Have you ever tried to date your dad?
I just got dumped. Well, I got dumped three weeks ago, which is actually just about as long as the relationship lasted. But it felt longer because I had a crush on him for an eternity before that. In June, I finally worked up the courage to tell him I was interested, we gave it a shot, and then three (maybe four) weeks later, he dumped me.
Luckily, the universe provides! And in the wake of this breakup my quick prayer became: “Lord, I want as much dating and relationship feedback as possible - and quickly Lord, so please: I want to be poly as fuck.” Poly as in polyamorous, as in having many lovers.
When I was dating Mr. Dumper, my intention was actually to lock him down and get married as quickly as possible. He had all the right credentials; he was tall, handsome, funny, had a good job, single, no kids, wants kids, would have fit in well with my family, and is a respected member of my community. So I was totally willing to be completely devoted and monogamous. I thought we were gonna have kids and that he’d be a good dad. You know, just a few, incredibly-weighty expectations. That wasn’t the way it went.
So post breakup I shifted gears and started praying this “poly as fuck” prayer. Enter my Russian Lover!
I dance most weeks at “Dance Church” on Sunday mornings - the local ecstatic dance hub. It’s a great place for me to process. And the week after the breakup, as I was crying on the floor, I noticed this beautiful foreign man noticing me. We chatted briefly after the dance and I resolved to show up again the following week.
And, sure enough, there he was again. Noticing me. We danced around one another and flirted with our gaze. The tension built, the energetic exchange was clear. I stepped out of the dance space and into the lobby to get a drink of water. I turned around and he was right there behind me:
“Cat” he says in the thickest Russian accent, “may I ask you a kvestion?”
“Sure” I say.
“I am luking for a sex-frend in Ann Arbor, and I vunder if you veel give me a chance?... or maybe a cup of coffee?”
“Did you say sex-friend?”
“Yes.”
“Huh, uh... ok, how about we start with the cup of coffee?”
Anyhow, turns out he’s an incredible lover. Sweet and passionate and horny as fuck. And also he reads scripture, and is an artist and a mathematician. And he listens to me and makes jokes and seeks for understanding. He shares with me things about his inner world. He takes his own space. He is responsive and attentive whenever I ask him to be there. He says yes easily, and he says no easily. I’m impressed. It’s quite the sex friend to be offered in the wake of a break up.
The thing about the former lover, Mr. Dumper, is that I wanted him to be all of these things, and I thought he was. I was convinced he was, so much so, that despite evidence to the contrary, I continued believing he was those things. Maybe he would be all of these things with someone else, but for me, with this guy - I had to sing and dance to get his attention. Literally. I felt so affection and attention starved. So why did I chase him? Why did I spend a year prior to dating him longing for his attention and pining for him?
Enter my dad.
My dad is a great dad and our relationship now is better than it’s ever been. For real. And, when I was growing up, it wasn’t so good. Especially from the age of about 5 up. I think it was around then that I realized that this guy and I - well -we just wanted different things. I wanted an attentive and loving father who asked me questions about myself and listened with deep curiosity. He wanted to play golf and watch TV. He barely noticed me. He did seem to notice when I performed on stage or brought cute friends around. He would celebrate me or show interest then, even brag to his peers. So why did I choose Mr. Dumper? Why did I think he was “marriage material"? I’m still trying to get that 5 year old noticed. She really fucking wants that tall, handsome, aloof (avoidant) man to take notice of her. She desperately wants him to care what she has to say, what her inner world is like, and what her hopes and dreams are. She really wants him to see her. To hold her in her strength and in her crumbling.
Mr. Dumper couldn’t do that. He didn’t want that. And that’s no fault of his. That’s just a choice. He gets to make that choice. That choice is valid and good.
My dad couldn’t do that for me back then either. Even if he sometimes does now.
But guess what? There are men (and women) out there who can do that. Who want to do that. Who are genuinely happy to do that! Just like I am. Who will celebrate and appreciate my beauty, and accept and witness my crumbling, my failures. There are those who will love and honor me just as they call me to task. Thank God. Those are my tribe. That is who I choose to align myself with.
And all this bullshit about having to “learn to love yourself before you can love anybody else;” That’s hooey! How about we learn to love ourselves alongside of letting other people love us, just as we love them, and, particularly as we shine light and let the light be shone into those ugly, tender and hard to reach places?
May we each carry the weight of what is ours and help each other with our burdens as we are able. May we give from the overflow of God’s grace. So mote it be!
God Bless Mr. Dumper.
God Bless my Dad.
God Bless my Russian Lover.
God Bless me.
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