My parents and I have always been close. We were very close and not simply family in the usual way. The closeness that comes from years of eating meals together, having peaceful evenings together, traveling together, and giving each other emotional support all the time. Even though my father and I didn’t always tell each other how we felt, we had a connection that was founded on respect and understanding. When my mother was alive, she was the emotional heart of our family, holding everyone and everything together. I thought that my relationship with my father would get stronger after she died, not weaker.
So, when he sold his motorcycle repair company, which he had worked at for fifty years, it felt like the end of a long and important chapter for both him and us. That store has been more than just a business. It was a part of our family. I watched my father concentrate on the garage’s small details as I grew up. This taught me that hard effort and determination can keep a business going. I assumed, maybe stupidly, that some of that heritage would come back to me as support when he finally let it go. not just money, but also family. I believed he would be ready to take a break, ponder, and invest in the following generation, which is me, now that he was retired and my mother had died.
Instead, he scared me. He used the money he made from selling the store to buy a brand-new Harley-Davidson motorcycle that cost more than $35,000. He then said he was going on what he called “my last great adventure,” a road trip across the country. He didn’t talk like a parent in his 70s whose child had just died; he talked like a teenager who had just gotten his driver’s license. I couldn’t believe it. While I’m drowning in debt from college debts, medical bills, and rising living costs, he’s getting ready for a cross-country road trip. I’m fighting just to afford a little condo and some stability.
It hurts more than just the money. It’s what it means in a symbolic way. It says that his freedom and pleasure are more important than my safety or future. I didn’t ask for a handout. I hoped for collaboration, understanding, and maybe even the support network my parents had always promised me would be there for me. Instead, I got laughs and casual remarks. He laughs off any show of emotion I make and says, “At my age, all crises are end-of-life crises.” I understand that he wants to live life to the fullest while he still can, but it seems like he’s doing it at the cost of leaving me when I need him the most.
I have always wanted to inherit something, not because I want it, but because I need it. I still have too much debt, even though I’ve been responsible with my money. I was expecting to use part of that shop money to pay for a little trip to the Bahamas to relax and recharge. It would be a great chance to take a break. Because of his so-called adventure, that vacation is now off.
Most of my pals agree with me. They say that it is acceptable and even expected for parents to give what they can after they have worked hard all their lives and are financially stable. They tell me I need to construct a life, a future, and a home. My dad, on the other hand, has fewer years left to live. That’s just the way it is. He could use this money to make sure that his legacy lives on via me, his only child, instead of a bike or a quick trip. The best thing I could have done with that money would have been to help me secure my future.
But he doesn’t see it that way. He says that his mother would have wanted him to go on this trip. that she told him not to “stop living” after she went. That might be the case. Maybe she did want him to live. But I do know my mom. She was caring, loving, and realistic. She wanted me to do well. She used to say that she wanted me to be happy and self-sufficient, to support my career goals, and to help me buy my first home. I know mom wouldn’t want him to spend all of his money on something that was just a luxury.
I’m stuck in this horrible limbo right now. I don’t want to keep asking for something he doesn’t want to give me. I don’t like that version of myself, and it makes me angry and hopeless. Part of me wants to go, at least in my heart. to stop hoping he will step forward. to stop calling, checking in, and expecting anything. to stop caring. But another part of me still holds on to the father I used to know—the one who helped me when things got hard and made things right. I don’t know whose voice is stronger. I’m not sure which one to trust.
Money isn’t the only thing that matters. Meaning is important here. It’s about how someone you used to look up to could suddenly seem like a stranger. The main reason is grief: for my mother and, in a way, for the father I thought I still had. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I do know that something has changed between us, and I’m not sure if things can go back to how they were.