Six years ago this past week, my dad died. I think I’m finally coming to terms with it all, coming to terms with the fact that he was no father to me, that he literally left my sister & me to fend for ourselves almost twenty years prior to his death, when my sister & I were merely teenagers. Ahh, but that was just the legal part (if it’s even true, but who cares, because to delve deeper would involve characters in my life that I hate and care not to associate with ever again).

In retrospect, “dad” left me and my sister behind, many years before that. Recent revelations make a lot of shit make sense and at the same time leave me as confused as ever. But one thing is for sure, I should never have even tried to pretend I had a biological father growing up. I just wish I hadn’t wasted all that energy pretending I did.

I’m working on closure, or whatever you want to call it. Kinda hard, because the one thing I really want to do is confront that asshole, about a lot of things, but he’s just a collection of ashes in my so-called stepmother’s house, a property I will never set foot on again, and a property I was never comfortable setting foot on in the first place.

I’m in a weird place. Of course I’m not glad he’s dead, or that he went through such a horrible experience as cancer. I just wish I could have realized years ago that he was not worth dealing with, not worth divorcing myself from the rest of his family, not wasting all the energy. It would have made the lead-up to, and the aftermath of, his death so much easier.

But how strange it is, to have all these “ah ha” moments, years after the fact; they have been flowing for months, ever since my sister & I finally requested a copy of dad’s will — an attempt at closure which, for the last few months, it has opened more wounds, but I believe ultimately will close the books on this for good. A friend rhetorically asked me recently, “was he really such a horrible man?”. The answer is yes, and it’s because he managed to present a front of kindness that makes people question my judgment on him, while all the time he was alive he was being a cheater and a liar and a shirker of responsibility to humans he brought into the world. He was good, to many people — when he could manage, and when it suited him. But he was rarely much to me and I say you bring a person into this world, you suck it up and be good to that person, you be a father to that person. You raise him, as best you can (even being a guy who left the house when your son is all of five years old, because you wanted to take up with a secretary you were having sex with while you were married to the aforementioned son’s mother (and let’s not even get into all the other women that followed, for years, women the son knows about and can prove, in case certain people are reading)).

And that means being involved in his life, caring about what he’s interested in, even if it’s not what you’re interested in. Being a force in the kid’s life. Being a fan, an advocate, when you can (full time is the ideal, but more than 2% is required, I feel).

Not pretending to be the kid’s father.

Not expecting to get a pass, when the kid is an adult.

Certainly not making the kid never want to have kids of his own — which is precisely what my dad did.

You can go back and read my posts from six years ago, when I struggled with the feelings of loss and anger simultaneously. It’s not evident in many of the posts, I was busy playing the sad son. But under the surface, starting from the day of his memorial service, a lot of shit came roaring back. And it’s been messing with me ever since.

I’d like to say this post is some sort of liberation decree, that starting today I walk forward without the memories of all that was wrong with my childhood (and adolescence, and hell, even adulthood), but alas I cannot guarantee that. Shit, I wouldn’t be writing this if that were true. But I am resolving today to start exhaling. And breath by breath, the shit inside me that is the product of four decades of bullshit and denial, will be expunged from my mental database. If I can’t do that, I’ll go crazy.

now my Time Capsule is not recognized by my new user account on my new machine. Soooooo glad I tried using the “easy” migration fucking “wizard” to make all this fucking bullshit easy.

GOD DAMMIT.

Will hit this in the morning after a night’s rest. I’m sure I can solve this in the way I want, which is to continue to build a new user account on the new machine, from scratch. God dammit.

