Y’all, I tried so hard to draft my Rome entry while I was still in Italy…but the trip kept me busy, so I did not achieve my goal in wanting to write as I was traveling. No matter - everything has been documented and I can’t wait to share the rest of my adventures now that I’m back stateside! I had an incredible two weeks in Europe and the travel bug has bit me once more…I’m thinking…Portugal? Summer 2025? We’ll see.

I feel like I do now have some energy to continue this site, at least, for the foreseeable future. The history I took in while traipsing across Europe did reignite my passion for learning and teaching. I, however, know that I do need to actively search for other potential career paths…and I have started to apply for openings on USA Jobs. My father (we’ll talk about him in a moment) may get what he wants after all and have a daughter in the civil service.

Maybe then he’ll finally be proud of me.

Personally, things have been strange since I’ve returned from Europe and many old wounds that I thought have healed are now reopened. Of course, I am still going to therapy, and at least I have that as part of my coping mechanisms, but I was not prepared for the emotional upheavals I’ve experienced this summer…

So what better way to decompress than by having story time with y’all?

To begin our story time, I received a phone call from my mother just before her birthday. This was during the week I had returned. I already had started the week adjusting from jet lag and recovering from my annual exams; the Pap Smear, unfortunately, exacerbated my pelvic muscles and I was bedridden for two days as I suffered through painful cramping. When I finally felt better, I decided to start going on daily walks to get my 10,000 steps in…and my body was grateful for this positive choice in attempting to get some exercise. During one of those walks, my mother called, and immediately apologized for what she was about to tell me.

Confused by her words, I stopped talking and listened to her.

Apparently, my mom and dad had an argument about how my dad can be racist towards Mexicans. My mom, then, accidentally used the wrong wording about how I also think he’s racist (side note: I have never said that to him). My dad got offended by this accusation, even though I wasn’t there in the room with them to defend myself. He told my mom that he was going to stop by my house to yell and give me a piece of his mind.

I knew what my mother was trying to convey to him regarding that statement. A few months ago, while I was visiting for Sunday lunch, he’d gone on some rant about (shocker) all the Mexicans coming in through my hometown of Laredo. I was taken aback by his offensive words, gestured to my mother and I, and said we’re right here. I never, however, told him in that incident that he was a racist.

When my mom made that phone call, I was planning to visit later during the week so I could celebrate her upcoming birthday. She and I both realized it would be best for me not to go to their house until he cooled off and she could get him to understand that she misspoke. She also advised me not to text her as he sometimes has her phone and sees her text messages. So, I spent that week frustrated with my mother, in fear of my father potentially coming to my house to tell me off, saddened by the fact that I wouldn’t be able to celebrate her birthday with her, and…mainly…

Heartbroken by the realization that, after thirty-two years of being on this earth, my maternal ancestry is still something that my father has not accepted. I texted my history nerd friends in our group chat about what had happened. They know my story; they have helped me work through my feelings towards my relationship with my dad throughout the years.

Lisa: Holy shit.
Me: She was angry at him for making Mexican comments and let the comment slip.
Keith: Sometimes the truth can hurt. Then one is apt to blame someone else rather than taking the responsibility of owning it.
Me: He has said hurtful things, don’t get me wrong. But I never actually said he was racist, my mom made a mistake in the heat of the moment…and now he’s super angry at both of us.
Lisa: It sucks you got pulled into it.
Me: So much for her birthday plans this week…I’m definitely not going over to their house now.
Lisa: Probably best to not.
Keith: Oh, I believe that. The problem is that many racists don’t realize what they are saying is racist.
Me: Nope and unfortunately he’s in denial.
Keith: How can someone be racist against Mexicans, and yet be married to someone with Mexican descent?
Me: Ding ding ding!

EXACTLY. Like Keith said…why does my dad say these hurtful things about Mexican immigrants when he’s married to someone who is Mexican and, furthermore, has kids who are Mexican?

I spent the week grappling with my feelings. Some of my other friends were telling me to have a heart to heart with my dad about this incident. Those other friends, however, aren’t quite at the level of understanding that Lisa and Keith are regarding my dad. Those other friends don’t get that there is no such thing as a “heart to heart” when it comes to speaking to him. Part of me wanted to finally bring up the fact to my dad I know about the blood test his mother wanted when I was born to prove I was his daughter. My parents have always known my blood type (AB+). My sister, however, once asked what her blood type was and they told her they didn’t know it. She was upset that they didn’t know hers but knew mine. She pulled the they must love you more card.

For some reason, years ago, on my 26th birthday, this was the conversation of choice at my birthday lunch. I then started to truly wonder…why do they know my blood type and not my sister’s?

