Hey, Readerland. Back again for Day 9, which might turn out to be the toughest challenge yet.
So, normally I have the exercises picked at random and then throw the slip of paper back into the container, but today is something different. Today's exercise is:
10. Recall the most painful moment of your life -- whether that pain is physical, emotional, or
some surly combo-pack containing the two -- and write about it. Don't shirk the details. Explore
the pain.
I haven't figured out where to start yet, but I'll say this: this is a one-time deal. Since it's 'the most painful' moment, there can only be one (Highlander reference unintentional).
Okay, upon further review, I'm saying to Hell with the 15 minute time limit and just writing until I'm done. I'm gonna need a minute to prep myself for this one.
So, the most painful day of my life hasn't happened yet, but it will be the day that my dad dies. It will be the most painful because ther eare so many things I need to tell him that I can't. The funny part is that I'm friends with both my sister (who is closer to my dad) and my step-sister (who lives with my dad), so he may find out anyway.
See, my parents got divorced when I was little. My dad's an alcoholic and cheated on my mom with the woman who is now my step-mom. When you're that young (I think I was 7 or 8), you have no idea what's going on. You always think it's your fault and while it wasn't my fault, I was still the catalyst that set the whole thing in motion. After a night at my dad's bowling league, we got in the truck and I fell asleep. I woke up later in a strange place. Turns out my dad had taken me to his mistress's house. In retrospect, that's probably not a good idea, but what can you do now, right?
Anyway, I met this woman and her daughter (just a baby, now my step-sister). At some point, I fell asleep again and dad loaded me into the truck and we went home.
My mom and my sister ran outside as we pulled into the driveway. I hopped out of the truck and ran inside because it was cold. My sister hugged me tight. I thought she was just happy to see me, but looking back on the image I have in my mind, I think she knew something was going to go down.
Anyway, my mom asked my dad where we had been. I think at this point it was like two in the morning. Before my dad could say anything, probably because he was drunk, I said 'We were at some lady named Jan's house.'
Boom. Mom slapped dad right across the face. Maybe she knew it was coming, maybe she didn't. I don't know. I've never asked. My sister wrapped me up tight and put herself in between me and them. I think I started crying, but I wouldn't swear to that. I remember being really confused, though.
Dad left and that was the beginning of the end of their marriage. It's funny. When the divorce was final, I remember asking mom if I had to call my dad by his given name. It was just one of those kid questions that made sense at the time.
I feel like I'm heading off topic, but I'm not sure.
I got to go stay with my dad once a month as part of his visitation rights and I have to say that most of the time, I hated these trips, mostly because dad and Jan were drunk all the time. I once saw my dad hit Jan in a drunken rage. I wouldn't be surprised if it happened more often. I honestly doubt he remembers it happening.
He coached my little league baseball team and I was horrible. I was an active kid, but not athletic. I didn't really want to play baseball, but really, my options were limited.
Through most of my teen years, I don't really remember staying with him that often. I think that was when he had moved further away, so it was harder to get together to make the switch between parents.
College and adulthood met with less visits, due to where I went to school and where I live now. Other than my graduation and wedding, he's never been anywhere to visit me. It's always up to me to go back there to visit. I try to get back there, but there are times when I just dread visiting. Step-mom's drunk most every night, as far as I know, which even after all this time, is not an environment I like to be in, but I do it, because...well...because I feel like I have to, I guess.
So, a few years ago, on a visit back home, my dad came down to my mom's house to see me and we went out to lunch. I was seeing a councilor at the time and she said that it would do me good if I knew why my dad had cheated on my mom in the first place. So, on the drive back to my mom's house, I asked.
Turns out that it was a 'bad decision.' That was the entire reason. My dad was in a band, they played at bars, he drank and he cheated. That's it. I've talked to my sister about it and apparently there were some other reasons that he told her, but he didn't tell me those. Just that it was a 'bad decision.'
Now, I've made some bad decisions in my life, but nothing like that.
So, if you get to know, then you know that I can be an emotional person. Being emotional, I tend to have...let's call them anger issues. Not like road rage or anything like that, but I tend to hold grudges. I have a grudge that I've been holding for round about 27 years. The bad part is that I have an excellent memory, so I remember a lot of things other people forget.
So, after 30 some odd years, I still have issues about this whole situation. When I think I've gotten over some of them, I find I haven't or they've gotten even worse. I told my dad on one of my last visits that I forgave him. I forgave him. But I can't forget it. I'm still angry. And it's an anger that I'll probably never tell him about. Because I can't.
I haven't visited him in the last couple of years. I don't know if it's some attempt to punish him. My visiting him is the only thing I have control over in that regard, so it might be. I feel guilty about that, kind of. I keep trying to remind myself that it's not an environment that I want to be in, but at the same time, he's family, so I have an obligation. Right? My dad came down with testicular cancer a few years ago. Mentally, I started preparing myself for what I would say to him if it came down to his last days or something. He's in remission, though, so that's good.
I love my dad very much, but I still carry a lot of anger. Maybe a little hate, as well. No, it isn't hate. Hate is such a strong word. I still carry the anger, though. I don't think I'll ever get rid of that.
So, when he dies, I'll be at the funeral and I'm sure I'll talk about all the good things he did, but once I'm alone, it'll be all tears and rage, because I'll still be angry but I still won't be able to tell him. And that will be the most painful day of my life.
Well. That's over with.
I'm not sure I followed the exercise, but I hate rules, so I bent them, broke them, set them on fire and then ran over them with a tank made of Dachshunds. This was more free form/stream of consciousness stuff.
Anyway, that's going to do it for today. I feel a little drained, surprise surprise. My lovely assistant has drawn tomorrow's exercise and it is:
21. Go out into the world and do a little people-watching. Pick a person -- preferably one who
looks nothing like you -- and write three brief scenes from their life. One of those scenes must be
that person's death.
Well, this should be interesting. We have an outdoor mall in town, but it's supposed to be cold again tomorrow. I'll figure out something.
Thanks for joining me and I'll see you tomorrow. Until then, take care and be awesome to each other.
#WWWYKI
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