My parents and I have always been quite close. We were very close and weren’t just family in the usual way. The kind of closeness that comes from years of eating meals together, spending peaceful evenings together, traveling together, and giving each other emotional support all the time. Even though we didn’t always say how we felt, my father and I had a connection based on respect and understanding. While she was alive, my mother was the emotional core of our home, keeping everything and everyone together. I thought that my relationship with my father would get better after she died, not worse.
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 part of what made us a family. I saw how hard my father worked on the small elements of that garage, and I learned how hard effort and determination can keep a business going. I assumed that part of that heritage would come back to me as support when he finally let it go, but I was wrong. not just money but also family. Since he was retired and my mother had died, I felt he would be ready to take a breather, ponder, and invest in the following generation, which was me.
He scared me instead. He used the money from the sale of the store to buy a brand-new Harley-Davidson motorcycle that cost more than $35,000. He then said that he was going on what he called “my last great adventure,” which was a road trip across the country. He didn’t talk like a parent in his 70s who had just lost a child. Instead, he talked like a teenager who was excited to earn 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 simply trying to afford a little condo and some stability.
The money isn’t the only thing that hurts. It’s what it stands for. It suggests that his freedom and pleasure are more important than my safety or future. I didn’t ask for a freebie. I hoped for collaboration, understanding, and maybe even the support network that my parents had always promised me would be there for me. Instead, I got laughs and casual comments. He laughs off any sign of emotion I show 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 can, but it seems like he is doing so at the cost of leaving me when I need him the most.
I’ve always wanted to inherit something, not because I’m greedy, but because I need it. I still have too much debt, even though I’ve lived a decent life. I was expecting to use part of that shop money to pay for a little trip to the Bahamas to relax and recharge. It was a great chance to take a break. That vacation is now canceled because of what he calls a “adventure.”
Most of my pals agree with me. They say that after a lifetime of hard work and after they have enough money, it is reasonable and even expected for parents to give what they can. They say, “I have a life to build, a future to build, and a house to build.” My dad, on the other hand, doesn’t have many years left to live. That’s just how it is. With this money, dad could make sure that his legacy lives on via me, his only child, instead of a bike or a quick trip. The most important thing I could have done with that money was to help me make my future more stable.
But that’s not how he sees it. 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. Maybe that’s true. Maybe she did want him to stay alive. But I do know my mother. She was caring, loving, and practical. She wanted me to do well. She used to say that she wanted me to be happy and self-sufficient, to help me with 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 would be seen as a luxury.
I’m stuck in this awful limbo right now. I don’t want to keep asking for something he won’t give me. I don’t like that version of me, and it makes me feel angry and hopeless. Part of me wants to leave, at least in my heart. to stop hoping that he will step up. to stop calling, checking in, and expecting anything. to stop caring. But another part of me still remembers the father I used to know—the one who came through for me, fixed things, and helped me when things became hard. I don’t know whose voice is stronger. I don’t know which one to trust.
There are other things to think about than money. Meaning is important here. It’s about how someone you’ve always looked 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 will happen next, but I do know that things have changed between us, and I’m not sure if they can go back to how they were.