My sister next to me was very advanced in High School. She was always an honor student, etc, etc. They were discussing my sister finishing High School a year early (which she did) and what school she wanted to attend for higher education. She was talking about her chances of getting into George Washington University in Washington, D.C. – a very good school (she did get accepted and did go to G.U.)
I was kind of daydreaming about southern California right about then. Our next door neighbor had just moved back from southern Cal. He was a graphic artist, about twenty five years old, and he was teaching me how to play the guitar. His tales of California made me want to experience it for myself. He spoke of how genuinely friendly people were out there, the beautiful people, he would say. I thought everyone in California was gorgeous when I was thirteen.
This made me think of attending college on the west coast, and knowing abso-fucking-lutely nothing about California, or college for that matter, I thought U.S.C. would be a just a great location (remember I had just turned thirteen).
So getting back to the conversation we were having in my Mother’s 1973 Royal Blue Cadillac Sedan de Ville on that fateful day, I made an off-hand comment that I wanted to go to college at U.S.C.
My father then said “Patrick’s going to the gutter college, that’s where he’s going.” My mother was horrified and castigated my father immediately. With about five whole fucking words. Then we sat in an uncomfortable silence until we got home.
My “uncomfortable silence” would haunt me the rest of my life, so far anyways. At the ripe old age of thirteen for no reason at all my father let me know he thought I was a piece of shit. That was a moment in time that changed my life, in a very seriously negative way, and is imprinted on my psyche like it happened an hour ago. I can remember the weather, time of day, what I was wearing, and of course how stunned I was by hearing something so brutal come out of nowhere. I would have been devastated if a stranger had said that to me.
Oh quit your fucking crying! Boo fucking Hoo you pussy, we all have problems with our parents. Some of them make that bullshit look like a vacation in the Caribbean.
Of course some people can put up with years of physical abuse from poverty stricken parents and survive with their mental health intact. Then there are those that fall apart mentally with disastrous results as a result of simply being yelled at. Or simply ignored. Or loved too much, who knows.
That’s the point – who knows? Who knows how strong a person is mentally, do you know if you yourself are strong mentally? Probably you do. Most times if you are so far gone you, yourself do not know it, shit I can’t even figure out how to end this sentence.
The confusion my father instilled in me that day with that one fucking comment really opened my eyes to human nature. The fact that your parents are not perfect, that they too can have personality faults. The same ones they are constantly berating you for having. Anger management issues, spousal fidelity, selfishness, greed, sloth, envy, and all kinds of other poodle shit thrown in for good measure. I found out my father, Mister Fucking Perfect Himself, was guilty of all of these things.
But I just wish I didn’t find all this out when I was thirteen. Thirty, maybe, but thirteen is just too fucking young. What did my father expect of me at that age? One of the worst parts about this whole thing is I thought my father might actually be proud of me for even thinking about taking an interest in college at that age.
This whole thing came as a real surprise for me that day, I sure as hell never thought my father felt downright contempt towards me. Why would I at that age? Or why would he is the important question.
Well the son of a bitch died before I could ascertain what his fucking problem with me was. I never got to the point where I was old enough, big enough, strong enough or had enough support from the rest of my family to confront him.
That day started a torrent of physical and mostly mental abuse from my father that lasted until the day he finally left me alone, the day he died. I’ve always searched for answers, especially from the people that were right there at the time. I guess my mother made some cursory attempts to get him to leave me the fuck alone, but those are things that they would never, ever tell me about, even to this day.
My older sister and brother did nothing, by this time they were pretty much on their own, my brother was given a bar/restaurant on his eighteenth birthday and my oldest sister was attending the University of Connecticut. Not too shabby. I don’t know if they knew what was going on, they certainly didn’t care, I know that for sure. Should they have? I would have if I were them, but they had a lot to lose if they ostracized my father.
My sister that was one year older than me took great delight in pitting my father against me. She certainly knew what would happen to me if she ratted on me or fought with me in my father’s presence. She never “had my back”, just the opposite. She ratted me out every chance she got and going to the same school just a year apart, in a small town, well, it’s hard to keep some things private.
I’ve given up my search for the truth about my father’s animosity towards me. It wouldn’t matter anyways, and that’s the problem I have been dealing with my entire life.
Even if I had found out the answers to my questions thirty-five years ago my father was dead before I could ever “address” whatever his fucking-asshole problem was. No chance for closure there.
As I mentioned earlier this is a mild example of improper childcare and it fucked me up pretty bad. I never wanted my own children because I was always afraid I’d turn out to be like my father.
People, my dear beloved readers, be careful what you say to your kids. Just the responsibility of “watching your mouth” can be staggering. These days the wrong words will probably get you thrown in jail. I guess the children of my era were finally able to put their foot down when it came to trying to enforce proper mental well being for the generations to come. At least we got the ball rolling on that one.
You can probably tell at this point that this isn’t one of my funnier columns. If you have been laughing at this the whole time you are a complete sick fuck and I’d really like to have a cocktail with you. If you haven’t been laughing, if you can relate on any level, my heart goes out to you...
Selah!
No comments:
Post a Comment