His life and his character and personality and his choices in life were all full of contradictions and paradoxes. I miss him, he died ten years ago but I think of him often still and I always will. My mom was just as important to me as my dad but a post I just read triggered memories of my dad more tonight.
My dad was tough, but kind. Not very physically strong, but if it came down to a fight he made up for it in pure meanness. He grew up poor during the Great Depression and WWII in a small town in the heart of the central/northern part of California in Gold Country. And beginning when he was a teenager he frequented the worst bars and dives in the area and also paid the cat houses frequent visits but he was a truly nice guy.
He was a violent alcoholic but he never laid a hand on me, my mom, or my sisters. He could be sarcastic and mean to us occasionally but the sarcasm was actually hilarious sometimes. He liked wildflowers and listening to big band music that featured people like Frank Sinatra and Benny Goodman but when my ex-boss threatened my life, my dad went to the guys business alone and told the guy if anyone laid a hand on me my dad would come to the business and personally f*** the guy up. (That’s when I was 18. My dad never told me this story until I was in my twenties and he just causally mentioned it).
My dad only had a high school education but when I was growing up he kept us living in nice houses and apartments in affluent cities and we usually had nice cars, plenty to eat and brand new clothes at the beginning of each new school year. My dad was certainly no saint, it was cruel when he left my poor mom for another woman but my dad and my mom had only known each other for literally two weeks before they got married and after constant arguing about money and how to raise us kids they managed to stay married for 27 years but near the end, they hated each other so when they finally got divorced when I was 27 or 28 it was the best thing for everybody involved.
I wish I had listened to him more while he was still alive. He knew a lot about life and people and in fact a lot of my (so-called?) wisdom on these boards are borrowed from what he told me and what I learned from knowing him. He tried to teach me how to live a better, smarter life but I either thought I knew better or didn’t listen more closely to what he told me. And I sure made my own life harder and more complicated and worse by not taking what he said seriously and applying it to my life when I was struggling and going from crisis to crisis.
If I had listened more, I probably would have avoided my crippling, demoralizing relapse in the late eighties which set me back a year in wasted time and effort and caused several hospitalizations when I was in my late twenties.
When I was locked up in the hospital for 8 months my dad drove to see me every night for 8 months. My mom was almost always with him but she had health problems which kept her home on occasions. And when I got out and started my adult life, I still needed help and when I was floundering through life in umpteen ways he still helped me; even more than I deserved probably.
Doctors, therapists and counselors during those years were always telling me how concerned my dad was over my situation and how worried he was about me and how he would do almost anything to help me whether it meant coming with me to frequent appointments at Social Security offices, or driving ten miles to attend family group therapy or taking me with him and flying across the country and back several times for vacations.
I know that some families virtually abandon and cut off ties with their schizophrenic offspring sometimes but my dad (until he died ten years ago) (and my mom and my whole family) have been with me every step of the way for the past 37 years with my illness. They have seen me at best and they have seen me through my worst times (including a 4 year crack addiction) and they have been with me during the eighties which I spent in multiple group homes, hospitals and psyche wards. They have seen all my many successes and they have seen all my many, many, countless failures.
I am still alive only because of my families unwavering loyalty, compassion and support. Our family is dysfunctional just like every other family in the world but we are nice, intelligent, caring people and we were all blessed with great senses of humor, intelligence, and a learned, strong work ethic. We pull together when a crisis comes. Of course my ability to help out is sharply curtailed due to my illness but I have done what I could to help the family and give back to them what they so freely gave to me for 37 years. I can’t say enough good things about my dad and my sisters and my mom.
I try to tell them how much I appreciate them. They know what they’ve done and they keep on doing it. Their character speaks for itself by both their actions and their words. I should stop here. I wish everybody would read this and maybe they could learn something or gain some insights, and maybe gain some hope and perspective.
Oh well, I did my best. I wish anyone who is patient enough to pore through this good luck. Thank you. And have a good night.
