Struggling with role-reversal

by Jaclyn Roco
Editor in Chief

All my life I've looked up to one person ­ my father. But lately I've felt dubious toward him.

My thoughts nowadays seem a betrayal of what I used to feel. I was so sure of him, so trustful and respectfuluntil now.

So perhaps this would be a good time to reaffirm my loyalty to a man I have a chance to keep for the remainder of my life.

As far back as I remember, my father was the one pushing me to be better, urging me to dream bigger and to aim higher. A C grade was not acceptable; it was grounds for punishment. And even when I managed to turn in As, my father would still not give me the affection I thought I needed; a mere grunt and a nod was all I received.

I hungered for his approval; I craved it, and so I would continue to work harder and to do the impossible only for him. My attendance record from elementary until now looks like a Xerox copy; out of my whole experience at school, I think I've only missed about a week's worth. (Yea, tell me about it. How nerdy can you be?) My grades from second grade to this present semester are a scream; my lowest grade has been a C, and I've only received that twice. (Okay, so I'm not just a nerd, I'm a freak.)

And throughout the teasing and the misconceptions I've endured sincewell since forever, there has been only one man standing behind me, my father. (Even my brother thought I was an alien; unlike me he was perfectly normal.)

When my mother died, I thought my world had turned into a dark vortex; all my efforts seemed to dull in comparison. Yet, while I was wrapped up in my protective shell, there was still my father to handle.

How could I give up on life when I knew he was still counting on me? How could I give up on my goals when my father too was suffering, even more so than I?

I had known my mother for the 16 years she had loved me; my father had loved her for the 16 years we had been a family plus the 20 or more years they had been married.

I felt selfish to leave him alone with life's struggles, and so again I maintained a dutiful relationship with him. He was there for me when I needed him; I would be there for him in return.

But now, life seems so different. My house, devoid of girlish laughter wafting from the kitchen or sibling rivalry tumbling down stairways, is now a sterile place reserved for escaping into dreamland ­ where reality can be forgotten, even if for just a little while.

I guess my father has dealt with being a widower in a strange way; he has resorted to pretending he is back to age 25 instead of 50.

He is the one who goes out partying every night ­ a young buck again, who is bald by choice, not by nature.

He is the one who chooses to hide his new tattoo from me and gets into bar fights. (I've never even gotten into a brawl in my life.)

His car is modified to the point of indecency with all the fixtures and gadgets like a DVD player that seems all the rage nowadays, and I assume he does all this or buys extravagant things to help deal with the fact that he is alone, unlike friends of his own age who still have families to love.

At least I try to tell myself that. How else would I be able to explain my dad's youthful appearance to others who may think that he is my boyfriend instead of my father?

In essence, he is leading the life I should be leading. But instead, our roles have reversed, and I feel bereft of the father I once knew.

But hey, life isn't perfect, and at least I still have a father.

Someone once said that while he gets younger, I get older, but I find that somehow pleasing.

Because now I can give him what he once gave me. I can give him the strength to aim high and to dream once again; and then if I succeed, I can get him to believe in love again.

And maybe, just maybe then I can be his daughter again.

Jaclyn Roco, a senior journalism major, is editor in chief of the Campus Times. She can be reached by e-mail at rocojax@yahoo.com.