The relationship between my Dad and me, it was odd by most standards but it worked for us.

The relationship I had with my Dad was dysfunctional, I knew it, he knew it, but we made it work the best we could. When I was a child my Dad was pretty much nonexistent in my life. Sounds like a harsh thing to say and maybe it is, but it is the truth. I was 10 when Mom and Dad finally got divorced but he was gone a long time prior to their divorce. Dad was not what one could categorize as a traditional father, not the normal Dad for sure. I have no memories of playing catch with Dad. I have no memories of going fishing with Dad, although I know he liked to because I remember him and his friends going and bringing back lots of fish. I remember Mom not liking that at all, not sure if it was because he was gone or because she did not like cleaning fish but, she was never happy about the fishing trips. There were no sports to play in elementary school, so he did not come out to any games to watch me play. We never went hunting together, and I was a teenager before he took me mushroom hunting. What I remember from my young childhood was learning how to duck his work boots. He took naps and when he was sleeping, us kids were to be quiet. If we made too much noise and woke him up, he would throw his steel-toed work boots with the accuracy and proficiency that a ninja might wield deadly throwing stars. I do remember him taking me with him to work sometimes, but that usually involved me working, moving bricks or cleaning up construction debris or some other menial task. It never seemed like I was learning anything, just cleaning up. The one time I remember having his full and undivided attention is when my sister and I, along with the neighbor kids, were experimenting with fire in our gigantic barn. For some reason Dad came home early and when he saw the smoke coming from the barn, he was acting like a father on that day for sure. Seems like a weird childhood from the paternal side huh?

As much as I loved him later in life, he was a nonexistent Dad in my childhood. As such, we never got to form the father son bond that is created between boys and their Dad’s during childhood. Little did I know, at that time, that that lack of father son bonding would form the basis for our dysfunctional relationship that would endure the rest of his life. After the divorce, Mom moved us away, to Mansfield, about two hours drive. All of the sudden, I had a father figure, one who was completely different from my Dad. My Step-Dad could be a harsh disciplinarian and we did not get along well at all. We did get to visit with Dad from time to time. We met in Delaware to swap parents, that really sucked. Two families, two sets of rules-two of everything. After a couple of years, Dad bought me a 22 rifle and that was the catalyst for the biggest life changing event of my childhood. That rifle had me moving back to St. Paris to live with Dad and his girlfriend. I was tickled to have a rifle, Mom was not nearly as tickled and made me choose where I wanted to live, with her and the rifle is gone or keep it and live with your father. A shitty decision to force on a 12 year old kid and hence my choice – I am going to move in with Dad. I am not sure if that was a choice I thought out or made out of spite, for being forced to make the choice. Either way, that was hand that I was dealt, so that is one I played.

When I moved back, Dad was living with his girlfriend out on Kite road in a trailer, a step down from the environment I moved from, my Step Dad had owned an electronics store and did pretty well for himself. Dad was working steady and life seemed somewhat normal, as normal as it could be anyway. By this time our window of opportunity for that bonding I spoke of earlier was past, no going back to that time. As such our relationship was always………. difficult, for the lack of a better word. He took care of me, but the relationship was more of landlord – tenant, or at least that is how I felt. I missed school from time to time, skipping really but he once wrote me a note to the principle that said I could write my own notes. Well that did not go as planned and that little God send created more problems for me than I thought it would. I was starting to learn a coping mechanism though and I was learning the hard way many of life’s lessons. Lesson’s that most Dad’s taught their son’s though direct example or through a disciplinary approach. In my young adulthood, I found that it was actually an advantage to have learned so many lessons the hard way. Most of my peers had never had the opportunity to try and fail and understand the consequences of not only the attempt, but the failures and successes as well. As a young man, I felt luckier than most of my friends. I had been there, done that and worn out that damn tee shirt and was on to more important lessons in life. It let me get a lot of the learning we do as 20 something’s in my teen years. My Bride always calls me an old man in my thinking and actions and this may have something to do with that.

Later, after I was married, our relationship remained similar. I ALWAYS got a call on my birthday from Dad, no matter how long it had been since we talked last, that call was a constant. It was the one thing about our relationship that was right, he called me and wished me a happy birthday. Over the years, Bride pressured me to change my relationship with Dad. She had a VERY different relationship with her Dad and wanted to model our relationship on that model – that did NOT work. We remained distant for a long time, until he had a stroke. While that stroke changed him, it did not, and sadly could not, change our relationship. It was not long after that when something weird happened, weird for us. Keep in mind, my family was never good at expressing our emotions, between Dad and I it was even worse. But it was not long after that stroke that I realized that he was not going to be around forever. I started telling him I loved him, that was not something I ever remember doing. It took probably about a year before he finally started telling me that he loved me too. Yep, I was nearly 40 before my Dad told me he loved me. He may have done it when I was a toddler, but that instance was the first time ever that I remember. I suppose that says more about our relationship than anything else. We both knew it was not right but we were both, for maybe the first time, really trying to make it work.

Since that time, our relationship remained odd, not quite as weird as before but we were able to hug and tell each other we loved the other. Hugs were new as well and I was much more comfortable with that then he was. He was not an overly affectionate man, not sure I understand why but it must be tied to the missing childhood bond. After the stroke and many other hospitalizations, he started to change, the ailments that he ignored his whole life were being addressed with medication and things were changing. He stopped smoking, he stopped drinking and was able to assume a somewhat normal daily schedule. The smoking thing was funny, he quit because “I ain’t paying for NO one else’s medical bills”. That was right after the first of the big lawsuits against big tobacco. He had smoked 3 packs a day since he was a teenager and he was toking a smoke in most of the pictures from him and Mom’s wedding. And he smoked them right down to the filter – nasty. In what could only be described as a herculean display of his iron will power, he put them down – cold turkey. I as happy he had quit, but I was more impressed with how he did it. I miss Dad and I loved him. I loved him the best I could and while that may not fit into a what some would call normal, it worked for the two of us.