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| Cat's in the Cradle |
I wrote this on the first Father's day after my son Shane had left home and gone into the Army...
Father's day
...for my Son, Shane
Here I sit at Amou's computer, with my son somewhere thousands of miles
away, waiting for his call... His last location was Fort Jackson, S.C.,
but from his letters, he could be anywhere... I'll be calling Fort Jackson
later to see if I can trace him down so I can talk to him, but in all honesty,
I don't have much hope...
He said he'd call today...
Memories...
...of a two year old boy running, stumbling into my bedroom at 6:30 AM to hand me a bunch of dandelion flowers, a big grin on his face, wishing me a happy father's day...
...of that same young boy at 8 years old, shyly approaching me on a different father's day, hands behind his back... then presenting me with a plaster-cast of his small hands... I wish I knew what happened to that...
...of my son asking me, embarrassed, if I'd show him how to strip bark off a redwood branch and split the branch... and then later bringing me a hand-made tin hunting knife with a redwood handle... that's gone too..
...then a few years and another state later, showing him how to take machine files, use the power grindstone and cold water for tempering to make a very durable hunting/fishing knife... how to drill cold tempered steel so a handle could be mounted... then the following father's day... my son giving me a knife he made on his own... which I still have and treasure...
Going camping with him, both of us using the knives he made to cut tinder and kindling, cut small branches for our campfire, revelling and treasuring the closeness of working with things he had made, taking great joy and peace in simply being together, walking the forests and trails together, catching fish together and cooking them right then and there...
Being in the garage, building a corner table for him out of oak and a huge slab of pine... then testing it by both of us climbing on top of it and bouncing up and down on it... combined weight of nearly 350 pounds on top of that little table... and my son grinning and saying "when you build something, Dad, you build'' (smiling)
...wish the ex had recognized what my son saw in me...
Working with my son on his first truck, rebuilding the old 302 because the rear main seal went; sharing with him all the logic and reasons for the various things we did, sharing with him my genetic mom's and other relatives stories about my genetic dad's natural ability with cars and engines... and telling him that he (very obviously) had the same ability.. he's really good with engines, has a natural knack for it...
...remembering my own Dad (step-grandfather) not letting me help him with engines, not letting me even help change the oil.. believing for years that I had no mechanical ability myself...
And my son quietly saying that I had taught him more than the high school had taught him, my son quietly reaching over and hugging me in his powerful arms, tears in his eyes as he told me my dad was wrong... my dad(s)...
My genetic dad smiling and grinning when I presented him with a pocket knife my genetic mom had purchased... couldn't been more than 4 years old, maybe even 3... Years later his mom gave me that knife, years after he had died in my arms... somewhere, during my first marriage, that knife disappeared...
Strange thought just now... knives seem to be a generational present...
Remembering a camping trip in 1960 at clear lake, jumping off an embankment onto the beach, feeling something slice through the left side of my shoe.. lifting my foot... pulling out a rusted old hunting knife that had been buried in the sand... Dad (step-grandfather) later restoring that one... I still have it...
Later years... the ex-wife--my son's mother--at first making the first few father's days very special... but after moving east, no more... got to where I dreaded father's days... her put downs, telling me that I didn't deserve a father's day at all because I did not spend enough quality time with our son... or her...
...the stepfather, my stepfather... smashing a gourd rattle I had made in school for him (as had the other kids in class for their dads) on my head, yelling at me "what kind of stupid present is this?!?''... and then beating the crap out of me for not respecting him...
and now... sitting here, wondering if I'll ever be able to talk to my son today... looking back, seeing the mistakes I made in not putting an end to the marriage myself years ago, realizing that through my own denial about the state of my marriage that I (inadvertently, true) subjected my own son to tremendous verbal and mental abuse at the hands of my ex-wife ...and myself as I "did what is right'' and stuck up for her... in spite of that, he's turned out to be a pretty decent kid... bit of a redneck at first glance... and I know that's really a big put-on anyway...
But--outward appearances to the contrary--he is incredibly deep...
All those times he and I would take walks, talking about life, happiness, relationships, recovery issues... he knew at an early age the kind of life I had... he had asked me when he was 6 years old how I got the burns on my hand... I told him... as years progressed, I shared more and more with him; when he was 13 years old, he and I went through a period that could have broken us, estranged us... but we came through it, far closer than we had ever been... Yes, we did talk about recovery issues, about anger, ways of dealing with it... ways of dealing with his mom's explosiveness and the futility of retaliating in kind, ways of disarming her and getting her calmed down...
When he was 15, he told me I should just let her go... my son told me that he does love his mother, but that he also hates what she does, how she reacts, how she treats him and me... it was about 6 months after that when I started reading the support group... chain reaction... slow, but chain reaction nonetheless...
I miss the long talks with him... the times fishing with him and talking about life, love, friendship, work... the times of walking down trails at night in the pine barrens in New Jersey, walking for miles with only the stars and moonlight to show the way...
I'm sitting here hurting, missing him, knowing I did the best I could with what I had and with what resources and knowledge I possess; knowing too that blaming myself for not giving him a safer, calmer life is an exercise in futility... but damnit, the feelings are still there... and I cannot but wonder how he really sees me...
I do know that he does use his knowledge of my life and my marriage to his mom as a lesson of what to avoid in life, what to look out for... So I guess that's a good thing... but that's also a hell of an example to give one's son...
Wry smile... but one thing I can look on with some degree of satisfaction is that I did not teach him that men must be macho, suppress their emotions, not cry... not hug, not be demonstrative... indeed, the inverse is true; my son IS a hugger; my son has cried on many occasions.. for himself, for his mom... and yes, even for me... and he does NOT see it as weakness; he has said that he pities males that cannot be in touch with their own feelings...
Guess I did something right somewhere...
Regrets? Yeah... I've got plenty of them... and I know all too well that one cannot go back into the past and undo mistakes... got to work with what exists now, here, in the present... with all the repercussions and fall out from what happened in the past...
At least I have my son's love...
That's what really is important....
I miss him... and I Love Him...
June 18, 1995
