Father's Day

Truth be told, Father's Day here in The United States isn't something I tend to celebrate. Hell, I avoid it as much as possible. Frankly, I don't believe or feel I have reason to honor my father. He was a drug abusing alcoholic who was emotionally and psychologically abusive. There was a time I loved him, but I was so young then. The older I got, the more of the real him I saw and the more I grew disdainful of him. It eventually lead to us fighting and being, proverbially, at the others throats. Gods, we fought hard and often near The End.

Once, long ago, he was a good and decent man. But like I said, the alcohol and drugs twisted an already broken man. I know his life wasn't easy and he couldn't grow beyond that. Hell, I don't think he was ever offered the tools to do so or knew how to get beyond his trappings. He tried once to get clean and those where good times. I saw the man behind the turmoil. But his Demons where stronger. And when he fell, he fell hard and farther than he did before The Cleanup. So, when the final straw hit the back of the camel, all Hell broke loose. It was our first serious confrontation in October of 1993 that set the stage for us. I had had it and finally broke down and informed my Mom that I'd had a bag packed for over a year, ready to run off. Sure, fear kept me from doing it. But that was eroding more and more everyday. I just couldn't take the fights my parents had, I couldn't take the bullies at school and I couldn't take the isolation I felt in my own extended family. Well, Mom wanting to fix everything, told him and then it went all to shit after that. From that first fight in October to the tension filled days that followed, it all added up to the fight one night in February of 1994 when it all ended with me, Mom and my brother Kyle being kicked out/leaving if our own accord. I'm still a little confused about how that night ended, but it lead to The Dark Days of fights, therapy, moving around a couple times and finally The Divorce in June of 1994.
Then one last fight between him and me where he threatened to kill himself and I said "Do it. I don't care. Besides, I know you won't, you don't have the balls. And you've threatened this before, so go do it if you're gonna do it. I'm done with you." His body was found a week later in a corn field in Iowa that he drove to. He was found with his head blown off from a self inflicted gunshot through the mouth.
For a long time after that I was numb. I blamed myself. Then I got angry, an issue I still deal with. Anger is a lot like any other drug, you become addicted to it. Just like the depression I still deal with. You never truly get over an addiction, you just learn to mitigate it and control it. But it's always there. This is one way I've grown beyond him, gotten better than him. And after I got angry, I got determined to be better than him, more than he could ever be. I finished High School, got a degree and love. He was so full of hate, angry and betrayal. I vowed never to be that until I nearly did. In a strange irony, I had to nearly become my father to understand him and ultimately forgive him, which I finally did just a few years ago.

Even though I've forgiven him, I'm still not over him or beyond the fuck ups he filled me with. For a long time, I was convinced he wasn't dead and was just waiting to come back in my life only to fuck it all up. Something he would have done for the pure joy of it. However, as usual, Mom was right. He's have never stayed quiet this long. And for a time, men who looked like him would appear in my life and I would freeze with the fear the he was back. To this day, certain sounds and smells remind me of him. Once in a very great while, someone will cross my path who looks like him, but I don't freeze anymore. I just keep walking.
I wonder what he would think of me, the person I am now. As a gay man, a Pagan and a social liberal. But then I realize that I wouldn't give a damn. I have grown to be what he couldn't and that is enough for me to grow even further and move beyond his trappings and the trappings of his family.

Even with all my growth and wisdom I've gained from it, I still don't celebrate Father's Day. Once, for a short period of time, he was my Dad and I remember those few days fondly. But the dark clouds of the Hell he brought down and the turmoil and fights overshadow those days too much. Pain is easier to remember than happiness, unfortunately. To me, he's just my father, the guy who helped make me. It's harsh, I know, but it's my truth from the life I've lived.
In that truth and experience, my step-father got so much slag from me. Butting heads was common, still is to a point. I don't think he ever tried to understand the situation he came into, at the time. Now is different. Moving out helped us to at least have a truce and understanding of sorts. But I don't think I could ever see his place in my life as "Dad", I don't think I have the ability to give anyone that chance. My father distorted and destroyed that particular niche of my life. So, my step-father is only that, a step-father. Or just Tim, my Mom's husband. I do wish him a happy Father's Day out of respect, but even to me it feels hallow saying "Happy Father's Day" to him or anyone.

I hope my father has found peace in The Afterlife, I'm still looking for mine. But I've got enough for the moment to help me while I look. And yet I don't miss him, you'd figure I would at some point. It's strange that almost 20 years after his death, I still don't care. Not in a bad way anymore, but more neutral.

I wonder how long that will last...