When we got home from lunch, my dad disappeared to take a nap. I found my mom and while we were alone, I decided to ask her about the blood type debacle.

She looked at me, with sadness, and said that if she told me, I better not tell my father that I’m aware. So, I promised her I wouldn’t say a word to him.

And when she told me…that’s when I realized…they don’t know my blood type because they love me more.

(You were mistaken, dear sister).

My paternal grandmother, prior to my birth…sometime during the summer of 1991…wrote a letter to my dad explaining that people should marry their own kind. She was not happy with his choice in a Mexican bride and had no qualms giving her opinion. When December arrived and my mother was about to give birth, she decided to come to Texas and (as I so stupidly thought when I was growing up) offer the family support during labor. To this day, I still have a photo of her, with us in our former Laredo home, documenting that same visit.

Only now I know she didn’t come to Laredo for genuine reasons.

On the day my mother was discharged from the hospital, my dad came to her room and told her that my grandmother wanted a blood test to prove his paternity. My grandmother truly believed my mother was a gold digger trying to trap my father into a marriage with an illegitimate Mexican child.

Me. I was the illegitimate Mexican child in question.

The blood test was performed. My dad didn’t refuse my grandmother’s request. My mother, probably mentally and physically exhausted out of her mind after having just given birth, acquiesced so they could leave the hospital ASAP. Blood test or not, I am my father’s child.

The birth of a little brown Mexican girl tainted my paternal family’s bloodlines, legitimately, and it was just something they were going to have to deal with.

Thirty-two years later and I’m tired of carrying this burden. I’m tired of not being enough for the men I date as well as not being enough for my own father. I’m tired of holding onto this pain of knowing that I was not wanted by my father’s family the moment my mother married him in the spring of 1991, simply because of my heritage. I’m tired of the past because it keeps messing up my present…and preventing me from having the future I so desperately want.

My father’s frustrations and narrowmindedness also translates into him not wanting to meet the men I date. I’ve said several times before, his refusal to meet any man I want to bring home has destroyed possible relationships from developing. Although I would be okay with keeping a distance and cutting off contact should he not accept my choice in a potential spouse, the man I’m with would also have to be okay with not knowing his future father-in-law. I would never expect anyone to convert to Catholicism on my behalf, but I would hope my faith would be respected. I would want any children to be baptized, of course, for the sake of saving their souls if God forbid, something awful happened to them in their youth. I’ve learned though, that my father still would not want to meet any boyfriend of mine, even if he was Catholic, because he would just find some other reason to dwell on as to why the man is not worthy of me.

Perfect transition then, to part two of story time!

My friend I once dated (the one who cancelled lunch plans before my trip) and I have had some interesting and open conversations about relationships. We’re okay now; we’ve discussed our disagreement about making plans/maintaining a friendship since I returned from Europe and are on speaking terms again. He once brought up that when we dated, he was enjoying the options online dating was giving to him and eventually concluded that perhaps he was taking too much advantage of these many options.

We had dinner this past weekend and he asked me if I had finished a book he’d loaned me about dating. I brought up that the subject matter in the book made me feel uneasy about the way some men approach dating; that they seem to focus on intimacy, which makes dating difficult for me. My goal is to date meaningfully…that just because I don’t want to be intimate, that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with my decision.

I then, explained to him (yet again) that when we dated, I wasn’t trying to be intimate with him right away because I was simply trying to enjoy, you know, actual courtship…so obviously, we were both looking for different things when we met. He, however, had never been upfront about what exactly he wanted with me…even when I had asked where things were headed between us.

I also then explained to him that I hope he understood why it took me so long to process the end of whatever we were, and that was really, about the extent of our discussion. We found another topic to dwell on, enjoyed our dinner and beer and, as always, we had a nice time together. Clearly, we ARE capable of having hard, yet respectful, conversations while maintaining (I pray) a legitimate friendship.

After having had this talk with him, I realize now that I was always way more invested in him than he was in me. Three summers ago, I was catching real feelings for him…I was falling in love with him.

No, I’ll be brave and admit it now. It won’t change the outcome.

I was in wholeheartedly and unconditionally in love with him. I would’ve, back then, done anything to make him happy because I was so in love with him.

I know now, based on his admittance that he was having all the fun with online dating, he was not trying to date me “meaningfully.” He sure as hell was not falling in love with me! He could throw out every excuse he wanted to…my father, my faith, my health issues…

(In love with me? HA. He wasn’t even in like with me! Wow, I was so optimistic - gotta take off those rose colored glasses…am I right, y’all?)