I fucking hate this shit. New computer, started setting up, got my iTunes all dialed in, then realized my goddamned motherfucking iPhone is really not interested in syncing with my new setup. Apparently, I was supposed to use the Apple Migration Assistant. That utility is fairly impressive, but now my Mail.app is busted, and I have a crapload of duplicated bytes in the form of redundant applications and all kinds of extra shit. The whole point of the new computer was to start fresh, and now I have one halfway setup user account on the new computer (that does not want to speak to my iPhone), and all the binary turdlets from my old computer copied over, with a broke-ass malfunctioning Mail.app. It’s bittersweet, because while I’m sure I can fix the Mail.app thing eventually, there just seems to be a lot of other weirdness and I can clearly see that loads of files I never need again have migrated over. I’d really like to just keep getting my new user account set up on this new MacBook, and get my iPhone to divorce itself from my old laptop. Now that everything from my old computer is now copied to my new one, I guess I can just tell the phone to start fresh; the applications should all be on the copy of the data from my old machine, right? Most of my applications have been re-installed on the new computer already, and like I said I basically have a copy of my entire old computer on here for now, so I should be able to pull over all the missing bits I need. I should do it, right? Start fresh with the iPhone?

Good lord, why is it so hard to start fresh every once in a while?

Webster’s defines a patriot as “one who loves his or her country and supports its authority and interests”. But with a country this divided, the term almost has no validity anymore. I mean, our country’s “authority and interests” are presently defined by the Bush administration. Therefore, our country’s so-called authority is bogus, stolen, abused, misused and illegally expanded. Our interests? Hegemony and Looking Out for Number One. Sure as hell, I don’t support those. Am I not a patriot?

The first patriots were revolutionaries. Maybe it’s time to restore the original definition.

Brenda & I went to the east coast this past Thursday, our makeup trip for our postponed christmas Visit. Our christmas Visit was postponed due to weather. Perhaps in honor of that fact, we encountered more goddamned weather.

Booked on a noon flight Thursday, our flight pulled back from the gate promptly at 2:15 so we could sit on a taxiway for another 45 minutes before departing. Upon arrival in the NY metro airspace, we commenced a precision hold for another 45 minutes before landing at Newark NJ. Upon arrival, the NJ Transit train we boarded for New Brunswick was horrifyingly similar to the one I left almost two years ago when I finished my tour of duty, but at least this one arrived on time — unlike the one we tried to take the next day to Philly. That one was delayed — thanks to similar weather we experienced when we postponed out trip back in December in the first place — 30 minutes, then 45, then disappeared from the planet as the one after it was delayed, then canceled. My brother-in-law picked us up and eventually we arrived at my sister’s house. I am here to tell you that New Jersey Transit’s Northeast Corridor Service is as horrible as it ever was, and I hate the entire miserable corporation with every fiber of my being.

The trip was good, overall, delays notwithstanding. We saw family and friends and saw some old neighborhoods. Unfortunately we did not get to see everyone, but our shit was delayed so what do you expect? Sorry John, Davis, Lisa & Pete, and the gang at RDG.

The big revelation was this: I love where we live now. Yes, New Jersey is where I grew up. Yes, New York City is where I was born, and where my ancestors immigrated to. Yes, the New York/New Jersey Metro Area is where the majority of my family continue to live. And, big yes, I hate when people smugly compare one living situation to another, but you know what people? I earned this, and I wouldn’t trade it.

Most of my family back east still don’t quite get why we love it out here, and I understand that; after all, back home we have cold cuts and the Yankees. But here, there is less shit on the sidewalk; people are, on the whole, nicer; the weather is, on the whole, nicer; there is less horn-honking; less attitude; more bike paths, mountains and beer. And that is the nicest way I can say it. I spent the last five days compiling a long list of sense memories of what I don’t miss, but it’s silly to list them here. Suffice to say it’s a long list.

I’d say I’m done with New York, but we all know life doesn’t work that way. Time will tell. But I’d like to say that I felt a palpable relief when I saw the Front Range out the window of our plane on arrival, and I breathe easier out here. I’d like to stay right here.

Whoa, I’ve never seen Molly Ivins so pissed off before! Read her latest op-ed piece about the so-called lobby reform bill, and then start yelling at your congresscritters…

I’m sorry these creeps in Congress have so little sense of what they’re supposed to be about that they think it’s fine to sneer at ethics. But they work for us. It’s our job to keep them under control until we can replace them. Time to get up off our butts and take some responsibility here. Let them hear from you.
—Molly Ivins

Go get ‘em, Molly!