Actually, I just experienced the 8th. It’s 1 am right now.
I just got back from Bill & Sharon’s place – we watched a movie called ‘Dickie Roberts – child star’ or something like that with David Spade.
I think the thing that I wanted to write about was my experiences with my father or lack thereof. At the end of the movie, Paxton started fussing in his room, and Bill went and got him. In the few minutes before I left, I got a glimpse of something distinct that I missed out on in life – Fatherly Love. Bill just held Paxton on his chest and hugged and joked with him (“Paxton, guess what?” “Wha” “I love you.”) I never have experienced that kind of love from a man. My father was a complete absentee father. I recall the memories I had of him.
The first I think was when I was youngest, though I don’t know my actual age. I recall sitting with him at my desk where the firewood would later be stored, and feeling really strange because I wanted to kiss him, but I didn’t know if that was right – him being a guy and all… I don’t recall how it turned out, but the confusion of not knowing what was okay is something that I still sometimes wonder about.
The second memory was a brief visit that my dad took to come to Juneau to pick up his tools – he was over at his friends house at 17 mile. I don’t recall much, but I remember that I got to go see him there. It still makes me wonder why that was the meeting location, and why it was so brief.
The third was while he was passing through town on the ferry. He only had a little while, so I think I was able to spend something like 45 minutes with him. He had this ratty Xerox paper box with stuff in it. While sitting there chatting with him and trying to think of significant things to say in less than an hour, I remember seeing a little matchbox car mixed in. It was already well used – the little antenna on the top, and the two guns off of either side of the hood were all bent. It looked kinda like a shorter heurst, though more sporty. I don’t know what it was supposed to be, but it was a toy, and he gave it to me (after I asked to have it).
The final memory was of a phone call. It was likely around 8:30, because I recall my mom getting the call, and then allowing me to chat, though I was supposed to be in bed. After a few minutes on the phone, she prompted me to get off to go to bed. I’d bet that the bed thing was a scapegoat because if I remember correctly, later on, my mother informed me that he had been drinking and she didn’t want me on the phone with him while he was in that state.
Four brief glimpses, four indelible experiences. That and some tools are all I have of a father.
I wonder sometimes how I am supposed to learn to be a great dad when I had no example. I wonder how I’m to be in a relationship when my father didn’t know the first thing about strength. I wonder how to make choices that are right and strong, when, again, I never had that example.
Well, time will tell, and personal development will have to suffice – observation, reading, listening, etc. Best of luck to me. G’night.