Sasee Magazine

“Come out from under the bed, Missy!” Dad called. He waited. Then he tried again. “Come out so we can talk!”

Moments later, my dad knelt down and crawled under the bed beside me. I was on my side, arms crossed, my face pressed against the paneling. And though I can’t be certain, I would guess that my five-year-old bottom lip was puckered and protruding.

My dad doesn’t remember why I was pouting that day. More than likely I wanted something and had been told I couldn’t have it. Dad was not happy with the way I was choosing to deal with my problems.

My father, a physics major, is a believer in logic. He taught high school algebra, geometry, trigonometry and calculus. He is a natural problem solver. If something is broken, fix it. If someone makes you upset, talk it over and work it out. In his mathematical mind, there was no room for temper tantrums or hysteria. Then came his first child – a new kind of equation and one not so easily solved.

As a youngster, my stubborn nature baffled my parents, especially my father. My behavior forced them to attend seminars and invest in Dr. James Dobson’s parenting collection. They read and re-read The Strong-Willed Child and helped move it up the bestsellers list.

Meanwhile, I was practicing my own version of Newton’s Third Law of Motion: for my dad’s every action, I had an equal and opposite reaction. My dad calmly asked me to do something. I screamed, “No!” and ran to my room.

When I made mistakes, I expected to be corrected and held accountable for my actions. My mom fussed at me when I disobeyed or broke a rule. My dad waited for me to calm down and then attempted a rational conversation. I relied on him, the voice of reason, and the mathematical constant. He rarely raised his voice or displayed a temper. He was my inverse.

I can’t say that I didn’t make him mad or disappoint him. I know I did, especially when I reached my teenage years and started dating. My first real boyfriend, Jason, was a little rough around the edges, and my dad was more than a little opposed. Still, I was allowed to date him, provided that we were supervised.

But when my parents went out to dinner one night, I took it upon myself to invite my boyfriend over. We lost track of time, and I couldn’t get him out of the house before I heard my parents’ tires crunch the rocks in the driveway. Jason hid in the laundry room as they entered the front door, and I greeted them from the kitchen.

“Who’s in the house?” my dad asked.

“No one,” I replied.

“Melissa, who is in this house?”

Before I could answer, my dad walked into the laundry room and saw Jason’s six-foot frame lurking behind the door.

“How are you, Jason?” he inquired.

My dad stuck out his hand to shake my boyfriend’s.

“Fine, Mr. Seeley. I think I’m going to go home now.”

“Good idea,” my dad said, calmly.

I went to my room and pondered the probability of being grounded for months. The odds were high. It was a certain event.

A few hours later, my dad imposed my sentence. I could deal with a month without television. I could handle not talking on the phone. But thirty days without seeing my boyfriend was completely irrational. I was devastated, and I reacted accordingly.

I didn’t come out of my bedroom that evening, not for dinner and not to bathe. But my dad came in to check on me. He found me sprawled across my bedroom floor, surrounded by pictures of Jason, and my face buried in a soggy pillow. Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly” drowned out my hysterical sobbing.

“Turn that down so we can talk,” my dad said.

Eventually, I raised one arm and lowered the volume on the stereo. Dad talked about consequences, responsibility and maturity. He told me I would have to earn back their trust. Good decisions + honesty = privileges.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the last time I let my parents down. It happened again when I moved to South Carolina and told them I was in college when I really wasn’t. For two semesters, they had paid my tuition and sent me spending money. And when my mother asked to see a transcript, I had nothing to produce. My secret was exposed.

I confessed that I had not intended to lie to them. I had been working long hours to pay my rent and was unable to keep up with my classes.

My dad called the next day.

“So, what’s going on?” he asked calmly.

“Not much. I already told you everything.”

“You told us what you did. But I’m having a hard time understanding your reasoning.”

I appreciated that he was still looking for a logical explanation for my actions. But unfortunately, I didn’t have one. I lied and tried to cover it up. That was it – the only conjecture to be made.

I am proud to say that now, at the age of thirty, I am a mature, responsible, spirited adult. My dad says he is proud of me. He knows that my stubborn, strong-willed nature has morphed into an attitude of perseverance, and that my determination helped me through college and graduate school.

Most of the time, I react to situations logically. But when I don’t, my dad does his best to help me talk through my problems. He no longer has to crawl under my bed or sit beside me on the floor. But his conversation is still the same. He hasn’t given up on me and he won’t. He is my father and constant friend. Between his love and mine, there is a significant, positive correlation.