A Letter To My Dad

This letter was written in the spring of 1991

Dear Dad,

I guess this is going to be my way to say goodbye to you. It's a shame though, that I never got the chance to say hello to you.

What can I say? I've been thinking for a long time what I would say to you if I had the chance. Not just since you died either. The sad part is, I never had the nerve to talk to you when you were alive. That's something I'll have to live with for the rest of my life. I think what you had to live with was a lot worse. You turned your back on your children. By choice. By doing that, you affected the three of us each in a different way.

I have a lot of "why" questions for you. Why did you basically desert us? Ok; you sent money. Big fucking deal. People send money to the kids in under-developed countries. That doesn't mean they know or love those children. You never had a clue who or what I was. You used to tell me when I was a little kid that you loved me. Talk is cheap, Dad. It would of been real nice if you'd taken just a little time to show it a little. For a long time I thought I did something wrong. Think about it; for my short lifetime, I had a daddy who called me, took me places, remembered my birthday and made sure he saw me at Christmas. Then it stopped. No reason, no explaination. A nine/ten year old kid is going to take it personally. I would try to contact you and be made to feel like I was "disturbing" you. Well fuck you, Dad. There is nothing a nine year old little girl can do to piss off her dad so bad that he literally withdraws from her life.

My other question is why did you say that you didn't think I was your child? It was bad enough you said it to Mom. Don't you think you hurt her enough? Did it make you feel like a man to push that knife in her back a couple more inches? If that wasn't bad enough, you had to go and tell other people in the family. By doing that, you tried to discredit Mom, take away my family, and made yourself look like a total and complete asshole. Although I doubt many members of your family saw you that way. Maybe someday I'll go to the trouble to find out. Maybe not.

I feel that by not having you as an active part of my life, I missed out on something. I don't know what. I mean, a father gives his daughter something important in her life. Something to prepare her for her future relationships with men. I never got that from you. God knows I didn't get it from Merhle. All he taught me was how to argue and think of one-liners quickly. The things I learned from you, I learned from your history. Men fuck you over, then leave. They come into your lives, let you get used to them and just when you need them, they split. But now I realize you were wrong. You fucked yourself over. You were a coward. I've had to go through a lot of shit before I sorted through it all and came up with that. I guess in the end, you taught me some pretty valuable lessons. you taught me how a man shouldn't act. You taught me what a woman shouldn't put up with. How not to treat your children. I look at how Michael and Denise turned out. I think about the things I've heard about their lives with you. I guess I was pretty lucky after all. You could of fucked me up more than you did. You haven't left permanent scars on my life like you did them.

Maybe I can start giving Merhle a chance. The chance he's deserved for the last 23 years but that I refused to give him. Because of you. I always thought that if I was nice to him or accepted him that I would be disowning you or being unloyal to you. What did I need him for? I had a Dad, didn't I? At least I thought I did. Here was a man who loved a woman so much, that he was willing to take on her and her three kids: an angry seventeen year old, a workaholic sixteen year old and a spoiled four year old who hated his guts. He didn't have a chance in hell. But he stuck it out. For better or for worse. Well, we all certainly have given each other the worse. Paul was an angry person who turned into an addict to escape the fact that his father thought he was a failure. Steve has worked his ass off to prove that he's not like Paul, and to gain your acceptance. As much as I've wanted someone to love, I've done my damndest to make sure no one would want to. I hope in your final days, you had to deal with this. I hope all of your horrible horrendous mistakes haunted you like evil ghosts from hell. The only part of you I'll carry with me is your name. One day, even that will be gone. I'll still keep the pictures of us, because you were a part of my life then. As for now, you're gone. I don't want you to be a part of my present life anymore. I don't need you anymore. You weren't there for me when I did need you, so there's no point in hanging on to you now.

There's a little girl somewhere who will always remeber you as her daddy. But the grown up has come to the point to say goodbye.

