DAD'S BIRTHDAY

Today would have been my Dad's 82nd birthday. He died in 1990 at the ripe young age of 55. The closer I get to that same milestone, the younger I realize he was. He had all the classic symptoms of heart trouble. The pain down the arm, family history, smoking, and stress. I mentioned him before [here]

Obviously, he wasn't my biological as I have written about that guy before [here]. Dale was who I grew up with and who probably made me stronger than I would have been without his influence. How?

We didn't get along.

As a youngster, I wasn't the best-behaved or the most endearing. I could test patience and probably make my parents happy that they didn't have any other kids. I wanted a brother, but never was lucky enough to get that wish granted. 

Dad brought with him a daughter, Linda, that was a few years older, sadly, too many to really be able to connect at that stage. We were close when we first became a family. She looked after me and saved my life when I was SURE we would die running in a hail storm. We used to spell words on each others back at night, and make a guess what they were. It was an ok time to be a brother. As we got older, she was always doing things like cheerleading and track, was popular, and, I found out later, just as unhappy with her Dad as I was.

Dad was not a tortured soul, but deeply scarred for sure. He was a divorced single-father that didn't seem to have many friends and a family that wasn't that close. He was a loner, camper, and a hard worker.  He was a happy Pappy, and almost started a fight with me when we had one of our more personal disagreements.

I tried in later years to figure out why he was so detached but came away just as clueless. He was a simple guy with simple needs, simple tastes, and simple dreams. Sadly, I don't think he ever reached any of them. It would be an interesting conversation NOW, to be able to ask deeper questions, about more serious topics, and better understand humanity by knowing what made him be the way he was.

As a child, he was both terrifying and infuriating. His moods would swing a lot. We found out later, that the phase of the moon really made a difference in how happy or mad he was. Sounds strange but you didn't want to be around at full moon. Seriously. He would have a short fuse for the most insignificant things and when you did something right, praise didn't exactly come flowing out of him.

His childhood wasn't so easy. I'm told his own father was tough on him. Discipline may have been taken a step or two too far. He lost his Dad at a young age and lost friends in a car accident while still a teenager. I don't know if that made him hesitate to make friends but he didn't have anyone that he would spend time with unless they were neighbors. He didn't hang out with anyone from work, although he was friendly with them. A few came to the funeral. I wonder if that was a part of the cause of his unhappiness? It's a lonely world without a special someone to talk to, not including your spouse.

He was rarely satisfied with me or even his own daughter. It seemed like we never did things good enough, fast enough, or often enough. It was constant and consistent. It got to be bad enough where we hated when he worked a shift that let him be around the house when we were there. I would go off on my own, riding bike or playing ball, and leave all that behind. I would create my own little world where I was the star, the hero, the winner, anyone but the unhappy, insecure kid I actually was.

One particular burned-in memory was of a bicycle accident I had while running an errand for him. I picked up a few things at the store and was on my way home. Riding bike was a joy that never got old. I felt a freedom that was unequaled. I could ride and ride, going anywhere and everywhere, but on this day, I was not the master of my domain. I was riding with a bag on my handlebars like I did a hundred times. This time, the bag was hanging a little too much and got caught in the spokes of the front wheel. I don't know if this has ever happened to you, but the effect is an instant stop. Instant for the bike that is. I kept moving forward, feet flying over my head, knowing this wasn't ending gracefully. Luckily, my face cushioned my fall. Unluckily, it showed the extent of the incident. I was a bloody mess and strangers tried to help but I just got on my horse and rode away. As I walked in the house, handing over the bag and trying not to cry, I wasn't greeted by concern or questions. No wonder of what happened or if I was hurt. All I got was a comment about how disappointed he was that I couldn't even ride a bike right.

He would buy you things to make you happy then bring them back in your face when you acted up, even a little bit. It got to the point where we didn't want a thing from him, because we knew what was coming.

I was a cause of friction between him and Mom. Being a step-child has it's challenges. While there can be a wonderful relationship for some, my own experience was less than that. It wasn't obvious to me or his daughter right away, but as we got older, we started hearing the disagreements that Mom and Dad had about us. Mom would stick up for me and he would stick up for Linda. It created tension at times and other times worse.

There's a LOT more I could write today, but the surprise is, I thought about him at all.

The reward for him making me a stronger, more independent kid was given at a high cost. The happiness of youth was lost to the confusion of my upbringing. Was it worth it? Since I am comfortable with who I am NOW, then I suppose it can be argued it WAS. Yet it COULD have been sooo much better for the both of us.

The more reflection on the past brings along a new sadness. The sadness of a short life, a disappointed life, and a less-than-proud life. His affect on Mom was both good and bad. His dreams were largely unrealized. I feel sad today for the man that had the biggest affect on mine. I also feel that, if not for him, I might have ended up a lot less of a man.

Confusing huh? Welcome to another part of this thing I call "my life".