Parent without the p.

Do you ever wonder what universe other people live in?

It’s like they paint this picture perfect scenario, then paste their face in the middle of it, so they can act like things are something more than they are.

Sometimes, I think it’s unintentional. Sometimes not.

Sometimes I think maybe they’re just too ashamed to face the truth. Too proud to recognize something that might just be too hard.

My dad asked me a question the other day. He read something I wrote in my last blog about moving around alot, and he wanted to know what I meant.

I guess I wanted to dodge it more so than actually answer it.

I know that during my childhood my dad did some drugs. I know it isn’t his proudest moment. I know he probably wishes he could take it back. If for no other reason, than to just…spend time with me.

I’m sure it affects him, to know that….he doesn’t really know me. Neither of my parents really do. I don’t think either of them could tell you what I wanted to be when I grew up when I was 9. They couldn’t tell you my favorite color, my favorite toy. And, that’s kinda just stayed the same.

I wonder sometimes if it’s because they don’t want to know, or are just too ashamed of themselves to ask.

I know a thing or two about guilt holding you back. Preventing you from things. It happens.

It sucks to be the guy though. The guy whose parents don’t know him.

I think you grow up expecting to always have this amazing parent-child relationship. And, it just doesn’t always work out that way.

I’m sure the strains on my relationship with my parents has something to do with distance. Not a measurable distance, but a distance nonetheless. You can’t just…spend 6 years of your life never seeing or talking to someone, and ….expect things to be like they were when you were little.

I’ve blamed alot of things on them over the years. Some completely warranted. Some a little harsh. Some definitely harsh. And some definitely not harsh enough.

The truth is…I’ve never really felt a great…love from either of them.

Sure, I know they love me. In their own ways. But knowing you’re loved, and being shown your loved are two completely different things. And, I guess it could be argued that I don’t go out of my way to express my own ways of loving them either.

I’ve always kind of felt abandoned by them. Maybe that wasn’t actually how it was. Maybe circumstances kept us apart. Prison time.  Maybe their differences with each other played into my relationships with them.

The thing now is that….while I had a relationship with them as a child, as dysfunctional or “interesting” as it was, it was there.

As an adult…I don’t really have one with either of them.

I’ve seen my dad probably, 6 times in the two years he’s been out of prison. And two of those were in the last two days. I’ve seen my mom one time since I was 17 years old. And, that was last year.

The argument is always made that …I don’t go out of my way to see them. My argument is…I shouldn’t have to.  I see it like this.

My mother never made much of an effort to see me. And, my dad screwed me over pretty nicely before he went to prison.

Why do I need to chase them down for a relationship. Especially one that they never really seem so interested in either.

I think my moms’ excuse is more guilt. And I understand that.

I think my dads’ excuse is more shame. He has three brothers. They’re all big butch guys. He told me alot of times things get said about me being gay. And while he’d never admit it, I know he feels ashamed. You just know.

So, I try not to share much of my life with him. I dont’ wanna make it any harder on him, and…honestly I don’t wanna make it any harder on myself.

I’ve had a hard time dealing with the emotional bullshit that comes along with accepting the fact that not everyone can be 100% open minded. Not everyone can love you unconditionally. It took me awhile to be okay with it. And, it’s easier to avoid it all, than deal with it.

I’m sure I’ve hurt both of my parents in my lifetime. And, they’ve definitely hurt me too.

But I know that deep down, they regret the way things have gone. Deep down, beneath their guilt and shame, is a big pool of “god…I wish I knew who my kid is. What matters to him. What he likes. What he stands for.”

I know that deep down, they love me. I guess I just wish they weren’t such lousy parents.

The last two days, I’ve went to the emergency room. I’ve been really sick, missed my entire work week, and been pretty much miserable.

On Friday night, my dad called me, said he heard that I was sick…and he’d take me to the hospital. I refused at first, I’m stubborn like that. But, eventually I thought, I should go.

He came with me. He sat in the  ER with me for the 3-4 hours I was there. He nagged the nurses. Made inappropriate jokes. And, for the first time in …..a reeeeeeeally long time, we had some decent conversation.

He dropped me off at home when I was released and said if I need anything to call him.

So, Saturday when I woke up even sicker than Friday….I knew I needed to go back to the hospital. It was bad. I was dizzy, shaking, felt like I was gonna pass out. So, I called my dad and asked him to take me to the Dr.

I could tell by his tone that he didn’t really want to. I knew just by the way he acted the night before he didn’t wanna sit in the Er another several hours.

His response to me was….

“Well…I guess I can. I’ve got to go to Taco Bell first. Your uncle hoohah and uncle whoawhoa just gave me their money and their order. So, let me go get our food, then I’ll come get you.”

I think that, I’ve just kinda gotten used to being disappointed. You know, my dads’ never said he was sorry for having gas cards in my name. He’s never said he’s sorry for screwing me over with my bank, and illegally putting all his bills in my name. Selling my tv for crack. He’s never apologized for any of that. And, I’ve never expected him to. I could’ve sued him, pressed charges. But, I’m not that kind of guy. He’s the only father I have. And, I guess what little piece of me exists that hopes that one day he’ll seem as interested in salvaging our relationship just couldn’t bring myself to make things harder for him when he went to prison the last time.

But when he said that he had to get Taco Bell before he could take me to the emergency room…I remembered how protective he was of me when I was little. When I was innocent. When I was a daddys boy. When he loved me more than anything in the entire world. When I was his son. Not his gay son.

I remembered that. Because I was so angry. I can’t imagine telling my only child, that They would have to wait to go to the hospital, so I could go on a fucking food run for my brothers.

It hurt me. Alot. It kinda, put me in my place.

He eventually came and got me. Dropped me off and told me to call him when I was ready to go home.

That kinda hurt too, that you feel sick enough to go the Emergency room two days in a row, and your dad is so unconcerned that he’s just gonna let you sit there by yourself, while he goes back home to put on his comfy pants and play farmville on facebook,.

But, I guess I seen it coming.

He did try to show how much he cares by calling repeatedly to make sure I was okay. It was his little way of being worried and showing he cares.

But, sometimes I think the ways you show you care, aren’t quite the ways in which people need to be shown that you care.

I remember a time when I looked up to my dad. When I slept on park benches, or random apartment utility closets just because he was a crack head and I didn’t wanna be away from him. He was everything to me. I felt like he was going to teach me everything I needed to know about the world.

And, while he has taught me somethings…

I have to admit that the greatest thing he’s taught me is that drugs can ruin your life.

And, how not to be a father.

I don’t mean any disrespect. I love the guy.

Parents are people too. They make mistakes too. I don’t hold them to some unfair standard. I’m not saying he’s a complete douche. He means well. He’s just a product of the environment he was raised in. He can’t be more than what he is. And I can’t expect him to be. Just like I can’t be more than what I am. And he can’t expect me to be.

But it sucks.

He’ll never have that perfect son he’s always wanted. The one that likes sports and women. And, talks about Jesus all the time.

And I’ll never have that endlessly supportive father. The one that will sit next to me when I’m sick and scared. The one that will tell me I’ll be okay. Like he used to…before everything got so….complicated.

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