So that's what I'll do now, Dad. I'll say goodbye.

Love,
your daughter, Denise

My Dad

This is the story of my father. Who he was and what he was to me. I'm sure this is going to be a long one, so to my one reader, I apologize ahead of time!

My father died September 1990. The first thought that comes to me when I think of my dad is lost opportunity. I miss what could have been, not what was. My mom & dad divorced when I was 2. I was an accident in every sense of the word. They were actually separated and got back together for a little "hippity dippity" and there I was. As cute as I was, it was not enough to keep them together. Because you see, to be perfectly blunt, my father had a wandering dick. Unfortunately for my mom, she didn't find out until they had been married almost 17 years. After the fact, friends of theirs were nice enough to inform her that this had been a common occurance over the entire marriage (aren't friends grand?). When she found out about his latest digression, she kicked his ass out. He begged, he cried, but eventually was gone. He ended up marrying the affair (who will later be referred to as "The Barracuda"). When I was little, my dad used to come pick me up on the weekends. He lived about 45 minutes away from us. I was "Daddy's Girl" in every sense of the word. He'd call me, take me places, profess his love for me and so on and so forth. Sometimes, one of my two older brothers would take me down to his house to visit. Then, about when I turned 9, it stopped. My brothers had their own lives and didn't necessarily have time to take their little sister places. My dad was busy with is new family. He even had a step daughter with the same name as me. It was such a happy time at Christmas when I would go to his house. My presents would be labled "Denise 2". Then, my step brother married someone with the same name and I became "Denise 3". Hello!!!! I was here first! Then, the older I got, the less frequent the calls and visits became. When I was 22, my oldest brother went through rehab for a long standing drug habit. Out of the blue, my dad called me at work one day. My best friend came in and said my dad was on the phone. It was said in the same tone she would have used had the president was on the phone, as either would be equally as likely to happen. At this point it had probably been a good two years since my dad and I last spoke. He asked how my brother was and asked me to have him give him a call when I saw him. We chitty chatted about him for a few minutes and we were done. No, "How are you", "kiss my ass" or anything. A few years after that he was diagnosed with colon cancer (quite appropriate if you ask my mom!). In the meantime, over the years, I heard stories about how my dad fooled around on my mom, how the barracuda told others in our family (grandparents, aunts, uncles, etc) that the only time any of us kids called our dad was when we wanted something. My oldest brother would randomly ask dad for $5, a can of oil of some other miscellaneous bullshit "just to keep him honest" as my brother would say. The 2nd to oldest asked him once if he could borrow his pop-up trailor to go camping (which he refused because the barracuda wouldn't allow it). I asked him once to borrow $5 for gas because I was on empty, was 19 and a full time student that was perpetually broke. He had to ask the barracuda first ("because he didn't have any cash on him" - yeah, right). If I hadn't of been on fumes, I would have said never mind. But I really didn't have a choice. That is the extent of all the "things" us kids asked of him. The simplest thing he could have given us was his time and attention. The other stories were that the barracuda didn't even think I was my dad's child. That my mom had gotten pregnant by someone else and suckered my dad into paying child support for 18 years for a child that wasn't his (could be because her ex wouldn't pay for her third child that actually wasn't her ex's and he became wise to it. So in her mind, my mom "got away" with something that she didn't). Now my dad was pussy-whipped enough that he wasn't going to be a man and have a relationship with us anyway. But let me tell you boys & girls, it was a banner day in my life when I found out that the person who thought at one time that the sun rose & set in my eyes was saying he didn't think I was really his. That does wonders for the old self-esteem, let me tell you!

So my dad gets sick, and my oldest brother wants the other two of us to go see him. Really?! Doesn't that seem a bit hypocritical to try to carve out a relationship with someone because they are dying? When no one really wants it at that point? My mom's only comment was that I he definitely was going to die, and I had to decide if I would feel worse if I went or if I didn't and he died. Damn that mother guilt! It works every time. So, about two months before he died, I went and saw him. At this point he was so stoned on morphine, he didn't really have a clue. And don't you know barracuda wasn't going to give us one second alone, even for what was more than likely our last chance to see each other. She was up our ass the entire time we were there. Unfortunately, it was no more a momentous occaision that if I had been there every day for the last 20-something years. It was like any other visit to your grandmother, elderly aunt, etc. Just a nice little visit. Also unfortunate, I wasn't the person I am today. Today, I would have taken advantage of the situation and had a "real" conversation. Answers to a lot of questions I had the were never going to get answered if I didn't ask them right then.

So, instead I had to endure 6 months of therapy to get the guts to write the man a letter and read it to his grave. I'll post the letter as a separate post.

The day of his funeral the minister was talking about my dad's life. He mentioned the small coal mining town he grew up in, doing things with his brother & sisters and then the momentous occaision when he married the barracuda. I was sitting there like, "hello! you missed about 18 years where he married someone else, had 3 kids, HAD AN AFFAIR, then married the barracuda." He talked about what a great man my dad was, the neighborhood dad, friend to all. I can remember sitting there thinking "huh, who is this great guy they are talking about? I would have loved to have known him". Boy isn't that true in every respect of the word! Dad and friend to all except for his 3 kids and his one natural grandson (who had the "pleasure" of meeting him twice in his life - my nephew was 11 when my dad died). My nephew is the only person who can carry on our grand name, as my dad only had one brother who has 2 daughters. But what the hell, his step kids had kids (different last names, by the way) who could call him granddad and fulfill that need. Goody for them.

Then, the "piece de resistance" - the program they did for the funeral. It said that the barracuda, and her three kids (listed in chronological order) thanked everyone for their support and for coming. Then, in a completely different font from the entire program, it said and also the three of us. You could tell that the programs were printed, then our names were added with a typewriter as an afterthought. BITCH!! She got him and everything he had and still had to turn that screw one last time. It was told to me by one of my aunts years later that my dad and barracuda were actually seperated when he found out he was sick (he was cheating on her - SHOCK OF THE NATION!). They knew pretty early that he was terminal. So she agreed that he could come back home and she would take care of him during his "dying days" if he agreed for her to receive anything. Make sure there was no Will so that everything would automatically go to her as surviving spouse. Now my dad wasn't Donald Trump, but he had a nice little chunk of change when he died. It would have been nice for there to have been a Will and have him just give us a "shout out". Just an acknowledgement. Hell, even a "fuck you" would have been something. But no.

So, yes, I'll always have regret where my dad is concerned. Regret for the relationship that could have been. Regret for the relationship that was. Regret that I only know about him through stories (both good & bad). Regret that he never got to know the hell of a person I became and the tremendous person my son is.

Regret.

Why Am I Still Sitting Here?

It is 8:20 PM on a Friday night and I'm still sitting here at work. Why? I have the entire house to myself for the entire weekend. The boys have headed off to the beach to visit the grandparents. So what do I do? The one who is always dying for some time to herself? I sit here at work and get shit caught up. Am I demented person or what? I am definitely not the same person I used to be; the one who was out of work at the exact second quitting time hit. The difference between now and then is fewer people to play with. One friend is busy tonight, another is in Florida and one is married and 35 miles away. It's not that I won't go out by myself, because I will. For some reason I feel very lost today. Like I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do. It wasn't like it was a weekend to myself that I planned for. "Oh, I'm going to do blah blah to the house. Oh, I'm going to go blah blah with blee blah." So now I have to decide what to do. Do I do the responsible thing and actually do stuff around the house that I can't do when they are home? Do I go to a club near my house tonight and see a Stevie Ray Vaughn cover band, have a few beers and a burger and then go home? Do I say "Fuck It" tomorrow and drive to Charles Town and do a little slot playing like I've been dying to? Do I sit around the house and do absolutely nothing and watch movies all day? Not a clue. Hopefully I won't waste this golden opportunity of time alone. It's not that I mind being alone. I love it actually! I'm a firm believer that there is a huge difference between alone & lonely. You can be lonely in a large crowd. Loneliness is not something I've truly ever suffered. Alone is something I treasure, crave and enjoy the hell out of. I can definitely amuse myself. It's just trying to decide the avenue I intend to travel to do so that has got me stumped this time!

Should be interesting to see how this whole thing plays out.

Blog Description #1

"And then one day you find ten years have got behind you. No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun. So you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking. Racing around to come up behind you again. The sun is the same in a relative way but you're older, Shorter of breath and one day closer to death."

Pink Floyd

20....Something - A Survivor's Story

This post was inspired by Jasika.

Well, I'm hear to tell you, it does all come to an end. It does get better, you do get out of debt (so to speak!), you do find true love and you do look back on it like "Damn, I had a kick-ass time!". Hard to believe? Allow me to enlighten you!

My Twenties..........A Retrospect:

Famous phrases: "I'm so broke I can't even pay attention!" "At this point, I couldn't even get a loan for a pack of gum!" (Do you see a common theme here?)

Concerts Attended (Remember; it was the 80's!): 41 - Huey Lewis & The News, Lynard Skynyrd (twice), Roger Waters, Jimmy Page, Eric Clapton, Bon Jovi, Yes, Rush, Robert Plant (4 times), Jimmy Buffett (twice), Tim Allen, Foreigner, 38 Special, Heart, Billy Joel (3 times), The Firm, Kix, Journey, Psycedellic Furs, Alabama, Stevie Nicks, Billy Idol, Statler Brothers (twice), Billy Squier, Eddie Murphy, Prince, Orioles (4 times), Redskins, Preakness (twice).

Number of Times Went To College: 3 times: University of Maryland, College Park - 1 year, Montgomery College, Rockville Campus 1 semester, 2 separate occaisions.

Number of Majors: 3 (journalism, computer programming, paralegal).

Doing anything close to those majors now? Not even close

Number of times moved: 10 - 3 times back to Mom's

Number of times my heart was broken: Too many by the same person, twice by another (I was a glutton for punishment!), once by another.

Number of friends I still have from then: 2

Typical day then: Oversleep, be late to work. Work (usually hungover). Leave at quitting time ON THE DOT, proceed immediately to happy hour (which turned into happy night), stop at 7-11 for cigs, a soda and a hot dog (the dinner of champions!) go home, do a doob, cry, write in my journal, wonder when my life would remotely improve, wonder when I would find someone to love and that actually loved me back, wonder how I could possibly fuck up my life anymore than it was right now, wonder how I was going to scrape up enough money to buy gas & cigarettes the next day, pass-out. The only variance was the assorted times I was working 2 jobs, which "go to second job" would proceed happy hour, after which I would meet up with everyone after I got off, then proceed on schedule from that point on!

Typical day now: Oversleep, get husband & child dressed & out the door. Be late to work. Work. Leave at 6 if I have to pick up child from preschool. If not, leave work by 8:30. Go home, fix dinner, get child ready for bed, fight about getting child ready for bed, put child to bed, watch a couple of hours of TV, fall asleep in front of the TV, get up & go to bed. (Really? This is what I was wishing for all those years? Nah, just kidding!)

So see, enjoy every painful, mundane, boring, lonely, kick-ass, passionate, exciting moment you experience. You will make it through. The memories when you look back will be mostly good ones. The painful stuff you tend to forget after awhile! Besides, life is nice enough to toss you new shit to worry about in your 30's & 40's! Be thankful you have this site to pour every ounce of pain & happiness into. I only had a word document that ended up being 1200 pages!

So I hope this has helped, even a little. I may be a bit looney now, but now you can see that it was a long, strange (& great!) trip to get here!