Bottom line - I was never going to be good enough for him to be his girlfriend. I wasn’t someone he viewed as serious or worthy enough to be with in the long run. When we first met, he wasn’t focused on commitment and I was. I guess, all I was that summer was someone he was passing time with…to cure his boredom (and other things). At least, that’s how I’m perceiving it now that he’s told me that the summer we met was his summer of simply having fun with every single girl he matched with online. He claimed that he “cared” about me once while we dated…but I know that was a lie.

I was never special to him.

I was only one of who knows how many useless and worthless girls to him…a name lost in a sea of feminine names. I was trash, really, and he threw me away.

I was, and forevermore, nothing to him.

There can never be ‘what could have beens’ between us. I honestly fell in love, hard, and he didn’t even like me anywhere as much as I thought he did when we dated. At least I learned this hard and emotional truth this summer…although I wish I’d known it three summers ago…instead of placing all the blame on my father and my health as to why he left me.

No, he just didn’t want me in any sense because he wasn’t even thinking about embarking on a serious relationship that summer.

I wasted so much time praying and hoping for more from him…when I should’ve realized he was, from day one, never considering me for the long-term. I went home after that first date enamored and hopeful while he went home and probably asked out another girl on a date…without so much as a second thought of me.

Wow. Seriously, what a “come to Jesus” realization for me.

And even now I’ve only figured this out, on my own, with the limited evidence he’s given me: his admittance to how he approached online dating that summer we first met. I know that he’s probably never going to take ownership and point blank tell me the truth about his intentions/how he felt about me, apologize for how he treated me, or even admit why he came back after the 2023 ghosting (I wish he would just be candid for once…I think it’d make our friendship even easier to navigate, but again, I don’t want to risk pushing him away).

Three summers ago, he treated me no better than my teacher ex that I dated pre-Covid by letting me believe that that there could’ve been a chance…when clearly he had so many better options available to him.

And oddly enough, that statement is the perfect transition to the third emotional and odd moment that will conclude story time.

I thought I had finally put my teacher ex in the past. We’d mingled at happy hours scheduled by our mutual work friends and had made peace (we’d shared a friendly embrace with each other at the last happy hour we attended). I found out that he’d been in a serious relationship for almost two years and even had a child with his partner! I was happy for him that he seemingly had matured and settled down. I was proud of him.

Just before I jetted off to Europe, I learned that he was cheating on his partner/mother of his child by actively using online dating profiles…

And that he, more than likely, may have roofied and taken advantage of a girl he took out one evening.

When I told some of my girlfriends and my mother about this, they all pretty much said the same thing to me:

Can you imagine if you had continued dating him? Can you imagine if he was doing this to you while harming other girls? Can you imagine how much worse it would’ve been had you married him?

As painful as it was to navigate the end of that ‘relationship,’ then yes, I can only imagine what would’ve happened had we continued to date. I would have been absolutely miserable…just like I’m sure, right now, his partner, who apparently has decided to stay with him (more than likely, for the sake of the child) is feeling.

And as awful as he treated me, I didn’t think he’d ever go that far as to drug and assault someone.

When I heard about what he had done…my mind finally…finally went back to the year that he and I dated.

2019.

Whatever happened that year seems like it was an eternity ago, especially because of Covid.

I then remembered an event that I experienced not long after we broke up.

An event similar to what he had just done to this girl he met through his dating profile.

An event that, while I have started to come to terms with it by writing it as a part of the novel I’m attempting to draft…

(Please note, some names have been changed but everything else is true).

…Is something that is, I think, preventing me from truly wanting to physically entrust my body with anyone I date…

…And is something, I pray, that one day, I can forgive myself for…although I know the Lord has already seen to forgive me.

But yes, that all being said, this has indeed, been a strange summer of emotions.

Dear readers, I’m grateful I’m able to unload and unfold my life here to you on this site. I’m glad I have this site as an outlet to help me cope. You’ve no idea how much your reading of these posts means to me. Thank you for supporting me through my ups and downs, my mental issues, and my uncertainties as to what I truly want in this life.

Somewhere, in all this mess, this passionate history nerd is wanting to come out and just true to herself again. I pray she’s still there in this mess. I know deep down, she is still there.

I promise, next post…it’ll be all about Rome. Until then -

many happy returns…

-kate.

P.S. The title of this post is a line from my new favorite ‘go-to’ song from one of my favorite bands, Ride (shoegaze experts extraordinaire). There’s just something about this particular line that soothes me…grab a cup of coffee, casually sip on your brew as you try to tune out the noise and chaos of the world while, at the same time, attempt to find and enjoy the stillness and tranquility that life can offer you - if you look hard enough.

I don’t know, at least that’s how I’m interpreting this line from the lyrics. Really, this song does calm my nerves and makes for excellent driving music!