Prodigal Son of a Bitch

Reading Amy's post got me thinking, because I'm dealing with something similar, familywise. Sort of. More like a not-so-funhouse mirror version.

Back story: My folks divorced when I was five, once my mom found out that he'd been cheating on her. My father was a rotten dad. Perhaps not physically abusive (that I can remember, at least), but most definitely psychologically and emotionally abusive. All of my memories of him are laced with fear, sadness, upset, annoyance, anger, pain, terror -- I have no good memories of him.

Near as I can tell, the only good things I got from him were: 1) my brains, and 2) my height. My mom often said that she thought maybe he was jealous because she loved me more than she loved him, and he took it out on me. Wouldn't be surprised. All the time during visitation (once a month, I think, until I was 18), I would make sure to bring a pocketknife and some quarters for a payphone, and would keep my car door unlocked when he'd drive me wherever, because I was always afraid he'd kidnap me. Not like that was an actual risk, but I didn't want him to be my dad, to take me away from my happier family. I liked my stepfamily better.

After I was 18, I didn't actually see him again until I was 26, when he motorcycled to Chicago unannounced and showed up at my door. That's the last time I saw him in person. Beyond that, a periodic e-mail or whatever, a cursory sending of pictures of my sons so he can see them. I don't love the man, pure and simple. He was a bad dad, and I haven't forgotten anything he did in my childhood, and I know that I'm scarred from it. I still get along better with women than with men, and I know it's because of my dad.

So, anyway, my dad is old. He's in his early 70s, now. I'm not entirely sure how old he is, now. But his health is deteriorating. He's in his fifth marriage, and I have a couple of younger half-sisters from his fourth marriage (my mom was his second marriage). One of them wrote me and told me that he had to go to the emergency room.

Apparently he had serious blockage of his right carotid artery, and had to undergo surgery on Tuesday for it, where they were going to put a stent in there to deal with it. He experienced a bunch of mini strokes which have impaired his motor skills some, although he's as sharp as ever. He also has a growth on his pituitary gland that they're looking into. He has adult-onset diabetes and other cardiac troubles. It looks to me that he's going to die in the next few years, at the rate he's going.

Thus, I'm in a bit of a situation. Should I go to his funeral when it comes? I'm his oldest child, the only boy. Without his contribution, I'd not have been alive. But he was a terrible dad. Manipulative, guiltmongering, temperamental, abusive, hateful. A bad man, across the board -- I've based my own fatherhood successes on not being like him.

What is my duty to him? I say, without hesitation, that I do not love him. My stepdad was much more of a father to me than my real father was. When my real dad dies, whenever that is, I just don't think I'll feel anything, as terrible as that sounds.

If I went to his funeral, I don't even know if I could possibly say anything good about him! Whatever I would say would be complete bullshit, a total lie.

When one of my half-sisters told me about the recent operation, I thought I'd send him a get well card. I'm not going to call him. Too many ghosts. My wife thinks I should call him, talk to him, but the few times I've talked to him since I was 18, it's always been really awkward, entirely uncomfortable. He's a stranger to me, and I am to him. The man I've become isn't the man he was, thank God.

Anyway, I don't know. What does a child owe a shitty parent? As an adult? I won't forget, and I doubt I could forgive. I mean, when my folks divorced, it was like a cloud had lifted on my life. I wrestle with it now as we creep into the inexorable sunset of his life.

His legacy: I am really good with my sons, give them attention and love and show interest in them and their lives, and both of my boys love me so much. I basically do the opposite of what my dad did with me. But that legacy is in spite of my father, not because of him.