It is disheartening when you suddenly discover that you hold very little value to your family. Not just that they take you for granted, but rather that they don’t seem to notice any difference if you are there or not.
Not too long ago, I decided to take a few days to go camping on my own. I told my wife and kids about my plans weeks in advance. The trip was not a secret by any means. But on the day I packed up my gear, hooked up the trailer and got ready to leave, I said goodbye to the kids and EM2 asked me, “Where are you going?”
I’m used to being ignored by my family, so this reaction was really no surprise to me. I told her, “Never mind. Go back to sleep.” Then I left.
It was a wonderfully peaceful trip. No internet. No television. No distractions. Just me, a book, and hundreds of square miles of trees and animals to stare at.
I returned home at the end of the week to find … everything exactly the same as when I left.
The cuckoo clock had stopped running since I am apparently the only person in the house that winds it, so it was literally as if time stood completely still in the house while I was gone.
The kids were sitting on the couch where they always are during the day. (If I hadn’t actually seen them occasionally get up to pull food out of the refrigerator, I would swear they were surgically attached to the couch cushions.) There were dishes in the sink, a used pan on the stove top, and a jar of peanut butter on the kitchen counter precisely where it had been when I left the house four days earlier. And outside, on the back lawn, a mostly deflated, unused swimming pool that I had begged them to get rid of while I was gone, sagged in the overgrown grass, waiting for me to eventually throw it away.
When I walked into the house, the kids did get up and acknowledge I was home. They didn’t ask me how my trip was, or even say, “hi,” however. They just grabbed a bag of food out of my hands to see what snacks I had brought back home, and immediately started rummaging through the contents like racoons lucky enough to find an open dumpster behind their favorite restaurant. The half-eaten bag of Doritos in my bag got a better welcome home reception than I did.
While I listened to EM1 and EM2 fighting over stale chocolate chip cookies, one of the cats wandered out of the back bedroom and rubbed against my leg, demanding to be petted. I felt marginally better. At least one of the animals was glad I was home. She let me scratch her behind the ear for about five seconds before she decided she had graced me with her presence long enough and decided to go back to the bedroom.
It was at that point that I decided to text my wife to let her know I had gotten home safely. I figured at least my loving spouse would show the appropriate amount of warmth and affection to the news that I was once more with the family. I received a text back that said:
“Working late tonight. Don’t wait for me to eat dinner.”
I could feel the love radiating from the phone.
That was it. That was my greeting after four days of being gone. Maybe I should have stayed away a little longer. Perhaps if I was gone a few more days they would have actually missed me. Or they might have simply forgotten about me altogether. I’m afraid that would probably be the more likely outcome.
After about two weeks:
EM1: “Where’s Dad?”
EM2: “Who?”
EM1: “You know, the guy that used to hang around here and bother us while we watched television?”
EM2: “Quiet. I want to hear this part.”
Despite the fact my family sucks and apparently doesn’t care if I’m in the house or not, I did discover my absence hadn’t been completely unnoticed. When I arrived home, I discovered that the hummingbird feeder in the backyard was completely empty. Several hungry and pissed off hummingbirds were hanging around the empty feeder like vagrants around a closed food kitchen.
I went outside and was immediately dive bombed by a handful of the tiny moochers. While I don’t actually speak hummingbird, I’m quite certain a few of them were making unkind remarks about me not knowing who my father was. Who knew cute little hummingbirds could be so cruel?
I refilled the feeder, despite the awful things the birds had said to me, then ran for my life as a cloud of the winged opportunists swarmed in from every direction. Now that there was food available again, I was just the guy that was between them and their lunch.
I went back in the house and found the kids had returned to the couch. Their attention was once more firmly fixed on whatever foreign-language soap opera they had found that morning, and any attempt on my part at conversation would be firmly met with rolled eyes and shushing noises. The only difference was now they were surrounded by the wrappers and detritus of the pillaged snacks they had stolen from me. I shook my head, realizing that it would probably be my job later to throw away the nest of garbage they had just built around themselves. I know they can’t be bothered to do it.
Even though I was now home, I was just as alone as if I was still surrounded by miles of empty forest.
With no one to talk to and nothing better to do, I went into my den, turned on the computer, and started looking for places to go on my next camping trip.
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