Until about age 10 I think I had a good relationship with my dad. There were a lot of pictures (see the background of this blog) that show us connected. The one above showed up on my uncle’s facebook and I was taken back by it.
When my grandmother died I remember us going to the airport and I was trying to relate to my dad some expression of grief – he grabbed me a shook me telling me to knock it off because I had no right to act the way I was and more… it was something that definitely damaged my psyche to this day… I’ll never forget.
When both my grandparents had passed he and I ended up traveling by car back to Illinois to take care of the land they left behind – it was an amazing house. Oh absolutely gorgeous. In the basement under the porch were piles of bottle of Jack Daniels bottles – my dad showed me them and casually explained that belonged to grand-dad…
…I have very vague memories of my paternal grandparents. I remember Voneta more because she passed long after my grandad. I remember a hardened but loving woman. But then again I never really knew the dynamic they all had.
One dynamic I always questioned was how much my dad and aunt were estranged from each other for a long time. June was hippy-dippy while Jack was serious and focused. It’s like my sister and I – but the gender roles reveres ed. Weird to think about this now…
My dad used to beat me with his belt when he was mad at me for fucking something up… I do not blame him… I learned.
when I had to move out of my moms because we had issues, he let me move into his house. I was told I was a guest … “guest” and that was stated a lot. It was never my home.
when I was a teenager I had a group of gay friends over – all young guys hanging out – he came into my room chambering a round in a deer riffle (literally kicking open the door) announcing he heard someone outside. What horseshit. Scared the shit out of a bunch of fags.
ugh…. there is so much more. basically I am venting and spewing and trying to unload all the shit from the past. I joined the air force to get away from his ass when I was 17 – turned out it was the one thing he was actually proud of me doing.
Ugh… skipping ahead of all the ways he put my biological sister and I at odds with each other. No doubt – I was a shitty kid. I was a shitty brother. I was a real piece of work… oh there is so much more that comes into my mind like embers from a stoked fire. UGH!