Adapted from an online discussion.
Dear Carolyn: I’m a year out from chemo and still officially cancer-free. Also, my hair is back to normal — yay. To celebrate, I had it dyed a beautiful violet shade, my favorite color.
Now my dad is giving me so much grief about it. He keeps asking why I need everyone to notice me and ask about my cancer. I don’t care if anyone notices my hair; I did it for me. The color makes me smile every time I look in the mirror. And if anyone does mention the color, I tell them I did it because I like the color purple. I never mention cancer at all. Why would I want to talk about that? I feel good, I can run and hike again, and I want to focus on things like that.
My dad refuses to accept my explanation, because he believes everyone who does anything he considers to be out of the ordinary does it “to get attention” or to “freak people out.” I can’t seem to convince him how stupid that is, that people do things because they want to and it makes them happy.
Can you think of a way to get through to him? I’m really tired of having to listen to him criticize my hair every time he sees me. — Celebrating
Celebrating: Congratulations on your glorious purple survival-anniversary hair.
My advice is to immerse yourself in these and other rewarding parts of your life. Any bit of energy you burn trying to “convince” someone — your father or anyone else — of anything, who clearly has no interest in accepting or being gotten through to, is just going to frustrating waste.
The details of your hair are really intimate and meaningful to you — and this is your father, so of course the relationship is meaningful. But you’re allowing these facts to obscure the only ones germane to your problem: that you can’t make anyone think anything about anything. Nor is it your job to, because what you do with your hair isn’t anyone else’s business anyway, ever. Unless you’re a GI or a New York Yankee.
So stop explaining yourself. Completely.
“He keeps asking”? Okay, then — that’s his prerogative, to be as obnoxious and/or obtuse as he wants to be. You remain as utterly without obligation to explain yourself — not even the first time, but certainly not more than once. “I love it, Dad. Same answer as last time.” Over and over and over and over, verbatim, until he gets the message or forever or until you pare down to no answer at all or less and less Dad. “K Dad” zips you there in four letters. You choose your level of sweetness.
When you’ve got the nonanswer answer down to habit, please dedicate a quiet moment to this question: Which one of you, exactly, has been demanding attention here?
Those who truly believe in not seeking spotlights or freak[ing] people out know how to live and let live. Masters of the art.
READERS’ thoughts:
• You absolutely don’t need to explain yourself, you wonderful warrior, and if you were my child, I would dye my hair purple in solidarity.
• I know this father. I’m sure he’s related to mine. I was further on in life when I learned that Dad saw the things I did as a reflection on him. I wish I’d been able to say, “This isn’t about you, Dad.”
• Could your dad’s response be some delayed reaction to your cancer?
