So, a few times I posted about the Coldwater Creek Manhattan project radiation lawsuit. Most recently I thought that my Dad being my stepfather meant I couldn’t file, but on actually reading the form it seems I was misled. I have to prove that I lived with him (easy, census), and that he had cancer (easy, kept all his health records), and that he had held stepfather status for a long enough time.
I should be happy about this, but I can’t avoid the distaste. I’d be profiting from my Dad’s death, and —
(Dad-in-my head interrupts.) “What is wrong with you, you little weirdo? Free money! Cash in, stupid.”
6 responses to “Huh. Well I was misled.”
… yeah, this is much more “you could have gotten additional quality time with him if they hadn’t done this, MAKE THEM PAY and make them pay attention” than “profiting from his death” in my opinion.
(I am somewhat influenced by the current “who cares if people in the affected areas die? if they’re not rich enough to move away from toxins or data centers powered partly by generators making all the kids have asthma, they wouldn’t be giving us much money anyway” inclinations towards deregulation. Smack them with vigor!)
But also, yes, my dad would be upset if I passed up free money, too…
KC – Well, quality time? With my Dad? He wasn’t great with the quality time, but quiet time, consistent time, yes, he was there for that.
Jerry was the one bringing the quality time. Not so much with the quantity. Dad was there for the quantity time. I think I prefer that.
Quiet, consistent time is high-quality time even if it does not fall in the Quality Time vs. Quantity Time bifurcation bucket! But I do not like that bucket, because quality time – time that grows your relationship and helps you feel safe and loved – doesn’t all have to be Flashy and Focused.
Some of my favorite memories of one of my grandpas were of him doing his leatherworking [his hobby after he retired] in his workshop while I either sat and watched, cracked nuts using the big vise whose main job was to crack nuts [macadamias are a real pill to get into and the vise was a brilliant solution], or puttered away at my own mini leatherwork projects. I knew he was there; he knew I was there; we both liked this; that was enough.
KC – my Dad was only rarely in the same room as anyone else in the family. He was intensely private. I think when my grandfather left them for The Redhead there was neighborhood gossip he fell afoul of.
Ooof, poor guy! I’ve heard that sort of thing was even worse, in terms of Public Shame for All Involved Including The Totally Innocent, that many decades ago.
Also there are different degrees of introversion and his might have been Extra Strong, but no idea really. But also just knowing someone Is There and Exists is enough sometimes; sometimes even if they’re not on the same continent as you are!
Well, the step-grandfather tired of the Redhead, returned ten years later, had a stroke, and that probably settled down the talk. But that’s true, at least for me, being there conquers all.