If you've read all the previous fierce honesty up to this point, I'd have to say I've been able to write everything that preceded this because of June 2013.
That was when Anastasia decided we'd be better off if we became estranged one from the other. Remember where I wrote, "Flatbottom doesn't come for several years, and if you read my father's day post, you'll read about me hitting flatbottom." Here's what I said on Father’s day: "There was a day my daughter gathered herself up, girded her loins, and left me to myself. Had she not been Superwoman, she’d not have been able to do this thing that was so needed. You see, she felt Willis Towers should only be enjoyed when they're looked at or while you're standing on their inside and supported by the sturdiness of their floors, even when you’re 103 stories in the clouds. What she did hurt me. But that hurt helped me realize what I'd been needing to do for most of my life. As a human being, and as her dad, I had to find the better part of myself." Before that, well I'd become so empty and vapid, feeling like I was nothing more than a ghost or a wisp of smoke that even my kids couldn't see. I would feel like anything I said or didn't say, and anything I did or didn't do, even with them, didn't matter. I'd even convince myself living didn't matter. I'd make attempts at ending their father's life. For both of my kids, those attempts must have seemed as though I'd thrown myself off the roof of some very tall downtown skyscraper that was no different from the Willis Tower. So Anastasia, my daughter, had to tell me goodbye; she told me she couldn't take the rollercoaster ride I put her on anymore and that she needed time to heal from her experiences growing up being my daughter. I don't remember when I "knew that I knew," but there finally come that time I hit "flatbottom" and I knew if I was ever going to see my daughter again; ever enjoy her company; ever have another conversation with her; I'd have to allow myself to really, truly heal, and become a real, solid person again. The following is what I wrote as I thought about her and my son on Father's Day of 2019 -
I started thinking about Father's Day earlier today. I’m the father of a daughter, Anastasia (the oldest), and a son, Tod (the youngest). Father’s Day is supposed to be about me, but today, I have my doubts. When a man doesn't know who he is, should he have a kid, then a second? When Father’s Day comes around the corner, kids should expect a day where they can celebrate their own personal hero. But honesty needs me to say the day I meet my ex-wife; when my kids were born; when they learned to walk; as they played; and while they grew up; their dad never took off the ground. As the song says, I was busy "digging up kryptonite on this one-way street."
I was busy being me, whoever that was. So I was a man not looking inside himself, afraid of what I might find there. I did a lot of crazy things for myself and me alone. I looked out for myself while not even knowing the reasons for doing these selfish things. You see, life’s not that simple nor is it simply understood, this seems to go double for me. Disturbed, possibly. A time or two I looked inside, I didn’t like what I saw so I picked up some kryptonite and metaphorically jumped off the Willis Tower. My kids saw all this. So no, of course, they didn’t see a hero; they saw just a man in a silly red sheet, failing miserably.
It doesn’t end up bad though, my kids have been my heroes, my Superwoman and Superman. To repeat and make crystal clear, there was a day my daughter gathered herself up, girded her loins, and left me to myself. Had she not been Superwoman, she’d not have been able to do that, that thing that was so needful - making sure we became estranged.
My son kept in contact during this time in his dad’s life. It was as if he had the task of being Superman, a part he did so well as he propped up my legs and helped me walk. What to smile? Come with me inside the memory part of my mind for a moment so I can show you something. Look over there and you’ll see a little boy walking around the house then toward a tree in the middle of the yard. He’s wearing pants and a tee-shirt, as he should. But he’s also wearing an oversized belt around his waist. On one hip, tucked into that belt you’ll notice a plastic sword. Look at his other hip, there it is, something else tucked into his belt, I don’t know what the heck it is but I can imagine whatever it is he’s going to use it to do good! Now here’s what I really want you to notice, look at his neck, see what’s tied around it, lying across his shoulders and flowing down his back. He’s taken a beach towel and tied it around his neck, but, and I’m not lying, it’s an honest to god cape. Isn’t it? That’s my son you’re looking at, that's my Superman.
It’s been a while, I’ve cried, I've fallen on my knees, and I've finally found myself. It would be fair to say Superwomen and Superman together saved their dad's life. I know I’m never going to fly with clouds between my knees, and that’s okay. I mean on Sunday, on Father’s Day I can still celebrate knowing real heroes, and that’s a pretty damn good thing!
I love you, Anastasia! Thank You! I love you, Tod! Thank You!
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