"...set down
This set down
This"
says T.S. Eliot in The Journey of the Magi when he's getting ready to tell us something very important.
For some reason I feel compelled to tell about Cathy - to
"...set down
This set down
This"
I spent summers as a teenager working in the same place as my Father. It was a way for him to keep his eye on me and also for him to get some extra money, since he took all my paychecks. So some of this story I saw firsthand in the workplace, some outside the workplace and a bit was shared with me by the people involved. (Also her high school boyfriend was the older brother of my best friend's boyfriend, so I got some information from there, as well).
Cathy was a pretty blonde teenager, but not too pretty, and she didn't know she was pretty. She and her mother moved to my town when Cathy was starting high school. At about sixteen, Cathy got a job where my father worked. She was a hard worker, but not enough of a workplace star to make anyone jealous or threaten anyone else's position. It was her first job and she kept it, working part time through the school year and full time in the summers.
Sexual harrassment laws weren't as stringent then, so there were no formal complaints about my Father's tiny flirtation with Cathy. He'd joke about always trying to get her alone on the elevator and he'd tell her she was special. She'd squeal and run away laughing over the elevator shenanigans, but she loved to hear that she was special. She'd beam with pride when Father said that.
Right after Cathy graduated from high school, her mother moved back east. She'd raised her daughter and her duties were done. Cathy had a job and could take care of herself.
My Father's secretary, Maria, and Cathy became roommates. With their combined incomes, they were able to live in a nice apartment. They lived together four years, until Cathy was 21 and Maria was 28.
They'd lived together happily for most of the four years, but the last six months there was a lot of fighting. It didn't seem to be one thing, but a series of small things. They were the kinds of things that are probably common among roommates. So-and-so left the dishes in the sink. So-and-so's friends are rude. So-and-so never remembers to pass along phone messages.
Cathy moved out to a very small apartment. It wasn't much, but it was the first time she'd lived alone so she took some pleasure in her total independence. Her joy was short-lived.
At work, Cathy and Maria got along. With the pressures off, their professional relationship quickly returned to workable. They were no longer close, but they were pleasant to each other.
Most of the other company employees had little interest in the girls' passing personal frictions, but my Father took Maria's side and continued her fight long after the war was over.
His relationship with Cathy changed dramatically. He was cold and sarcastic. He criticized her work, her morals and her personality. He would get her alone, but not to be flirtatious. And she would flee from him, but no longer giggling.
One time, at work, she went to his office in tears. "Why are you doing this?", she asked. "Why are you treating me this way? I thought you liked me. You always said I was special". "You're a special little shit", said my Father, who then terminated the conversation.
At her home, Cathy started getting crank calls. They frightened her.
At my home, my Father took up spending evenings on the phone.
Cathy changed her number, giving it only to close friends and business associates. The calls continued.
Cathy changed her number again, providing it to her office only. It was a company rule that they be able to reach her via phone. The calls continued.
Cathy started getting anonymous hate mail. She changed apartments.
The hate mail continued. Cathy moved again.
She still was working at the same job, but no one knew where she was living.
One day Cathy found an anonymous birthday card propped up against her door. It had nothing written on it, but the card itself said, "Happy Birthday to someone special". There was a pretty picture of flowers on the front of the card. I know how pretty they were because my Father had shown me the card when he got it.
Cathy quit work and left town. There was no forwarding address. She did not contact anyone at the company again, not even for references.
It seems that sometime after 1949, my Father DID learn how to finish a job properly.
I think there will be more Scientist stories.
This set down
This"
says T.S. Eliot in The Journey of the Magi when he's getting ready to tell us something very important.
For some reason I feel compelled to tell about Cathy - to
"...set down
This set down
This"
I spent summers as a teenager working in the same place as my Father. It was a way for him to keep his eye on me and also for him to get some extra money, since he took all my paychecks. So some of this story I saw firsthand in the workplace, some outside the workplace and a bit was shared with me by the people involved. (Also her high school boyfriend was the older brother of my best friend's boyfriend, so I got some information from there, as well).
Cathy was a pretty blonde teenager, but not too pretty, and she didn't know she was pretty. She and her mother moved to my town when Cathy was starting high school. At about sixteen, Cathy got a job where my father worked. She was a hard worker, but not enough of a workplace star to make anyone jealous or threaten anyone else's position. It was her first job and she kept it, working part time through the school year and full time in the summers.
Sexual harrassment laws weren't as stringent then, so there were no formal complaints about my Father's tiny flirtation with Cathy. He'd joke about always trying to get her alone on the elevator and he'd tell her she was special. She'd squeal and run away laughing over the elevator shenanigans, but she loved to hear that she was special. She'd beam with pride when Father said that.
Right after Cathy graduated from high school, her mother moved back east. She'd raised her daughter and her duties were done. Cathy had a job and could take care of herself.
My Father's secretary, Maria, and Cathy became roommates. With their combined incomes, they were able to live in a nice apartment. They lived together four years, until Cathy was 21 and Maria was 28.
They'd lived together happily for most of the four years, but the last six months there was a lot of fighting. It didn't seem to be one thing, but a series of small things. They were the kinds of things that are probably common among roommates. So-and-so left the dishes in the sink. So-and-so's friends are rude. So-and-so never remembers to pass along phone messages.
Cathy moved out to a very small apartment. It wasn't much, but it was the first time she'd lived alone so she took some pleasure in her total independence. Her joy was short-lived.
At work, Cathy and Maria got along. With the pressures off, their professional relationship quickly returned to workable. They were no longer close, but they were pleasant to each other.
Most of the other company employees had little interest in the girls' passing personal frictions, but my Father took Maria's side and continued her fight long after the war was over.
His relationship with Cathy changed dramatically. He was cold and sarcastic. He criticized her work, her morals and her personality. He would get her alone, but not to be flirtatious. And she would flee from him, but no longer giggling.
One time, at work, she went to his office in tears. "Why are you doing this?", she asked. "Why are you treating me this way? I thought you liked me. You always said I was special". "You're a special little shit", said my Father, who then terminated the conversation.
At her home, Cathy started getting crank calls. They frightened her.
At my home, my Father took up spending evenings on the phone.
Cathy changed her number, giving it only to close friends and business associates. The calls continued.
Cathy changed her number again, providing it to her office only. It was a company rule that they be able to reach her via phone. The calls continued.
Cathy started getting anonymous hate mail. She changed apartments.
The hate mail continued. Cathy moved again.
She still was working at the same job, but no one knew where she was living.
One day Cathy found an anonymous birthday card propped up against her door. It had nothing written on it, but the card itself said, "Happy Birthday to someone special". There was a pretty picture of flowers on the front of the card. I know how pretty they were because my Father had shown me the card when he got it.
Cathy quit work and left town. There was no forwarding address. She did not contact anyone at the company again, not even for references.
It seems that sometime after 1949, my Father DID learn how to finish a job properly.
******
The Scientist will listen to anything I talk about, but he does hate stories about my Father. He says they're not heartwarming. Sometimes they make me cry and that, in turn, makes him cry.
I think there will be more Scientist stories.
posted by d~ at
7:53 PM
2 Comments:
I see your "Keep away from the little deaths" and raise you a "I should be glad of another death".
All in all, d~, with or without warm hearts I want to listen to your memories which sometimes sadden and sometimes delight and sometimes unlock my own.
Your blog is a good and safe place to share memories that nobody physically close to you can bear to hear.
Your father sounds like a sadistic and mean-spirited bully. I'm positive you take after your mother to the extent you take after anyone. But the most truly special parts of you are your own creation, and you owe no one for them.
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home