It all started with an email from my brother, with a link, some quoted material, and a question.
"Do you remember this guy?"
I'm not going to quote it directly. After I contacted the poster, identified myself and asked if we might talk, I received a delightful message from the board administrator, reminding me in that all-too-familiar "master of my online turf" way that posts on his forum were protected by copyright and could not be used in my next book without permission.
I am actually aware of how that works, oddly enough. And yet, I was tempted to quote it here in its entirety just the same. I feel a certain amount of personal ownership over the information. Go read it yourself and see if you can figure out why.
If you can't go see that, or if it disappears for some reason (although I guess that might solve the whole copyright issue), here's a short paraphrase of the material, posted on an epilepsy support forum in a thread about personal heroes.
The poster, whom I'll call David since, well, that's his name, tells the story about the hard days he experienced in junior high school. In addition to his health issues, David didn't know anyone at his new school and got picked on a great deal. He was eventually taken under the wing of the ninth grade track coach, who made him the manager for the track team. David described this coach as a real friend. The coach taught him everything he needed to know about being a track manager, was patient with his mistakes, gave him advice and even paid for his meals on road trips. This coach, he said, "became my second father". David's story ends sadly, when the coach died halfway through the year. At the funeral, the coach's wife told David that her husband always spoke of him like a son, and made sure that the pastor talked about him during the eulogy. At the end of the year, David won an award for the student who had the most success in the ninth grade, thanks to the nomination of his track coach and surrogate father.
And that, he concluded, is why his personal hero is Coach Bobby Ray Hudson.
Well. I didn't see that coming.
For the record, my answer to my brother's question was no, I didn't remember this guy, for a number of very good reasons. First of all, I was in college by this time. I hadn't seen my father in about four years; indeed, I wouldn't see him again until the funeral, which I don't suppose actually counts.
Furthermore, I didn't hear about my new little brother from my mother because she's not the wife that David is referring to. That would be the woman my dad married after he left my mom when I was in high school. None of us actually knew very much of what was going on in his life, because he had very intentionally and meticulously removed us all from his reality. After he died, we discovered just how true that was. His last will and testament stipulated that everything was to go to his new wife, which was hardly a surprise, but in the event that she did not survive him, everything would then go to her adult son, a police officer whom we didn't even meet until the the day before the funeral.
It's been eighteen years since my father died, and yet I find that he still has the power to confound me. After going to such great lengths to shed his family, why, at the very end of his life, did he suddenly feel compelled to be the kind of father that he never was before? Did he feel regret? A chance at some kind of redemption, but without the hard work it would have taken to make things right with us?
I never knew my father to be someone with a great deal of compassion, certainly not for the little six-year-old boy with whom he couldn't communicate except with the back of his hand. Had he found it at the end? I'd always wondered what my father would have thought of Schuyler. Judging from what I knew of him, I always suspected that he would have had a real problem dealing with a kid with a disability. Now? I'm not so sure. This chance encounter with a total stranger almost two decades after my father's death has changed everything.
I am acutely aware of the timing of this revelation, at a time when I am beginning work on a book about this very topic. Some writers search with great effort for their subjects. So far, mine seem to be finding me.
22 comments:
I don't know if this story has anything to do with redemption, or even with regret. On a most basic level, it may just have to do with the simple truth that it's easy to be someone else when you don't have to be intimate. Or when you hold all the power in a relationship.
People are complicated. Hitler loved children and dogs.
Schuyler has a very different kind of father, who will leave quite a different legacy. Thank goodness.
Maybe the positive side of bad paternal memories is that it makes us more determined to do better. My memories of my father aren't the same as yours, but he still has the power to affect me, 20 years after his death. The mere finding of a piece of paper with his handwriting on it causes me to tremble before I read it because I'm so afraid that what it says can still hurt me.
I have tried to be a better parent. You'll have to ask my kids whether I succeeded or not. There are days when I think I may not have.
I would like to comment on your book. Should I do that here?
I just finished reading your book. It was very well written and I laughed out loud many times while reading it. I think I have the same sense of humor as you. I was so glad you ended the book the way you did. There were times when I just felt so sad for you (and Julie) because you were so sad. (of course you were) I have a nephew with Down Syndrome and I remember when he was born and we were all so sad. He is almost 16 now and we are not sad anymore because he has brought so much joy to all of our family. He has a GREAT sense of humor. (one you would appreciate actually.) I know it's different, because he doesn't know he's different, but I was so glad that at the end of the book you seemed to be, still sad, but also focusing more on the joy that Schuyler brings to your life. It is apparent that you love her so much and you are an excellent dad.
