Bumping into my stepmom, Dad and brothers at Disneyland tonight while standing in line waiting for the final tram, was probably the most awkward, heart-wrenching moment of my life thus far. I knew they were at the park the whole day; it was one of those weird coincidences: Cynthia and I planned this out about a week prior, and then my brother informed me the night before that they were also going the same day.
I initially thought and prepared to bump into them right away, but as the day went by and as I was keeping track of their location via text messages with David and his friend, Steven, it seemed like we were frequenting opposite ends of the park at the same times and all was safe. So at the end of the night, waiting in a hoard of people during a mass exodus from Disney, I wasn’t prepared to see my family walk up in the same line where the trams pick us up.
‘Awkward’ hardly describes it, though luckily I specialize in acting calm during those moments of extreme tension and terror. I saw my Dad and went in for a hug, said “hi” to Monica and hugged my brothers. After seven minutes of waiting for the tram along with EXTREMELY strained conversation between David, Christian (who now thinks I’m the devil) and Steven, I said goodbye, got on the tram and held back the flood until I got to the the parking lot. Cynthia said, “In my entire life, I have NEVER seen an adult act like your stepmom just did.” (Monica basically ignored both of us, turning her back and whispering with my Dad.
Everyone keeps asking me, “Why don’t you simply apologize to your stepmom so you can see your Dad and brother again?” and I explained to Cynthia that the situation is sort of like the War in Iraq: I can pull out the troops and apologize until I’m hoarse, but bottom line is that there is still a huge fucking mess to clean up which will take lots of time and emotional wear-and-tear. I have the cajones to apologize for nothing, but I don’t have the balls to deal with yet another season of passion aggression, criticisms and disapprovals. Plus, it’s not like my mother’s family, where emotional abuse is sort of like our “grace” before dinner. Once when I was in 3rd grade I came home to find my entire bedroom on the front lawn– signaling that my grandma was pissed at me. We were all fine by the next day. But this isn’t how the Palomares family operates. It’s built around a complex system of passive aggression, grudges, patriarical control, Conservatism, and subtlety. It’s all very classy and mind-fucking. And this is where most of the conflicts have stemmed from. I don’t think either side is particularly “correct,” (being raised by Nana caused its fair share of damage) but since I have adopted more of the bing-batta-boom Ordunio punch, I’m always getting in trouble at the Gavotte.
This whole stalemate between my Dad and me is taking its toll, though I’m realizing that the most painful situations often leave you numb rather than impassioned. It’s only during random moments– driving to Target or editing a headshot– that I start to break down in random bursts of tears and remember that my Dad won’t be calling me in a week for my birthday.
