May 20th, 2005 |
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Thinking tonight, I never really had a father.
I mean, sure, I have one. We all do. Mine has never, essentially, been in my
life.
My parents divorced when I was a baby. I actually don't even know how old I
was but I'm pretty sure I wasn't even two yet. I might not even have been one
though it seems unlikely.
My father stole me away a few years later. His dad had done it to him after
my grandparents divorced and grampa had gotten away with it, it seems. My dad
tried this trick. He didn't get away with it. The cops found him in Vegas, where
his dad was living after my mom's dad tracked him down with a PI. After that, my
dad got to visit me for a while at a police station while the cops watched.
I don't remember any of this. It all comes from telling much later on. What I
remember is seeing my dad every other weekend when I was a kid until I was about
seven and he moved to Ellensburg to attend the university there. Then I saw him
once a month (I think). I'd be packed on a bus and sent over.
These are all relatively good memories. I remember hanging out with my dad,
driving around in his convertible, playing with my aunt, who wasn't a decade
older than me. Nothing super special but something. I do remember my dad being a
hardass. He'd put me to work picking up garbage on the lawn of his house. He'd
make me clean my plate no matter how nasty the food was. Actually, I remember
doing a lot of chores with him.
When I was nine, my mom, stepdad, baby brother and I moved to Utah. For the
next couple of years, I saw my dad in the summer for a month or so. Still some
connection but he became a much more distant figure in my life and he hadn't
really been that close in many ways anyway.
When I was about twelve, my parents had a fight over stupid shit. As a
result, they quit talking and I quit seeing my dad, who still lived in Seattle.
I didn't see him again until I was 18.
All through those joyous teenage years, I didn't have a dad. I had a stepdad
that I hated and I had my mom. When I was 14, I moved back to Seattle with my
mom briefly and, when she went back to Utah, I stayed with her parents. I stayed
with them until I was 22.
Until I was 18, my dad thought that I was still in Utah. No one told him that
I'd come back and I certainly had no idea of how to reach him.
When we tried to reconnect at 18, it was broken. Sure, he was my dad. He was
the guy that I'd spent weekends with as a kid with his biker pals, shooting pool
and drinking beer, working on cars. But…I hadn't seen him for six years and
the six years were when I went from being a kid to being something more like a
man.
We spent time together. We did a spring break weekend in Vancouver, B.C. when
I was 19 or so but…we just didn't relate. I know it goes both ways too. Family
is important to him and there isn't anything that he won't do for family but
he's never known what to do with me.
I used to borrow money from him like I was entitled to it and he resented it.
I resented him and I wasn't self-aware enough to really know why. Here's this
guy, he's supposed to be my father and what is he really? I can't tell
you. Eventually, he and I had a few frank conversations and things got clearer
between us but he's still the guy who I have dinner with when he comes to town
and that's it. The next time that he comes will be the first time he's ever even
stayed at my house.
In so many ways, I'm the son of my mother's family except…I'm not one of
them either. I'm a Billings, not a Beals (no matter how much I wished I was one
when I was a teen). I have my father's temper, his sarcasm, even his
intelligence. It also turns out, I have his depression and anxiety to some
extent as well. Problems that I had later that seemed unique in my family were
only unique in my mother's family.
Most people don't know this because I haven't mentioned it too much. Most
people also don't know that my father is terminal as well. His liver is failing
him and he'll only be alive in a year or two if he gets another, either a living
transplant or a full one.
So, I'm 34 for this year. I can't pretend to be a 20-something. I'm an adult
now and have been for quite a while. I'm also someone who was raised as a
latchkey kid and then spent his teenage years with his grandparents. Most of
that time with them was spent hiding my spiritual beliefs, any drinking or
sexual activity and otherwise maintaining the facade of a good grandson. Not a
lot of openness there.
A lot of the time, I feel like the person that I am today is the person that
I created (except I wasn't trying, it just happened). Do I really have a dad or
do I have this guy that I know less well than my closest friends? He certainly
didn't raise me though he did impart a few of his values. It's just that most of
them have to do with keeping your word or winning a fight.
I'd like to end this on a nice conclusion but I don't have one. I do
sometimes worry about my daughter about whether she'll have the same feelings in
25 years. I dunno.