About the God thing. I believe God has the ability to change anything, but have you thought about the kind of world we'd live in if He chose to take away all the bad things that happen to people? No cancer, no sickness, no deaths from car accidents or drunks, no kids dying before their parents, no disabilities. It sounds great, but we'd be zombies or robots wondering around in a perfect world with no sickness or pain or sadness. Where would hope, faith, perseverence, character, strength, kindness, empathy come from? I hate pain and sadness, but I think it's necessary in this world. "Suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character and character, hope."
I think you would enjoy reading "Is God To Blame" Author: something Boyd (can't think of his first name.) He talks alot about many of your questions regarding God and why he allows bad things, sad things to happen. Very insightful and thought provoking.
To hear someone else say things about your own father that you wish you could say must be very painful. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you had to feel that way because he couldn't/ wouldn't be the father you deserved.
I am glad that Schuyler will never have to feel the way that you do right now.
It sounds similliar to my father. Thanks God any of his kids had disabilities otherwise we wouldn't make it alive to adulthood.
The time goes by the hurt never completly heals... Hug x
Wow. What a whirlwind of emotions that must have evoked for you. I've said that I think my feelings on God closely mirror yours - I'm not really sure what I believe - but things like this do make me believe in SOMETHING. Be it fate, karma, or just plain luck, I believe that things and people somehow manage to find us at just the right time.
And by the way, knowing what you went through with your own father makes you an even more kick-ass father in my eyes now. Schuyler is lucky to have you and Julie in her life. That fate/karma/luck thing pointed the stork in the right direction.
That guy's entry made me want to puke. Fathers who treat their own kids like crap but are so incredibly nice to other people, even posing as saviors are, in fact, perverse and mean-spirited, truly twisted individuals. I see no redemptive behavior in your father's betrayal, only continued repudiation of his own family as evidence of his own well-deserved self-hatred.
And you know that I know what I'm talking about.
This is why i have never, and probably will never understand people. i get asked for advice all the time on work, relationships, parents....and i don't know why people ask me. i have NO idea what makes people do the things they do. i often wonder if it's even worth it try and figure it out. This story is rather bittersweet. i'm glad that a young boy found the love and support he needed in the form of a 9th grade coach. but i'm angry that another little boy was left alone and abandonned by that very same man. however, judging from your writing, your wit, intelligence, insight, and especially Schuyler, you've done perfectly fine without him.
I've noticed something.
David claims that your father became "his second father," but all of his evidence only make your father out to have been a really good COACH. So I question how "fatherly" your father actually was towards him, as opposed to simply being "coach-y".
Parents take on many different roles in children's lives. Coaches only take on one. Some people are simply better at a specialized, just-this-role approach to relating to kids; it's possible that being just a coach is what your father was just best at all along. And David maybe didn't have a good actual parent situation at home either, and saw your father in his best light and called that "father".
Something like this is the biggest reason I haven't been in a rush to have kids myself - I know I can do the fun and silly stuff easily, but parenting is much much more than that, and having to be the fun goofball AND wear all the other hats, which I know I'm not good at right now, would just cause problems. So I stick to being the goofy aunt that visits sometimes, because I know I can do that. And I pour myself into that one specific role and I rock at it.
Something similar may be going on here -- your father was a good coach because he didn't have to also be David's father. David interpreted "really good coach" as "father figure" because he only saw that one side of him. You and your brother saw all the other sides of him, and all the things he couldn't do because he may not have been equipped to, and had to deal with his own frustration at having had to try, perhaps.
Granted, this all still blows goats for everyone concerned. But it's a theory I'd buy for a dollar...
You say you wonder what kind of grandparent your dad would have been. From my limited experience (having only one dad who was pretty detached from me), the whole grandparent thing is a whole different place for people.
My dad was the disciplinarian in our house (I use that term loosely, not to equate it to what seems to be an awful amount of violence in your house). He is the opposite with my kids. He would give them the moon if he could. I don't know if it is time that changes people in that way, or perspective, and sadly (or luckily, depending on how you see it) you will not have that time to see through.
