All is well

It’s fair to say that about two weeks ago I suffered a little bit of emotional trauma. It all got too much for me and I flipped out, did a double take of my life and didn’t like the direction it was going in. Or maybe I did like the direction it was going in and I just despised the pilot of the Good Ship Alan. Who knows, but I’m happy to report that I was able to resolve the problems I was having, mostly.

Jenny is back. We talked and talked and both got a lot of things out and in the open. She loves me, of that I have no doubt. I love her too. At least, as much as it is possible for me to love someone.

I guess it all come down to my relationship with my father. Trust me on this; I’m a fucking psychiatrist’s wet dream. I both love and hate my father in equal amounts. You can read the letter I never sent him for proof of that. If I was a violent person I swear I’d kill him for what he did to me. But then. Well, I always work on the principle of getting on with things. We only have the hand we’re dealt and we must make the most of it or life is pointless. I guess I just need to concentrate on the fact that I’M going to be a Dad soon and that when I am a Dad I won’t make the same mistakes that fucklehead Paul made. Meaning I won’t abandon my children because I’m a selfish cocksucker.

Bah, so anyway, life goes on. Roll on August. Thomas will be with us in August.


2 thoughts on “All is well

  1. Hey, bro. It’s good to see things are alright with you. Also good that you and her can stick with it—the kid will need both parents for a while (well, until age 12 or 13, after which he really just needs a father until he’s out on his own).

    I felt a similar way regarding my own father (love-hate, tons of baggage and shit, most of which wasn’t even my own—misplaced crap from my sister and mother I took on so gallantly, so *stupidly*). But now I don’t have any problems with him. I understand now, being older and I hope wiser, and having been in a relationship that involved a small boy (well, a few of these), why he did some stuff and why he didn’t do a bunch of other stuff. Really, I blamed him for everything and let my mother off the hook for everything…which wasn’t fair at all but which is overwhelmingly typical these days (Dad = Satan; Mom = God).

    Also typical is the “I’m not going to do what he did” way of thinking, which actually leads to more of the same—I thought exactly the same thing when I planned to have kids. My father was like that, too—he didn’t have a great education, so he shoveled his perceived failure and regret onto me. (And was utterly, unforgivingly outraged when I quit school—why? Because he could not improve himself, in his mind, by living vicariously through me, under the well-intending rationalization of “wanting what was best for me.”)

    An entire generation of Baby-Boomers did that, not wanting their kids to endure the Depression-era crap existence they had…but what they did not realize was that they learned so much through that time. It made them good men. Hardship always does—decadent times creates girly wankers of men. The very thing that made them honest, responsible, hardened, resiliant, able to value a dollar (frugal, not wasteful), et cetera, and honourable as men was because *they had it rough as kids.* Because they weren’t pampered and given everything—things given are absolutely worthless.

    [I can’t recall a damn thing my dad ever gave me—I took everything for granted anyway. What I do recall is the time I spent with him—not even doing anything “fun.” I was a bastard kid, trouble-maker, and one summer (when I was 8 or 9) he took me to work with him; every day, while my friends screwed around and goofed off in the sun, I had to go to a dusty old shop with a bunch of stinky old buggers, working on cars and farting. This was punishment—for what, I can’t recall—but I actually enjoyed the time with him and the other guys…I never saw what my dad did before that, for one thing. He just disappeared into some “guy’s work world” and came home exhausted and too irritable to do much of anything except take my mother’s nagging and complaining; right after supper he’d fall alseep on the floor, and I hated him for that…until I got to see what he actually did for a living, and began to understand. Anyway, that was one of the best summers I can recall. It was the only one I really value, though, looking back.]

    And consequently, their effort and sacrifice and good intentions turned an entire generation of boys into spoilt, effeminate brats—who despise them for it…one reason: these men, like my dad, had to work their asses off to give them “all the things they didn’t have” and it’s that time you can never get back. Time matters—stuff is bullshit, trivium.

    Take you—what kind of man would you be had that prick of a father done things differently with you? In my father’s absence, I learned to fend for myself, developed interests outside of what school (and friends) and society said I should be into, and got tough; in his grand ignorance, I learned how to figure things out and study things and learn things my own way. (I can’t hate him for that, even though I did for a long while—I’m grateful he was a bastard with me. Plus, in some rough situations I’ve been in, I never would have survived otherwise.) If he hadn’t been so conservative and narrow-minded, as well, I would never have rebelled against that and I would be a naive fool today. Some patriotic muppet.

    Anyway, you’re intelligent, creative, witty and humourous, and passionate about many things—you have a spark…that was one of the first things I noticed and liked about you. (I actually admired it because at the time my own spark was nearly out.) And that wouldn’t be there if not for what went on with you and your dad—you wouldn’t be who you are today if not for him; you’d be as lame and boring, gullible and dispassionate as everyone else. It’s the bad shit—far more than the good—that shapes us and makes us the men we become. No great man has an ooie-gooie huggie relationship with his pops. Not one.

    I don’t know about you, but I’m glad your old man was a prick—because I think you’re a good shit, and I know where that comes from ultimately 😉

    Something to consider.

    (Feel free to email me sometime, buddy. I’m off in a couple weeks here, but I’ll be checking emails and blog junk here and there as I head West. In any event, I’ll check in with ya before I split.)

    Have a good one!

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