Saturday, February 13, 2010

F*ing Corsage

Last night was the father-daughter dinner and dance. I've been dreading it ever since I committed to going, but I tried to go into it optimistically 'cause half of our experiences of things come from our expectations - i.e. if you go to a part thinking "this is going to be the worst thing ever" you've got a self-fulfilling prophecy and you're not going to enjoy yourself. If you do the opposite, and look for the good parts, you have an easier time having fun.

I wish I could stay I did a better job of being positive, but to say I wasn't excited about the event is an vast understatement. My dread had nothing to do with spending time with my dad. I love my dad, he's a good man, and I like spending time with him. No, my negativity had everything to do with the event in and of itself. For some gals, the idea of dressing up in a fancy dress causes them to make high-pitched squeal-y noises. For some gals, the idea of going to a dance makes them happy. Not me. I've been to only a few dances in my life and I've enjoyed exactly none of them. I have a passionate dislike for those kinds of things - getting dressed up so I can go to a place where I'm surrounded by strangers so I can hang around awkwardly with someone all the while wishing I were somewhere else. A.k.a. my freshmen year valentine's dance, a.k.a. fucking prom.

It's not to say that I'm a hater, it's just that it'd take a very specific set of circumstances for me to enjoy myself at an event like that, and these circumstances were not those. My dad and I don't go for formal, so both of us going to a formal thing together is not ideal. Also, given the place the event was held, there was a fair chance of running into one of my students, and the last thing I want any of my students to see me as is someone's daughter - as a young instructor, I've got to do everything I can to hold onto my authority and being put in the cutesy daughter role (which is implicit in this kind of event) is not an authority-builder.

Right. So, my dad arrived at my house with a pin on corsage in hand. Talk about salt in the wound. I couldn't pin the thing on right, and then when it was on, it kept pulling my blouse down so I was flashing my bra and I re-pinned the horrible thing a dozen times, but I couldn't get it right and the pins kept sticking me. The best part was when we arrived, I saw that one of my students was, in fact, at the event. Or, rather one of my ex-students. I'll skip the details, but this was a non-traditional student who was at the event with his daughter. He had been enrolled in one of my classes this semester until there was a conflict where I was holding to my class policy (as stated in the syllabus I distributed on the first day) and he was upset because he felt it unfair. There was some drama, and he dropped my class. He was right behind us in the line at the door and then again at the line at the buffet. It was AWESOME. Fortunately, he didn't want to talk to me.

Then, later, the icing on the cake was when the event organizer was doing the boring "I'd like to thank" routine and she called up some dude who was a sponsor. "Fathers," he said. "I'd like you to take your daughter's hand." My dad took my hand. The guy continued, "Lord, I'd like to thank you for our daughters..." Yup, it was Jesus time. As an atheist, astonishingly enough, I was not pleased with the prayer. This was a public, not religious, event and I was offended that the guy just assumed we all wanted to pray about it.

In a nutshell, I was tense and uncomfortable the whole time we were there and I found it extremely difficult to pretend otherwise. We left early and came back to my house where we drank some hot cocoa and talked. That was much nicer than the dance and I finally relaxed. If I'm going to spend time with my dad, it's infinitely better if it's a mellow kind of thing. Just let us play cards, or fiddle with something on my car, or cook some dinner, anything else, just not a formal dance with all that emotional pressure to feel all mushy about our relationship. That shit is torturous.

Sorry dad, but when this thing comes around next year, there is no way in hell I'm going again. I'd rather help you rotate the tires on your truck.

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