Filed by on September 27th, 2004
It has occurred to me that I may never find the perfect man for me. Sure, I’ve met a handful of men who have captured my heart in one way or another, but in the end I seem to ruin every relationship I’m in. It would not be out of line to accuse me of enjoying my independence enough that any intimacy beyond a certain point is frightening.
This is not due to the fact that I abhor meaningful relationships. On the contrary, I think sincere affection is so fundamentally hard to find that one must embrace even its quirkier forms because they really do, all in all, enrich our souls. I’ve merely come to the juncture where I have acknowledged that I neither care about nor know how to facilitate this thing for myself.
I am tired of dates that go nowhere, I am tired of men tripping into my life and ultimately disappointing the heck out of me. I am tired of being lied to, I am tired of being used, I am tired of…well, you name it, I am tired of it all.
Only one gentleman in my entire life has so utterly turned me around that I’m not quite sure what to make of the thing he has awakened in me. But even this goes nowhere — though I cannot shake my emotional entanglement, I simultaneously realize how insane it is. So I have made the decision that I will no longer accept invitations to dinner, I will no longer attend parties on some stud’s enticing arm, I will no longer allow my friends to suggest I meet “so and so,” because they think I should not spend my life alone. If nobody has wanted me by now, chances are good nobody wants me at all.
About a month ago, however, it dawned on me that the remaining reason I would want a man in my life is to have one who makes sense in my daughter’s life. A father figure who is not a slouch, a dead-beat, a con artist. A man who is not necessarily there by paternal association but can teach her things that only a fatherly type can…great work ethics, reasonably acceptable inter-gender habits, and the importance of being loved for more than the default of siredom.
Now as bizarre as this sounds, it makes perfect sense to me. My detachment from the male gender is a decision I make for me. But depriving my daughter of someone to look up to in that role is altogether a different matter. There are horrid habits she has learned from her father that must be undone; there are question marks in her mind about why my household functions differently from others. There is a need to replace what is broken with something that works, and while I don’t expect perfection, I expect some sort of revelation in my child’s life. It’s important for her to know how things are “supposed to work.”
Startling, huh? Yeah, well, not for some of you. This is Babs, after all.
So now. as I look at a man who is asking me to dinner, I’m assessing his strengths as a father rather than a mate. I don’t really give a flying fig about how good a lover he is — I’m really not interested. I want to know if he’s capable of helping me teach table manners to an 8-year old.
I’ve asked one guy I know about fulfilling this role, and he must have thought me completely out of my mind. As a test case, it was very interesting. I hope I have not wrecked a friendship because of it. But I had to find out what sort of reaction something like this would get. Suffice to say no one has arrived at my doorstep to carry me off in a straightjacket and that the man in question is still speaking to me. Odd, that. I would’ve expected him to write me off his Christmas list for life.
In any case, as bizarre as this all sounds, I am perfectly comfortable with it. The question is will I ever find the right person for the job?