thoughts on my father

My father's birthday is tomorrow (05.25)^*. I think he will be 60. I am not sure. To be honest, I am not even sure if he still breathes. Our relationship, if you can call it that, is beyond complicated.

I don't talk about him much, because what can you say about someone who you haven't seen or spoken to in over 20 years. It also is something that is hard for most people to understand, so I just leave it be.

The last time I saw my father, I almost didn't go. The plan was that we would have dinner, alone. I feared that he would try to kidnap me. I know that sounds crazy, but he isn't known for being stable or reasonable.

My mother worried too. Enough that after dropping me off at the restaurant, she went to the hostess and said that if anything weird happened at our table, she should call the police. Nothing weird happened.

In all honesty, I don't remember much about what we talked about. I think we may have had lobster. I remember he didn't like my dress. And that his van and his fingernails were dirty, as usual. But that is about all.

Oh, and somehow the kidnapping thing did come up. The thought had crossed his mind. Actually he wanted to pull a switch, and trade my sister for me. See, it's not all in my head.

I have heard snippets about him over the years. Rarely anything good.

I remember learning that he had had a stroke (about 8 years ago). It didn't sound good, but somehow he survived.

The last I heard about him was right before I left Austin. I was literally days from moving when my aunt called to tell me about my sister. She noted that our father would visit my sister (in the nursing home) and the 17-year old son of his deceased girlfriend would tag along. Apparently this kid had ADD, and so caused my sister some grief during these visits. I honestly thought my aunt was trying to tell me I had a half-brother, but that was not the case. This boy's father had died of AIDS.

The whole story was bizarre. It seems so weird that my father would take on this child who was not his own, when he did so little for his own children. Of course, his motto was always out of sight, out of mind.

He also used to tell us that anyone over 40 should be shot, execution style. He wanted to be disposed of in a Hefty bag on the curb. He also talked about wanting to kill my mother. Fun times.

But that was only one side of him. Most people adored my father, and were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was always the life of any party he attended. He was quite the jokester. He never really much surpassed being 17. He had classic Peter Pan Syndrome and then some.

I believe that on some level he loved me enough to let me go. That he didn't want to suck me into his world. But part of me also knows that he is extremely selfish. It makes me worry what happened during my sister's last days. That if there was a way, he would have found some way to cash in on the situation. He could just be sick like that.

I'd by fibbing if I didn't admit to wondering if he ever thinks of me. But I guess that is somewhat normal. And now I have to figure out how not to let the dates coming up get the better of me (my sister's birthday is a week away, and the anniversary of my mother's death shortly follows), all while preparing for my next move - wherever that is.

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^*I probably won't post this until tomorrow.


currently reading :: THE HOBOKEN CHICKEN EMERGENCY by Daniel Pinkwater