A Daughter's Choice

I have been having thoughts about some of the men in my past, especially my father, who I chose to ostracize from my life -for good- when my son was born last July. It’s difficult for me to talk about my father, not because I care for him, but because his mother was one of the greatest people that I have ever met in my entire life. She’s been gone for almost 4 years, but yet I still feel forever indebted to her for all the things that she ever taught me, for the times that we shared and the love that she always had for me. So, when I speak negatively about my father, I always feel that I am doing a great injustice to her memory. I hope that she understands.

I remember it was Father’s Day, I was 4, and getting ready to go visit with my father. My mother was helping me button my shirt. I wished that I didn’t have to go, like I did every weekend the courts stipulated I had to be with him. I knew it was difficult for her to let me go, and even at that age, I knew perfectly well why. We were in the middle of her bedroom, in our little 2 bedroom apartment, bright sunlight coming in the window, when she handed me a little picture frame. In it was a poster of a calm beach, sea gulls flying close to the water, and the poem ‘Footsteps’ written in Spanish along the side. I took it from her, not really understanding what I was supposed to do with it, when she said it was a Father’s Day present for me to give to my father. I looked at it again, feeling sad in knowing that she had spent her hard earned money on something that he would take one look at and toss aside. Never mind that it probably only cost about $3, or that she did it for me and not him, but years later, I cried for her overlooked gesture when the picture resurfaced in my grandmother’s house, with the glass shattered and water stains on the faded picture.

It’s uncanny how some things just stick to our minds like that and for what seems like ages. There are so many stories of him to be told, that sometimes I loose track and think that I am revisiting some old fictional novel that I read at some point in my life. But it is not, and I still bear the emotional scars to prove it. Nope, I surely don’t even miss him, the sad, defeated look in his face, his bloated face, his slurred speech, his lies. I never thought his alcoholism was a disease, but rather his life choice. I recall very clearly the last time I saw him… it was September of 2003. I flew back home to visit my family and, as usual, what started out as a weekend getaway from my ex-husband and my boring suburban life in Houston, turned into a two week vacation. We met at a restaurant. I don’t know why I thought things would be different, I was probably still very naïve at the time, but he was the same asshole he had always been. I know everyone needs at least one asshole in their life, but considering I had left one behind in Houston, this one I just didn’t want to have to deal with.

We sat and had dinner. He wasn’t drinking. Not even a beer. I thought he was making an effort much too large to impress me by now, especially since in the 20-something years of my existence, and through the seemingly constant pleas from his mother, myself and other family members, he had never made any effort to stop drinking, killing in his denial any kind of positive relationship that he could have ever fostered with his children or any of the 3 people he shared his life with and who had since moved on… far on. He mumbled on and on about something. It really didn’t matter. All I know is that whatever had moved me, for years, to continue beating myself emotionally by giving him some kind of space in my heart and in my life, was now non-existent. I wanted out… out of the restaurant… out of that relationship. It took me one single moment to come to terms with it all, to realize that people just don’t ever change, that he would forever continue to be the self-centered asshole that had plenty to develop life-long, self-gratifying dependencies, but never enough to feed his children. As I sat there, numb, trying to look interested in his newly found sobriety, I couldn’t help but feel pitiful that the person before me was, at one point, portrayed in my mind as this larger than life action character, but was now just a raggedy, old prune. I felt so angry and all I could think was: “What a waste of my fucking time to think that he would ever give a damn about me!” Here he was proclaiming to be sober, yet there was not even a hint of an apology for all of the damage and neglect he had caused me… and it never came. He was lying, and I knew it, and I wanted to run away from it as quickly as possible.

So what, might one ask, would drive someone to such a drastic change of tune? Here’s a list of *highlights* from the journals of the asshole I called father for so long:

• Claiming to be at church during my birth… then showing up hours later followed closely by the most disgusting stench of alcohol in the planet.

• Going drinking on a Friday night, asking a girl to marry him, having her show up at his door the next morning –with her mother- so that they could start preparing for the wedding. The girl showed up, only to be greeted by my mother, who promptly made her aware that she was his wife. So glad they both wised up and left his sorry ass! I was a newborn.

• Forgetting to pick me up at school on a Friday afternoon. Thankfully, a teacher who had stayed late on that particular day, called my mother to let her know that I was found all alone in school grounds at 6pm and to please pick me up as soon as possible. I was 4.

• Filling my head with lies about my mother, just so that I would side with him and think he was the poor little martyr that everyone is trying to take advantage of. I was 5.

• Telling me all sorts of crap about my mother’s new husband so that I would not accept him as a Dad and proceed to cause trouble in their marriage. This is called sabotage. I was 5. The problem is that I love this man to pieces –he has always been and will FOREVER be my real father- regardless of any situation he and my mother go through. But, for the record, 25 years later, they are still happily married.

• Calling on a Friday afternoon to say he was 15 minutes away and would be picking me up shortly. By Sunday afternoon, I would be still waiting, unpacking my suitcase, blaming myself for his absence, and crying. Every time the phone rang I trembled thinking it was the police calling to tell me that he had been found dead in some gutter. I was 7.

• Finally realizing that he had a duty to fulfill as a parent and picking me up on a given Friday to spend the weekend together. Then, as soon as the clocks hit 8pm on Friday night, he would dump me off at my grandmother’s house, never to be seen again. I would have to call my mother on Sunday afternoon -holding back tears- to have her pick me up. I was 8.

