FEAST OF MEN

by Ayn Dillard

  Boyd appears skeptical as I recognize my talking about God and spirituality has struck a nerve with the Captain. I don’t have the time to share my beliefs in depth. We don’t need to believe the same things anyway. He’s a good man, a caring one. We’re just using different words creating miscommunication in the semantics. I hope that we’ll have years together to discuss all sorts of things.

  Boyd continues, “Natalie, let’s forget about God and the universe for now and talk about us. It feels incredible just being with you, but I don’t want to cause you any pain. What did you do last year for Christmas? Can’t you go to your parent’s for Christmas this year? I promise we’ll be together the following year and all the years after.”

  “My parents don’t invite me to be with them for Christmas.”

  Shocked, “What?”

  “My parents usually go to their yacht in Florida and don’t include me.”

  “Natalie why?”

  “Because they invite my sister, the one with their three grandsons and since I don’t drink much or smoke, they don’t want me around. They don’t think I am any fun. My father cares mostly about his grandsons. My sister, the mother of these boys enjoys excluding me from family events and my parents go along with her.” I laugh nervously, “My family’s not your usual loving family. They’re a bit twisted.”

  “So, you’re not close to them at all?”

  “When I was a child I felt close to my father. The time I most recall feeling very close to my father was when I was eleven after a sister knocked my two front teeth out while playing miniature golf.”

  “How’d that happen?”

  “Dad was hitting golf balls at a practice range. Mother was waiting in the car. We girls were bored so went to play miniature golf. One sister had never played before. So, she swung like she’d observed dad does a golf club. I was standing behind her and got whacked in the mouth. I can still feel how it was to feel my two front teeth fall on my tongue. I ran back to the car where my mother was. She told me to go tell Daddy. He looked at my mouth then said, “Now, you’ve really ruined yourself.” Then he returned to hitting golf balls. I was panicked, felt scared and alone and didn’t know what to do. I was running back and forth between Mother and Dad wanting someone to do something. Dad kept on hitting golf balls and Mother just sat there. She never even got out of the car to talk to Dad or showed much concern or emotions. She kept telling me to ask my father what to do. Finally, Dad got finished hitting the balls.

  He took me to the dentist late that night and it felt so good sitting next to him in the car because I had his full attention. I forgot all about my teeth because I was so happy just to feel some affection from my father and to be sitting in a car next to him. I scooted close and just sat there. Daddy told me that everything will be alright and the reason that he kept hitting golf balls was because he was so upset seeing my teeth and he needed to think about what to do. I told Daddy that I wasn’t afraid and that I was happy this happened so I could be close to him. He kissed me on the forehead and I saw that he had tears in his eyes. The dentist checked out my mouth and I went to school the next day with two broken off front teeth.

  Dad’s real concern was that I wouldn’t be pretty, until I got my teeth fixed. His attention had more to do with his embarrassment at not having an attractive daughter than anything to do with my feelings. After my teeth were repaired, his indifference returned and any attention came again only in the form of harsh criticism.”

  “My God, you poor thing.”

  “I’m not supposed to have any feelings—much less display them. How much money my father has and what material things they have are what matters in my family. Secrets are to be kept, the game played and everyone is to kiss his ring and do his bidding. I have trouble not saying how I feel. So, am banished from the kingdom.”

  “I have never heard of such a thing—well perhaps, I have—but you? You’re so wonderful and loving, I just can’t imagine your family or anyone treating you in this way.”

  I continue, “One of my sisters—I was first told this, then came to realize because of evidence that I discovered—had an affair with my first husband.”

  “You’re kidding, Natalie darlin’—what?”

  “I confronted her and she never denied it. She just screamed at me and then began excluding me from family events like her children’s birthdays. Apparently, she makes up things about me because my mother’s always telling me how rude I am to this particular sister. And I never know or understand what it is they’re referring to. They ignored the affair between her and my husband—stating that I’m making it up because I’m jealous, and it’s just gotten worse from that point on. That particular sister can’t even look me in the face. She is scary in a very evil and sinister sense—I have never liked or trusted her—even when we were little children. She pretends that she is so good and she is hurt and sad, when she is the one creating the issues and harm.”

  “Your parents, any parents—it’s their responsibility not to let this happen in their family. This is really their fault. How can they allow such an obvious division in their family?”

  “They’d rather believe I’m not telling the truth than to see the truth. So, they pretend it’s not true and I’m lying—that I’m the problem—no one else is and that I’m rude. Her kids—the grandsons are what she has over my father. Dad wanted a son more than anything but got daughters. So, when his grandsons arrived, his world was complete. That sister told me she was going to get me out of her way and she did. I actually stepped out of the way. I was once my dad’s favorite and now I am the scapegoat because I can’t live their facade. I can’t stand to be around all their drinking. This sister in particular likes married men hence my ex-husband. Obviously, the drama of taking affection away from someone else appeals to her and hurting me is one of her life’s goals. I’m both frightened and ashamed of her. I observe in amazement at how easily she fakes people out as she ‘acts’ like a little angel. She likes to drink and party and I don’t. I always knew she was bizarre ever since she was a child. I just didn’t realize to what extent she had the capacity to be so evilly manipulative and harmful. It’s gotten worse each year. My parents, at times ignore me and merrily go along with whatever she wants. Leaving me out as they stay in their alcohol blur and you won’t believe this—she’s a psychologist.”

