Father of Mine.....

When I was five years old, I was awakened one night to hear my mother crying hysterically. After the initial shock of what had woke me, I started paying attention to the words my mother was screaming. “Please don’t leave us! Please don’t leave us! Don’t do this, please!” I didn’t know what it was about but the next day I could tell that things were different. Around 4:30 the next afternoon, I grabbed my baby blanket (yes, I still carried it everywhere at 5 years of age), and took my usual position on the bench in the kitchen where my mother was preparing dinner and we would wait together for my father to come home. Dinner came and went and he never showed up. The next afternoon, I waited in the usual place with the same result. This continued for weeks and weeks. Mom and I would wait and he would never come home until one day, the bench was gone. It turns out the two things he wanted in the divorce was the telephone and that bench, but I doubt he would have wanted it if he knew its real significance.

My mother was the daughter of an impossible, hateful woman that made it her goal in life to make her husband and daughters more miserable than she was, which was quite a task since she was quite possibly the most miserable person on the face of this large planet. Two things to mention about my mother and my two aunts; they grew up dirt poor and that bombardment of bitterness and hatred that they endured as children would haunt them every day for the rest of their lives. When my father left, my mother had accumulated 1 semester of college credit, no savings, no income, and no self confidence to speak of. Because of these circumstances and her desire for me to have the family that she never did, we moved around a lot. My mother remarried three more times after my father and each of them offered me a different hard lesson of how NOT to be a man. There was the “drunken Irishman,” who coincidently didn’t drink, wasn’t Irish, but was an abusive son of a bitch. There was the “difficult one,” who didn’t need to hit because he was 6 foot 4, three hundred some pounds who ruled over a woman and a child that were victims of physical abuse. After the “difficult one” was the “crazy one,” but we’re not going to talk about that one because he might be internet savvy enough to find my blog so let’s not burn our bridges just yet!

In all of these different living experiences and during the times when my mother and I lived alone, all I could think of was the family that I was going to have someday. On the nights that “drunken Irishman” was at his worst, I would hide under my bed, pray for deliverance, and ease myself to sleep with the thoughts of how I was going to be as a father. As my mother would cry at night trying to figure out where the rent was going to come from, I would think about how my family would never have to endure this pain. As my mother and I were trying to make the decision of whether to move to Arkansas with “the difficult one” or stay at home with our social network and “watch our spending” I would think about how my family would never be in this position. And when I found “the crazy one” passed out on the floor in a drug induced coma…… well, that just goes without saying. As mistake after mistake began accumulating in my young adult life, the thing that was so hard was coming to grips with the notion that maybe a family just wasn’t for me. I was getting to nearly 500 pounds and my unsuccessful battles with emotional disorders led me to believe that the world would be better off if I didn’t reproduce and then that made the “bottom of the barrel,” so to speak, even harder to take.

Today, I am much lighter, much healthier, and in the situation of my dreams. “My queen” is the love of my life and she has a daughter, “my princess” that is an absolute joy. The problem is that she is seven and “my queen” and I have been dating for seven months now so you do the math. Because of previous bad influences of both of our lives, I don’t think I’ll ever have the official title of step-father, but even now I know I’m part of the team and that’s a monumental responsibility. I don’t know anything about kids. Pathetic as it may be, but I only learned how to properly take care of MYSELF a year ago and here I am, an active participant in the task of molding this young woman’s life and all I can think about is all of these bad examples of how not to behave and that I have no examples of how to act. I love being a part of a family, but I do have to admit that the idea of this being a full-time job adds a lot of pressure and some days I just don’t feel strong enough to handle it.

I’m sure that all fathers go through that, but I don’t know if I qualify because I’m not a father. She already has one of those. So, where do I fit in? What is my responsibility? In my life, I’ve yet to see a man that was an adequate husband, boyfriend, or father. So, the question is:

HOW CAN I BE A MAN THAT I DON’T REALLY KNOW EXISTS?

How many bad apples do you see in a batch before you just assume that maybe they’re all bad apples and look for something else? One lesson that I’ve learned the hard way is to have realistic expectations for yourself. With that said, defining the bottom parameter just isn’t good enough. As history looks back on this situation, the credit or blame for the future of “my princess” will be given to her mother and her father and I will surely be overlooked, but that doesn’t make me any less responsible. I think what worries me is that I share the responsibility without the natural, instinctive motivation to help my offspring thrive and survive. Granted, there are parents all over the world that have that instinct and end up teaching by bad example.

One final aspect is that my girlfriend, “my queen” is a breast cancer survivor. Though that gives her an incredible perspective on life and the world we live in and an optimism that is restoring my faith and love in humanity, as somebody put It recently, “she has had chemotherapy and is unsure that she can ever again become pregnant.” It’s clear to me, without a doubt, that having not only a partner, but this partner is the best way to compliment my life. My girlfriend and my lover is also my best friend and closest companion. She and “my princess” are the two special keys to doors I never thought would be opened and I had started to pile storage and refuse in front of them. What I am afraid of is that my never having a child of my own will have an adverse affect on the upbringing of this bright little light in my life. I just want to be the best figure that I can be in this young woman’s life no matter what it takes.

On a positive note, if I’m worried this much about it, I must be doing a pretty good job!!!

“Now I’m a grown man, with a child of my own….. I swear I’m not gonna let him know, all the pain I have known….” Everclear