Schloesser men have a a difficult time saying goodbye. Perhaps it came from Pop’s losing his parents to the holocaust: to him, goodbye wasn’t temporary.
As I understand it, he coped by hardly bothering with the ritual, and, when obliged to, did so brusquely.
Dad on the other hand took a more emotional approach: often expressing affection and tenderness sometimes to the point of expressing worry at departure. I wonder if his father’s underlying fear was inherited.
As for myself, I’d cling… and hate myself for it. Goodbyes can be said multiple times and thus stretched out. Whenever I notice myself doing it, I’ll wonder if it’s merely a bad habit, or if young Stephen is trying to reassure himself that this relationship isn’t over: that I haven’t done anything to deserve abandonment.
Conditional love and inconsistent boundaries from a parent fucks with you like that.
…Eventually I decided Pop’s had it right: get the damn parting over with and deal with whatever aftermath may come immediately. There’s too much to do to indulge crippling irrational fears, no matter how deeply ingrained.
Interestingly, the sometimes-rough impression is counterbalanced by an increase in relational confidence that renders any potential offenses moot.
But I still wish I was better at it.