  “Oh, I believe it all right. Just because someone’s a psychologist doesn’t mean they have any morals. I know some pretty twisted psychiatrists and psychologists. I think the best thing for mental health is to talk to good friends. They don’t charge by the hour.”

  “That’s for sure. A person can be trained in some discipline then process it through their own twisted perceptions and use it to manipulate. It’s psychological coercion. My sister is one of the most evilly scheming people that I’ve ever encountered. Of course, she doesn’t want me around because she knows I know the truth and she’s ultimately fearful of her corrupt behavior being exposed. She knows exactly what she’s doing. Sometimes, I have the feeling my father sees through her, but he won’t admit it. To acknowledge it, he’d have to say he was wrong and that he’s culpable. My father never admits he’s wrong or to blame for much anything. I love her little boys and used to take care of them often, then she decided to escalate her alienation. I miss seeing my nephews and being around them as they grow up, but my sister’s manipulation and guilt must overwhelm her. So, she projects it onto me, while our parents ignore her game. She plays them as fools and I’m the designated black sheep.”

  Boyd comments, “Actually, you’re the white sheep. She’s black. She’s the dark one.”

  “It’s hurt me for years. I have tried to talk to my parents repeatedly but they won’t listen. They tell me I am crazy and am just jealous.”

  “Good gosh, I’m sorry to hear this. What does this sister look like? Is she some absolute raving beauty? To be better than you, she must be, or why would you be accused of being jealous?”

  “She’s
kind of attractive, tall with tan skin and brown hair, which now she’s let go gray. Here’s her photo.”

  He looks at the family photo, “She’s unattractive, even kind of strange looking with a funny nose. She doesn’t look a thing like you. You’re gorgeous and she’s plain. It’s clear, she’s jealous of you.”

  I continue, “When she was young, she was self-conscious about being tall and would slump over. Perhaps, a part of her competition is because I’m petite. I had more friends and dates and when I was young, I was Dad’s favorite and he let everyone know about it. I never felt close to my mother. Only thing, I envy at times, about my sister is her ability to manipulate people and situations with apparently no conscience. I don’t know how to be like that. I also wish, I felt like I had a mother. This sister has the ability to twist Mother around her little finger. She and I have very different morals. I want a true love with one man and would never have an affair with a married man. She goes after married men.” Laughing uncomfortably, “Maybe, it’s some past life thing as to why she hates me so.”

  “Natalie, these are your parents. Their responsibility is to make sure this type of thing doesn’t occur in their family. Parents are supposed to guide their children to wholeness, not endorse separation and corruption. Why would any parents allow such a separation in their family? I’d never let something like that happen in my family if I could prevent it in any way possible. Except, they drink a lot, huh? Too much alcohol is so destructive—that’s part of my wife’s problem. She drinks, goes wild then makes stupid decisions that harm others.”

  I continue, “I get all of this, Boyd. That’s why it hurts so badly. If and when you ever meet my parents, you’ll understand. At first, you’ll think they’re fun, drinking, talking about money, fun trips, etc. with going out to dinner being their major pastime. Then you’ll realize, how they treat people, as if everyone is beneath them. Then you’ll begin to feel uncomfortable and as if my father’s putting you down and he will be. He finds something about everyone to rip apart, in order to make himself feel superior. It doesn’t take an aware sober person long to see through them. The people who are around him drink or they can’t stay around him for long. Only things my father cares about are money and control. He puts down anyone who doesn’t have money and if he can’t control you, he annihilates you with his words. I’m the black sheep loser because I have no money, no children, don’t drink and refuse to kiss his ass and be under his control. So, they have absolutely no use for me. I’m nothing to them, nor can they relate to me in any honest way. They use my sisters and grandchildren as the focus of their social life. They used me in this way when I was married to my first husband. It was a nightmare for me. It was like I was being crucified for not drinking—seeing through the façade—telling the truth and having morals. So in many ways, I’m happy to be distant from them, but I still need and want a family.”

  “My gosh darlin’ of course you do. There’s no one in your family to be with?”

  “No, not really. I can’t believe, I’m sharing all this with you. It’s too much too soon, but you asked about Christmas and it brought up a lot of feelings. I want to tell you the truth because I want you to really know me.” As I think to myself, I shouldn’t have told him all this. I emotionally threw-up on him. He’ll probably think something is off about me coming from such a twisted background.

  Boyd states, “I understand, darlin’ and I want you to tell me everything about yourself. I have an uncle who treats his family horribly. Didn’t see it at first, but now I do. People can really be cruel, especially when alcohol and drugs are involved. What did you do last year for Christmas?”

