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Dad’s Playbook for “Love”: Epic Fail
Near the end of the preceding “chapter” I wrote this: “In 1984, when I left my marriage and fumbled for how to keep experiencing affection and lovemaking (after all, I was only 32!), the friendly gents in the neighborhood sent me my very own musician to kiss, cuddle, and dance with. Let’s call him TR.”
Doesn’t that sound more than a little bit nuts? How could the nearby “fellows” make such an offer? Why would they? Was I crazy?
Nope. I’m not, and wasn’t then, crazy. But I was following, as closely as I could, the “instructions” that my father had given me for being an intelligent, educated woman … and they added up to some really terrible advice.
So why did I fall for Dad’s playbook? Reason #1: He presented it, without discussion, when I was very young. (See earlier posts … age 9.) Reason #2: The directions made it easy to slide into relationships that otherwise I didn’t know how to enter. There should be a high school class called “How to Have Good Conversation.” If there was, I missed it, and only knew how to talk with family members, and not very deeply at that. (“Do you remember?” “Whose turn is it?”) Reason #3: Hormones. Like many others in their teens, twenties, thirties, I found physical affection enjoyable, and a wonderful contrast to the otherwise difficult tasks of completing a chemistry major, handling a corporate…
