Dysfunction

So my bloody birthday is tomorrow. I'm sure I'll have some fun with my friends at my party, but the rest of my day is gonna be how all my birthday's since I turned eleven were: one huge cluster(word that rhymes with "truck"). My Dad wants to see me, which is understandable seeing as my parents are divorced and he hasn't seen me for even one minute since September or October 2009. He said he'll bring me back by 6, and I said I'll check with my Mom. So I come home to tell her, she says I need to be home by 4 because I need to help set up for my party, cleaning and stuff. I say fine, but there's nothing to clean. I've dusted and vacuumed already, and who sets the table for a party? I don't care. Throw it down and people will grab. It's an informal 19 year-old's party, not a buffet line. But not my Mom. She gets angry at me, probably because she's throwing me a party and my dad hasn't done (word that sounds like skit) for us, according to her. And yet, I want to be with him. I understand her point of view, but I'm not sure she understands mine. So my Dad wasn't there when I grew up. So my golden hours with him were sitting in his room, in the basement, watching Star Trek an 10 P.M. because I couldn't see him any other time. You know what that made me? Grateful for any attention from a Father figure that I could get. My Mom is always there for me. My Dad... I need to get in all the time I can. Maybe I've got it wrong, maybe because I can't count on him I shouldn't bother. But I do. I've told this to a lot of people in private, but not in public, so I'll say it now. When my parents divorced and I heard I had visiting days every other Friday with my Dad, court-appointed, you know what I thought? It wasn't sadness if that's what you're expecting. Nope, it was joy. I was happy that I had guaranteed time with my Dad. It saved me a lot of pain. Sad that it went down that way, but whatever. It's done. Anyways, she gets really angry and decides to go for a walk. In the rain. But as a parting jab, she says I can come home at 6, when I would've come at 4 like she said to anyways. Didn't ask, by the way. Demanded. Maybe she'd get better results by being polite. Maybe I'm being hard on her because she's doing the best she can, but she should know that talking badly about my Father won't "make me understand" and see the way she does. I understand all right, but he's still my Dad, court mandate be damned. Her saying be home at 6 guaranteed I'd be home at 4 anyways, she knows when she does crap like that that I do what she said at first. If I don't, she gets angry. If I do, She gets angry. I can't win. And it happens every year. So, as always, happy birthday to me and my truckin' family. Let's hear it for dysfunction. See you on the other side.