Growing up I thought he was a load of fun. He would take me out on the weekend in the convertible for a burger and we’d sing along to oldies on the radio. He religiously took me to piano every week from the ages of 3 to 15, and read in the car until I was finished. He did things to make me feel special, like a Dad should.

At 21 my father disowned me for the first time. He was upset that I “chose” my mother during their divorce. Since I was an adult, it hadn’t dawned on me that one of my parent’s would actually make me take sides in their personal life. When I told him that I refused to play his games, he told me that I was no longer a part of his life. This lasted for several years. During this time I learned my father was the best salesman I’d ever meet.

He was cunning and manipulative, so much so I never realized until years later how little he really cared for me. I mistook his random acts of kindness for being a good father. What did I know? I had nothing to compare him to. It took me a long time to realize the years of verbal abuse and neglect that I endured from my father had stayed with me.

I was driving home from college a couple of years later, and felt a sense of urgency rush through me. Something I was listening to brought the thought of my father to me. I was furious at him for disowning me, and walking out of my life. I immediately drove to his old office, not knowing if he still worked there. I walked in and asked to speak to him, waited my turn, and was escorted in by some brunette.

As I walked in my father’s eye were not shocked or surprised to see me. He simply smiled that devious way that salesmen do, and asked, “What can I do for ya?” I was startled and began shaking. This was the first time in years I had seen or spoken to my father, and his reaction was to treat me like a client. I glared at him, and asked for an apology for being so selfish. He laughed and asked me to leave, saying if I wanted something I could write him. I was defeated and left more hurt than before.

Three years later my father came up to my boyfriend (later the x-hubby) at party. The X and I were side by side, yet my father maintained a conversation with him without ever making eye contact with me. My X, not knowing what to do, tried to introduce him to me. He smiled that same shit-eating grin at me, and turned away. Somehow my X pulled him into our lives. I can only say that my X is one of the most amazing people you will ever meet, which is proven my his ability to create an environment where my father and I could speak to one another.

When my grandfather died my father called and bitched me out for not making it down to see Poppy before he died. My grandfather died the day before I got to the hospital. It’s one of the few regrets I have in life that I waited that extra day. I didn’t know. I couldn’t have known that. My father told me the weekend before that Poppy had 3 months left. In the end it didn’t matter, and I sat there silently as my father cursed me out. At the end of the call, I simply said, “Fuck you” and hung up. I was banned from sitting with the family at the funeral or attending the family services, due to my father’s anger. He walked up to the X and me at the gravesite and said, “Well X-hubby, I guess we’ll see you around”.

Somehow I don’t think the X will miss him too much, because somehow I don’t miss him at all. Sitting here listening to the salesman in the other room makes me remember my father’s character: always shallow, always good-looking, always charming, but for the life of him he couldn’t love someone if he tried. I can’t imagine a worse fate.