So as usual, leading up to my Taiwan trip, I had been dreading how I was going to manage my interactions with family, namely, I was worried about keeping my cool with my mother. As life would have it, I managed to stay relatively controlled with my mother this trip, but I ended up blowing up at my dad.
What can I say, I am full of flaws and no matter how much older I get, no matter how much more I learn and mature, there are deeply ingrained habits from my childhood that I just don’t handle well.
The odd thing is, my father and I are similar on so many levels— with our intensity, our workaholism, our tracking/managing styles, our independence, our judgement of others… and yet there are still distinct differences and powerful triggers.
From the start, my dad’s ridiculous adherence to rules was showing itself and irking me. From giving John driving directions and informing him of this and that not being allowed, to our group going to a scenic destination and wanting to eat our fruit and snacks at the upstairs cafe… I mean, yes, most food establishments in the US have some policy like “no outside food or drink”, but we could have just asked the cafe staff. No, he was adamant. He didn’t even want to ask and instead insisted that all of us eat on the lower park pavilion without as nice a view. Later, we decided to order lunch at the cafe and still he was all wound up about us eating fruit we had brought in. Mind you, no other guests were even there and to be honest, I doubt the teenybopper staff really gave a shit. He’s just unnecessarily uptight about that kind of stuff. John says it’s bc being an immigrant in America makes you fearful. You don’t ever want to give authorities any reason to give you a hard time. Yes, I agree, but still. People are on vacation to hang out with us. Chill the hell out.
Later, when I was visiting my grandparents, John and I wanted to give the two maids some extra money, bc well shit, they work a TON for my very large and demanding family and on top of that, all three grandparents still look amazing thanks to the maids’ 24/7 care. Now, remember, labor is fucking cheap in Asia. And these maids being migrant workers from Indonesia means their labor is even cheaper than for native workers. Still, by comparison with their impoverished hometown, they are making great money in Taiwan, which is why they are working overseas in the first place. So whatever. I just wanted to give them each the equivalent of 100 usd. Mind you, I’m not sure but they probably only earn a few hundred usd per month, so this is not chump change, but to me, it’s still totally worth it to show gratitude for their hard work. Anyway, Dad gets all in my business asking how much I’m giving them and then he says that amount is way out of line. His explanation is that if I give that much, when my aunt pays them, it throws off the system. There’s a system and I have to play by the rules. Omfg. I mean, are you for fucking real? Just him saying those words, triggered something. He told me to give them 33 instead. I was like, those rules have nothing to do with me. I’m a foreigner: I don’t have to abide by the local rules. And then it started to escalate.
Honestly, I’m not about to be told what to fucking do in this situation. I mean, I didn’t even need to tell him I was gifting them anything. Finally, I just say ok and left the room pissed off. I talked it over with John and he said to compromise with 66, but I was still irritated and annoyed.
A few minutes later, Dad says he needs my help with filling out the USPS form to hold his mail for the next week. Also, I need to contact his former office manager to see if she picked up his mail up until then. Also, what’s the update on the house since he didn’t set the alarm. So the gist is 1. Did she get the mail 2. Can she check on house.
It’s always a tad uncomfortable bc every time I reach out to this lady, my dad is just barking orders, so I’m trying to draft something that is friendlier. I’m drafting and then Dad wants to read my draft before it goes out. My point is, tell me the end goal and then I can decide how to get to the desired result. So even without realizing, I text her to the effect of, dad’s not sure if he asked you to get the mail but are you able to get it and blah, blah. So he’s like harping over me about what to say, like I’m a fucking secretary taking his dictation and I’m getting annoyed about having my work checked before it goes out. I read him the draft which is still in a progress and immediately, he’s like no. I am sure. I already asked her to get the mail blah blah, and then he provides all this other seemingly extraneous info. I edit and he says to read it to him again. Finally, I yell out: You’re not my boss and I’m not your secretary. I’m 40-some years old. I know how to write a text message.
And he’s kind of stunned by my blowup and says I know you’re not my secretary, you are just helping me out. I want to review it, bc you still didn’t get the message right. That angers me further and I counter back that I’m still drafting it! I edit again and read the revised again. Fast and totally pissed, glaring at him. Then he’s like whatever. Send it. I storm out.
I hate doing shit for him, bc he hovers and micromanages. It drives me nuts and then it just dredges up all the extra shit from the past where I do all this research for him and half the time that effort is wasted, with the results totally unused. Also, I realized I had gotten the detail wrong not bc I didn’t hear him, but bc subconsciously it was my way of making the request softer with the office manager…
Ultimately though, what I should have already understood is that he worked with her for almost 40 years. She knows his style already. I don’t need to censor or mute it for her, and he, as the physician, is supposed to be clear on the facts. So then I kind of understood why it mattered to him to set up the context correctly even if the end goal was the same.
Two days later, I was still bothered by my reaction to such a small request by my father. I could see that what I said and how I said it pained him. And the magnitude of my response was totally incommensurate with the situation. But like I said, there are powerful historical triggers at play. It was a culmination of things… but that didn’t make it right. And yet, for three days, I could not bring myself to apologize. My brain just kept trying to rationalize and justify even though I knew what I did was unwarranted.
I finally apologized the night before I left. I just said I was sorry for blowing up. I know he never asks me for much so I shouldn’t have lost my temper. Meanwhile, the office manager replied that she’d already gotten the mail and she would go by the house tomorrow to check on it. No problem!
That was another epiphany for me. She, having worked with him for so long, knew exactly what he meant. She always follows through on his requests and yet he still always asks her again and seeks confirmation. She didn’t take offense, bc she understands his directness and she understands that medicine is a lot about double checking the details. I’m ashamed that I didn’t already get this.
