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Bloggy Blog #36

   Either Rachel Dolezal has a serious personality disorder, or her family is just so messed up she successfully (for awhile) distanced herself from them using one of the most extreme methods she could imagine. Those are really the only two possibilities here, other than being just plain batshit crazy in denial.

I bring up Dolezal's misfortune because Father's Day is coming up. No, I am not Dolezal's father - although I wouldn't put it past her to try and take that stance. My father, however, is white - so I'm sure both he and I are out of the running for that circus and likely future Lifetime movie.

For Mother's Day, along with a card I included a gift card to Dunkin' Donuts, where she buys way too many bags of coffee to stash away in case an apocalypse strikes. Because I do not want to be a jerk of a son, I am going to include a gift card for my father this Sunday as well. The problem is that it cannot be a Dunkin' Donuts card, as he does not drink that brand. Through ample research I have concluded there are no gift cards for canned coffee brands found only in grocery stores. I already bought him a department store card for the holidays, so I cannot get him the same one. He is not big on chain restaurant dining, movies, iTunes (or any format of music not on radio or CD), Target, sporting goods, books, social media, arts & crafts, or cooking. As you might expect, this knocks off roughly 99.99998% of every possible specific use gift card out there. So, what he is going to receive with his card and a phone call later on is a plain ol' Visa gift card he can use for anything. Except online shopping, because neither of my parents do that.

 I've been on a few dates and short-lived relationships where I noticed a common theme. At some point, the girl would find it necessary to let me know they cannot seem to "figure me out." This imaginary wall I rarely, if ever, let anyone inside. Often they felt I was doing them some sort of disservice by not allowing them to see the "real me" or whatever. As if they were the only one who ever noticed this. It's not deliberate on my end. It's just going to take more than a few sporadic dates.


For Rachel, my father, and myself, the three of us share a common bond - nobody knows us. Maybe one person might, maybe a teeny-tiny group of  close acquaintances at best - but even that's pushing it. The only part of Dolezal's circumstance I can identify with is her longing to distance herself from her family. I don't hate my family like she apparently does, but I understand the need for autonomy, that desire to get out and do the damn thing on your own. Her problem lies in the constant deceit and fabrications that pushes the boundary further between them while creating this entire new visage she may or may not actually believe is her true self.

My father is likewise shrouded in mystery. He is impossible to shop for because he doesn't like anything. Well, this is only partially true - he likes things, just nothing you can do for him on a small scale.He enjoys newspapers and receiving mail. I cannot afford to take him to either the Newseum or Postal Museum - both of which are located considerably away from his location, and trying to drag my parents out of their zip code for funsies is just about impossible, much less taking just one of them with me. And yes, I have tried. What do you get for someone with no real concrete interests other than receiving mail, reading the newspaper, and watching the local evening news and Deadliest Catch with his wife?

As for myself, I'm not too worried about it. Those lovers or friends that wanted to stick around and break down walls to get to know the real me, did just that. I often wonder if this trait is genetic, as my father seems to be the same way. He has few, if any, friends he can call his own. His wife, her family, their neighbors. Maybe an old work acquaintance. That's probably about it. Likewise, I keep people on loose strings, hardly trust anyone, and am perfectly content with others not even knowing anything more about me than what I choose to disclose. And I'm really okay with that. Because my father is too.

Or, maybe I'm just batshit crazy.

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