Without a Father Figure

Crash. Boom. Bang.

I walked softly downstairs to see where the noise came from. I saw my step-father passed out on the couch. It was 2:30 in the morning and he snored away on the couch. I looked him over for a couple of minutes and listened to his heavy rasps of air.

I went back upstairs, sat in front of the computer, and thought of the news I heard today. I knew it was coming. I just wasn't ready to hear it. I just didn't want to hear it.

I hope you can handle what I am about to say. I just need to get it out and rid my heart of the terrible weight that has burdened it for so long. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I was one when my mother left my father. I don't recall the night it happened. I only vaguely remember waking up on Christmas morning and my brothers telling me of the bad happening the night before. I went downstairs with them and noticed that it was a different living room, a different Christmas tree, and a different house. Funny. My mom left my father on Christmas Eve, took her sons to her sister's house, and started a holiday tradition that lasted for many years. From that moment on, we went to my aunt's house every Christmas for dinner.

I never knew my father. Bill was not exactly the affectionate type. I don't remember hugs. No. None of that. I only remember one kiss from him. