Dad in Journal

My Dad showed up at my house the other day without any warning. He didn’t call, didn’t text, never mentioned that he wanted to stop by at all.
In fact I didn’t even realize that it was him until he later asked why I wasn’t home that day. I had seen a truck turn around in my driveway- something that happens not too infrequently, and told DH about it bc it was there for a few moments while I was distracted with my baby. I wasn’t sure if there was anything in the yard to steal. Nothing was missing or stolen, however, and it passed out of my mind until Dad texted asking why I wasn’t home.
The feeling I got was one of mixed fear, anxiety, and protectiveness. I was relieved that he hadn’t actually knocked on the door, because I would have answered without checking to see if was him or not. I would have thought it was a delivery. And I would’ve been an unprepared mess.
I’m still thanking Glob that didn’t happen.
It’s very difficult to describe how my Dad is. He’s not a large man. Rather small and sinewy, but very strong and incredibly reactive. I don’t talk to him much. I don’t think I’ve really talked to him in over a year. Ironically, he is a talkative guy. He chats everyone up and tries to make them laugh. I don’t really remember a time that I ever loved or even liked him.
Anyway, when he texted about how I wasn’t home, he asked when I would be home. I asked why he wanted to know.
“To chat” he said.
Hm. Odd. After a year of no talking (other than very slight communication about mom and such) he wants to talk to me? So I asked, “So you want to talk? What about?”
He responded “Mom said you need to talk to me.”
Now that was very weird to me. Because mom did ask me if I wanted to talk to Dad, and I was very clear and decisive and unambiguous in my answer. NO. Absolutely not.
So I asked, just to make sure, “She did?”
“Ya.” he said. “Stuff.”
-.- I’m to the point of frustration and anger that he is bothering me at all and not answering my direct questions about why he wants to show up at my house. I’m pretty annoyed that he already did show up unannounced. He doesn’t care about how I might feel about a random drop in, or about how I feel about even talking to him. So I just tried to end the convo, express a little exasperation, and possibly provoke an actual response,
“That sounds really vague. Did someone die?” lol, there are actually a couple old people in the family that aren’t doing so hot, so it made some sense.
He just responded, “Do you want to talk or not?”

So basically he confirmed my suspicion that not only has he not changed- he can’t even admit to either wanting to talk to me himself or telling the truth about what mom said- but that he still doesn’t give a fuck about me. Surprise.
I don’t mean to say I told you so, mom. But I told you so.
Part of me is kind of ashamed of that, because it’s exactly the attitude my Dad had toward me all my life. I’m not a person, I’m just a child object, to be talked about and made fun of, to be labeled and given no agency at all.

It’s so odd to experience the results of true projection from a parent while being aware of it.
I wasn’t aware of that before, but now it is all too real.