You keep on being the parent to your daughter you know she needs. Someday she will probably say she hates you for it, and that will be okay. That's what we are supposed to do. Then, someday later she will be a grownup (I believe it!) and she will never say out loud she is sorry, but you know will know she never really meant the hate thing.
That must have been so bizarre for you to read that post. I remember being a kid and finding out that my dad had a different personality outside our home - and people liked him! At home, he was a miserable drunk but apparently at work he was very charming. My dad is great grandfather to my girls. He spoils them and they love him. Go figure.
The incredible thing about this story is that another man existed just like your father. Which leads me to suspect that there may be others, sadly. Your "father" story is also my son's story, right down to his "inheritance" (what a joke) going to the step-sons, and them thinking he was a great dad whereas my son didn't even see a reason to attend his funeral. But, the upside is my son is the father he always wanted to his own children, and they are so very fortunate.
How painful. I am sorry.
My father abandoned his first family (mine) and has tried to "make amends" with his second wife/kids. It doesn't work that way.
This was a brave and moving post, and I am sure that the words you have to offer your readers about fatherhood with have the same ingredients: honesty, authenticity, truth.
Wow - confounding. Really confusing. I cannot understand how someone could distance himself from his children so thoroughly. I've heard of others who've done it, have actually seen a friend or two deal with it. It sucks greatly. But thanks for sharing the story.
I wish I had words that would help. Whether you view this new info on your dad as good or bad, it must have been hard to read.
Rob, I'm so sorry, it must bring up so much pain. Ive had my own heartache with my parents, its something you always carry with you. I'm very fortunate, although I have not always been a perfect parent, because of my upbringing, I appreciate the gift of my children so much more then my parents did. Its been 7 years since my mother died, and I still remember the sting of her rejections, Ive often wanted to write about our relationship, and how her illness affected our family dynamics..some day...be well..
Wow! People are complex creatures, what a shocker.
I'm sorry that your father cut you out of his life, seemingly without a backward glance. I'm glad this guy's memory of your father gives you doubt about whether he'd have been capable of treating Schuyler right.
By all accounts, my grandfather was an asshole before I was born. My mother got married before she graduated high school just to get away from him. He looks grimfaced in all her wedding pictures and so does anyone standing next to him, or in the same room with him. The pictures without him show my family acting desperately hilarious, as if to make up for him. There are no family photographs for the next three years, even though there were at least four out of six kids still living at home.
Then I was born. I was his little mascot. In the pictures, I'm almost never out of the man's lap, and he grins like a fool. There are at least five family albums of every occasion possible with the two of us as stars of the show. As I get bigger, there are more people next to him in the photographs, finally sitting down, holding drinks, smiling too. More grandchildren, and I'm not the only one in his lap anymore.
He died when I was nine, of pancreatic cancer. I found out about all this much later, when I happened to ask my grandmother why there were so many pictures of me as a baby. "He just treated you so different," she says. My mom and all my uncles have tales about how this was so. It was like magic, they say. He changed into my Papaw, who bought me little outfits, took me to football games, and gave me his full attention whenever I wanted it. And that's who he was until he died.
So maybe it really would have been different. Who knows.
My other grandfather ran off to Australia with another woman, never to be seen again. He'd drunk dial and be nasty every once in a while. His two kids with her, an aunt and uncle I'll never meet, disowned him before he died of liver failure. So. I guess it could go either way.
wow, just wow. and a hug. I cant wait for your next book.
My mother and father married when they were 18 years old, then had my older sister, me, and my little brother. My father was young, unmotivated, and never helped my mom with us kids. He ended up cheating on her so she divorced his sorry ass. He ducked out of paying child support by jumping from job to job, had several addiction problems, and finally moved in with his mother at age 35. He started reshaping his life by marrying a woman with two kids from a previous marriage and having a kid with her (this would be my half-sister). Since then, he will go to the moon and back for his new wife and "kids", goes vacationing all summer with his "new" family, and every once in a while he'll phone us to see if we are still alive. My siblings and I are now in our early twenties, and I can tell you from experience that I feel your pain. It continues to hurt me when he calls on the phone and words escape me because I do not know this "family" man who abandoned my mother, me, and my siblings.
Great thought-provoking entry. It made me feel sad and want to come over there and hug you. I thought that might be kind of awkward, so I didn't. ;)
P.
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