• Showing up at his house at 4am, drunk off his ass, waking up his pregnant wife (now his ex) so that she would cook for him. All the while, his children, sleeping in the next room, were being disturbed by his cussing and yelling during his drunken stupor. I was 8.

• Having temper attacks to the point that he would get escorted out of public places- under arrest and handcuffed- while on ‘family’ outings.

• Nickel and dimeing his ex-wives to pay as minimum a child support payment as possible, so that he had more money to go out and pay hookers, bartenders, and drug dealers for their *services*.

• Claiming that my mother stole money from him, when I know for a fact that he rarely -if ever- paid the miserable $150-a-month child support payment stipulated by the courts.

• Claiming he was unemployed so that he didn’t have to pay for his children, when he owned an investment bank that generated a substantial amount of profit.

• Going out and drinking heavily at a bar, only to come home to tell his then wife that he had no money left to buy milk for his infant son and daughter!! WTF?! They were infants!!!!

• Taking his 8-year-old son to a corner bar to shoot pool with a bunch of other drunken assholes he called friends, so that he would “understand the things that men do.” Whatever. To this day, I still wish someone from CPS had been casually walking by and taken the kid from him. Then again, any CPS agent walking those kinds of neighborhoods at any time of day would have had to be fired anyway.

• Agreeing with his ex-live-in-girlfriend to not ever see or attempt to find his son, in exchange for not having to pay child support –ever. SUCKER!!! I was soooooo happy when, years later, this came to bite him right in the ass. She came back to the courts claiming he had not paid a dime in child support for her now 9-year-old child. He was locked up for a day, while his now ex-wife scrambled to bail him out before he would become the platter of the day at the jail house, and all the while badmouthing the child’s mother. How appropriate that, years later, she would find herself in the EXACT same situation.

• Telling me that I was a ‘bad daughter’ for not ever showing him my report card. First of all, I was in college, ok? Besides, he was the asshole who refused to send me $500 for tuition and left on a three-week vacation to Italy the very NEXT day! I know he thinks he paid for my college degree... but he didn't... I have thousands of dollars in student loans to prove it!
  

• Having a female ‘friend’ for over 25 years, even through his marriages and other relationships, and keeping her hidden from his wives. This is called infidelity to everyone else in the PLANET, but to him, it was completely normal behavior.

• Buying two cars -for me- neither of which I ever got. Buying a kayak -for me- that I never used. Sending me to out-of-state college for 7 years -on $2,000. Giving me $5,000 for my wedding –in the form of Monopoly money. Giving me $12,000 as a wedding gift to put down on a house -all Monopoly bills. Stealing over $20,000 from my grandmother’s inheritance, stealing my great-grandmother’s jewelry to pawn for drug money… you name the filthy, ruthless, stink of a lie… it has most definitely come out of his pie hole.
  

• Refusing to attend my wedding because it was “too difficult” for him to accept –in front of all his family- that I was not walking down the aisle arm in am with him. Duh! His family has ALWAYS known just how neglectful a father he has been all his shitty little life.
  

• Having a temper tantrum when I forgot to give back my great-grandfather’s journal and promised to bring it back later. He proceeded to throw a wedding picture I gave him, of his two other children, right back at me and kick me out of his house. I didn’t talk to him after that for a very long time… until his wife apologized for him. Things were NEVER the sdame, though. I was 27.
  

• Claiming to be taking care of my grandmother, who died of Alzheimer’s disease, while she lived in filth, in a little town in the mountains, without any close relatives nearby, no medication refills, no groceries, relying on the kind hearts of her former students –people who were now in their 60’s and in need of assistance themselves- to take care of every minimal need she had, allowing for her money to be stolen by other relatives, falsifying her checks to fund his vices … and then being the first one to line up at the attorney’s office after she died to claim a piece of the pie.

• Trying to convince me -against all my will, my memories, and all of the evidence that proved contrary- that the reason why he was a ratty-ass parent and stood me up was because my mother hid me from him. WTF?! Never mind that I still have the memories of my mother, step-father and sisters leaving WITHOUT ME for a weekend outing, and I would stay home, waiting on this asshole just to have him not show up for the entire weekend!!!
  

Need I say more? It’s a miracle I turned out sane… right? Through it all, I must say that I learned quite a deal. I lost my childhood at a very early age because I had to continually deal with parents who could not get along. I understand now that the decisions my mother made regarding my father and which, at the time, made me think she was the culprit for his lack of responsiveness with me, were done out of love and protection for her beloved child. Her father abandoned her too, and just like me, she turned her back on him forever. I know it hurt her then, but she had no choice. I had the opportunity to meet him, but chose not to. Unfortunately, my sister ventured -out of curiosity- and was left feeling angry and hurt after he refused to acknowledge her presence. So, I choose to think that I am protecting my child the only way I have been taught how: by turning my back against that which will cause him pain, even if it is his grandfather, blood of my blood, blood of his blood. But I know my father will never care for my son, ever... it's just not in his nature. I have come to the realization that this is not a loss for anyone involved. I am, however, protecting my son from the thoughts of inadequacy that are triggered by the blame children put on themselves when confronted with these kinds of situations... thoughts that I still have to struggle with, that have spilled onto other aspects of my life, and that will probably never fade. I just hope that, someday, if my son finds out who his blood grandfather is, he too will understand.