I was born in 1980. My father's name is Patrick. I don't even know his middle name. He is a tall, big and a physically strong man. He has had a big bushy black mustache for as far back as I can remember. He once owned a very successful landscaping company and he was a very good pitcher. He was scouted by the Yankees and Orioles but he knocked up my mother and gave up on his baseball dreams and went to work. He had four children. Keith, Lynnae, Jeannette and me (Charles) and in that order. My brother and I are 16 years apart. Lynnae and I are 14 years apart and Jeannette and I are 2 years apart. He had "the American Dream." He had a family and was making a ton of money and a house and so on and so forth. He threw it all into a bottle and lost it all. My mother and father were divorced when I was 2. He had it all and he made a choice to abuse his family and drive them away and drink his life away.
My brother and older sister went with my father and of course the babies went with my mother. My father stayed in the house while my mom moved into a one bedroom apartment. I didn't really know what happened during that time until my older sister and I sat down and discussed it. My father would leave my sister and brother alone for days and days while he was off drinking. My brother would steal food from his job at the local grocery store so my sister and him could eat. He wouldn't pay the bills so the utilities were turned off. The police boarded up the house while my sister was huddled inside and my brother and sister squatted in the house my father used to own for days until they went to mom and moved in. We had five people living in a one bedroom apartment. My brother graduated high school and joined the Navy and was gone for years. My sister went through a troubled time and after a while of living with my mom and step dad a few years later, she ran away to California and joined the Air Force.
Now back to my father...he moved into a trailer park with his girlfriend and eventual wife. I would see him every other weekend or so. One of the earlier memories I have of him was when my brother and I were visiting him and he beat the everloving shit out of my brother. When my mom came to pick us up, I ran to her and yelled "That man hit Keith!". I also remember his sour breath, cigarette smoke and beaded doorways. The visits between us got more and more sparse. The phone calls for me became non existent. The gifts got cheaper and cheaper and then nothing at all. From 5 to 12, I think I saw him 10 times. My mom dropped us off to bowl with him once after church and I think that was the last time I saw him until I was 11. He visited us once at our house in Easton. He gave my sister a battery operated AM/FM radio. He gave me a coffee mug that said "Jesus Is The Reason For The Season"...it was August and I was 11.
My sister invited him to her 8th grade graduation. He showed up and I was scared. I was a scared preteen. He showed up with his other son and my half brother Aaron. Aaron was about 5 years younger than me. He sat next to my father during the ceremony and I looked at him with envy as my father joked around with him. I wanted to push him away and push my head into my father shoulder and wait for his acceptance but I would only know that it would never happen. After the ceremony, there were refreshments in the basement of the school. I went to my father and asked him for something. The only time I have ever or will ever ask him for anything. I asked him "Would you come to my championship baseball game on Thursday?" He asked me, "What position do you play?" I said "Third base." He said "You're too fat to play third." He laughed and slapped my stomach. I backed away and walked out of the room. I spent the rest of the night crying while hiding in the coat room.
Fast forward four years. My sister Jeannette somehow kept a relationship with him for years. She was about to graduate high school. The phone rang one night and I answered it. "Is Jeannette there?" I recognized the voice. I got my sister and sat in the other room on the computer. My mom asked me who was on the phone and I said "Patrick". My sister had about a twenty minute conversation with him. At one point my sister said, "He is right here, do you want to talk to him." She never handed the phone to me and I can only assume him answer. My mom asked me if I was okay and I just told her that he was probably drunk.
When I was 17, I got a job a local convenient store. I liked that job a lot. It was close to home, the pay was good and the hours were good as well. One fall afternoon, I was working the cash register. A big, broad shouldered man with black hair and a bushy mustache walked up to the counter and asked me, "Give me a pack of Marlboro Reds." I looked up and saw my father. He had no idea who I was. I rang him up, gave him his change and said "Have a good day." in a broken voice. I told my co-worker that I would be back in a few. I went to the backroom and punched the ice machine and put a huge dent in it. I broke down crying. It was just another smack in the face from a man who didn't deserve my emotions. While I was sitting on the floor and holding my head, I made the choice of not doing this anymore. I need to move on. I need to forgive this man and move on. I wouldn't let this anger and pain control me anymore. He wasn't going to change and I can't let him change me for the worse. I would take this pain and turn into something positive. I would take this anger and funnel it into my love for music, art and politics. If I ever had a child, I would be there for them. I would never abandon them. I would never turn my back or walk away. I would be there for each birthday and baseball game.
I now have two children. Two boys for me to love and nurture. A wife for me to never hit but to only grow with. I will not lie, it is hard at times. It is frustrating and painful. It would be so easy to follow the path of my father but that is the easy way to do things in life. A way that is followed by countless numbers of men and women. I don't want the easy way.
Have Heart - Bostons
"The irish temper, it's history's chains,
and the bottle's stain that just won't wash away.
but a seed was planted in the sod of nothingness from which you came,
and flowers grew and roses bloomed
to form this garden of a life you've made.
And in this city you once knew as hell
is a garden where i enjoy myself.
And in this father I hardly know
was a son who took back what the bottle stole
so i could be the boy you couldn't be
have the father you didn't get to see
have the youth you did not get to live
or feel the love this world forgot to give.
And for this gift i don't deserve to get
i'll make damn sure i earn this."
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment