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.
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.
posted by Denise | 12:36 AM
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