Did my father ever do anything like that for his daughters? Had he painted murals on our walls? Built us rocking chairs? Did hegive a fraction as much of a damn about our births as Dmitri does about our son’s?
The simple answer is no. No, he had not. He hadn’t even wanted to be in the delivery room with our mother when she gavebirth to us. I vaguely remember Mom telling our neighbors about it in that jokey-serious way you share unhappy stories so youdon’t make other people feel uncomfortable about them.
The flip side of that coin was my ex. William spared no expense where his children were concerned. He used to tell me that hehad a special coordinator when he was designing his children’s nurseries. He’d spent fifty grand on each one without batting aneye.
But money meant nothing to him.
