I had loads
of homework for my “Unconscious Mind” course, very intense and time-consuming.One thing
we have to do every week is to write about the most important thing that
happened to us that week, how we felt about it being the point.
I knew
instantly what my most important thing was and it wasn’t getting a high def TV
although now that I have one I realize that having a high def TV is vital to my
existence. Heh. Anyways, I waffled back and forth about whether I will post my class
writings on my blog, my blog that I’ve practically abandoned for reasons I don’t
quite understand.
So, since I’ve been the worst blogger ever for way too long I
decided I shall buck the fuck up and post my writings. However, I reserve the
right to chicken out.
Our prof
said don’t worry about grammar because it’s about creating the flow, so there.(this
includes excerpts from a previous thing I wrote because it hit on the exact
same thing.)
Here. We. Go.
Week 1:Tender Mercies
Oddly
enough the most important thing about events of the past week was the very
un-eventfulness of it. Because it was the week leading up to Father’s Day which
used to be a real stomach-churning angst-invoking bitch of a week for me.
I grew up
with an abusive father and a pretty much powerless mother and mostly that meant
I spent a lot of time trying to find as many ways as possible to avoid being in
his line of sight, maybe that’s why I’ve always been a loner but I actually
don’t mind being alone at all and don’t feel “lonely”. I’ve just always felt
like I was on my own. But surely I digress (damn you, Unconscious Mind!) so
back to the non-eventful event.
I write
(blog), mostly humorous essays about the absurdity of Life, but often about
serious things, too. But I almost never write about my father and when I do I
keep it pretty obscure or veiled. I have some good reasons for this or at least
they seem like good reasons to me. Unlike some, I’ve never felt compelled to
tell The World all the gory details of such personal experiences but suffice it
to say that back in the day my father made the Great Santini look like a Girl
Scout.
And I never
really talk about the particulars of my “difficult childhood”.
When I was
little I thought he was Evil but now I think he was just crazy because he
hasn’t been even a little bit evil in a long time and I don’t think evilness
ever wears off but sometimes crazy does.
I forgave him a long time ago but there were feelings I had/have? about that
forgiveness that I’d never quite been able to put to rest. These things are
very hard to explain.
One of the
things that I wrestled with, father-wise, is that forgiving is not the same
thing as forgetting and this has caused me to have to deal with the duality of
having a father who’s been two entirely different fathers to me—one that was a
Horror Show, that terrorized me throughout my childhood showed me nothing even
vaguely resembling love; and the other, who he later became, a loving father
who thinks I hung the moon AND the stars. Duality indeedy.
Sometimes it would do my head in, like it always made Father’s Day a real
challenge—not because it brought up bad or sad emotions but because WTF do you
do with that duality on the day designated specifically for sugar coated sentiment
about dear old dad.
It’s not like Hallmark makes a card that says You used to be an evil bastard but now you’re pretty nice and besides
you’re full of remorse and staring down the barrel of your own mortality which
makes me feel really sad for you and then it makes me wonder how I can feel so
sad for someone who was so mean to me but lucky for you I do or you wouldn’t be
getting this lovely card. ♥
Nope, you just can’t find a Father’s Day cark like that so I always have to
wing it. I’d just call instead and say something relatively obscure. Because
saying something sentimental was just not possible, of course.
Anyhoo, the thing was that last year my 92 year-old father fell off the roof.
Yes, I did say off the fucking roof. So I went to Texas to care for him and The Goose (my mom)
who was all a-dither because she can’t handle stuff very well anymore.
When I was
there the duality was somehow reconciled—no more dueling duality. It just
happened, very subtly it shifted, it didn’t even hit me until later.
Something
about seeing him in so much pain and seeing
his fear—he was afraid he’d never be able to walk again and he was quietly
devastated by that fact. He didn’t know I was coming and when I walked into his
hospital room he was so happy that I was there his eyes were literally sparkling.
Maybe that was the first time I really
felt his love, I mean really as in a
force of nature, not a concept.
And then he
was simply my father, an old man who was in a lot of pain; a once
amazingly-agile-for-an-old-guy who knew that he had really screwed the pooch
when he climbed up on that roof. He knew he'd never be that able-bodied ever
again. For the rest of his years on this Earth. That’s a hard truth that I know
a lot about.
He’s
generally a quiet man, but he was just lying there all day not saying anything,
literally. Finally, he turned to me with an expression I’d never seen on his
face before and said “I just want to be able to get around enough to go out to
the yard, if I can just have that”
It almost
broke my heart right in two. Because I recognized that look on his face as that
of a man seeking mercy he was not sure he deserved. Maybe that’s why he only
asked for a little.
I knew the
real proof in that pudding would be when Father’s Day rolled around, whether
the struggle with the duality could really be gone ..because it was such a Big
Deal if I was really done with it.
And
evidently I am. I feel emancipated, and also, I feel like, and fully recognize,
that I have a generosity of spirit which is probably the thing I like best
about myself.