  I reflect with a smile in my heart—good, he understands. Then I answer, “Last year my stepdaughter’s grandmother invited me to spend Christmas Eve at her house. She has told me that I’m like a daughter to her. All my life, I’ve had older women tell me that they wish I was their daughter. While my own mother never calls me, to see how I am. Christmas day, I had dinner with a girlfriend’s family—nice they invited me, but I felt lonely and misplaced because I had no real connection to them. I came home then cried my eyes out. I’ve always loved Christmas, but it’s usually been a rough time for me. That’s why, what you said about Christmas hurts.”

  “I couldn’t stand to think that you’re alone and crying, you of all people. Natalie what would you do for Christmas, if you hadn’t met me?”

  While responding, I get up and turn the heat up because the house is getting cold and I feel chilled, “I don’t know, be with someone else, or I guess alone? I’ve spent many Christmases alone.”

  “What?” He exclaims in surprise, “Someone else?”

  “If I hadn’t met you, perhaps, I’d meet someone else. How do I know what would’ve happen, if we hadn’t met? But we did meet and I know that I can’t handle you being with your family, while I’m alone. Like I’m some mistress to a married man and not really included in his life. This is the same feeling I have with my own family, not being included. This type of a deal will not work for me. I can’t knowingly set myself up for more hurt and I do not want to be involved with a married man.”

  “I don’t want you to be hurt in any way at all ever. You’ve already been through too much. How do you keep that happy glow while having lived through all this?”

  “I don’t know, except for my belief that God must have something good planned for my life. Also, I hope that this won’t bother you, but I have little money. I need to sell this house to survive. I’m doing collaboration on a book, seeing clients, then occasionally get a voice over gig—but all I have is this house, a paid for old Mercedes, this furniture and that’s it.” As I think, why am I telling him all this? I know, I probably shouldn’t, but I want him to know all about me. I want this to be real and not some unreal sordid make-believe-dream deal.

  “I don’t care about what you have, Natalie. I care about who you are. I love you. Your smile, your eyes and the look you have in them, along with your sense of humor, all this has nothing to do with money. Money doesn’t have anything to do with what you have nor can money buy it.”

  I continue, “It’s just that I’ve been deeply hurt in the past. I’ve been taken advantage of by men who seeing my families’ money, then thinking I have money. They aren’t able to see me past what they think they can get from me. I may appear like I have money, but I don’t. Men succeeded in taking most everything from me forcing me into positions that have nearly destroyed me. I am getting out of one of those situations right now. And have done a lot of healing to see why I’ve allowed myself to get involved in destructive situations.”

  “Your family—they won’t help you financially, until you get things going again or until I can take care of you?”

  “They have, but asking them for help is like going into hell. My father yells that I’m a failure and not worth anything to him. I’m trying to heal, but my studies and growth mean nothing to them as they place little value on spirituality, morals, or me. All they care about is their yachts, their money, drinking and what Dad thinks is his legacy—their grandsons. Also, that no one suggests that anything might be wrong in their family. To them, I’m the loser and they’re the winners. Waiters at the country club used to call me, Cinderella. So that’s my loving family. So no, I’ll not be with them at Thanksgiving, Christmas or any other time.” As I ponder, why am I letting all this out? I am so full of emotion. Is it because I feel safe and loved, or is it because I’m crazy? It’s not wise to tell all my twisted family stuff, but I can’t seem to help it. It’s flowing out of me like hot lava.

  “Oh Natalie, I just can’t think about you being alone at Christmas. You deserve a wonderful family full of love surrounding you. Hearing your story then seeing photos of your family, you really are Cinderella because none of them are attractive. In fact, they appear wickedly unattractive and are obviously jealous of you—your goodness and your beauty. You’ve been betrayed by your parents. They should curtail their despicable behavi
or and this destructive competition, but they’re too messed up on alcohol. I want you to have a wonderful Christmas.”

  “I’ll be okay. I just hope someday to be with someone I love at Christmas.” I am silently crying and quietly dying inside as I try to keep up a calm exterior.

  He exclaims, “Next year, I promise you. I promise you, we’ll be together.”

  “Who knows about that—we’ll see? Enough about my family and Christmas, what would you advise your daughter to do in this situation? If she’d met a married man, what would you advise her to do?”

  He looks me intently in the eyes, “I’d tell my daughter, Natasha if this man loves you, half as much as Boyd loves Natalie, it’ll work out—just trust him. I love you Natalie. I really do love you. It’s just the timing. Can you wait until April? Can we wait until April?”

  “I don’t know, Boyd and you’d really say that to your daughter?”

  “Yes, I would, Natalie. I’d tell her. If your man loves you half as much as I love Natalie, it will work out.”

  “Boyd, I only know I’ve never felt anything like this before and it happened so quickly. Have you ever cheated on your wife?”

  “No, I haven’t been with anyone else for sixteen years. I dated her for six years then have been married for ten.”

  “Six years is an awfully long time to date.”

  “Um, yeah, it was. Then immediately after marrying, my daughter was born, then my son. After my son arrived, I decided to get a vasectomy, I didn’t want any more children—four is enough, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, that’s certainly a lot of people to be responsible for.”

  He appears frustrated as he takes a deep breath, “Yeah, I have two here then two more in Seattle.”

  I state, “I’d love to meet your children. What happened in your first marriage?”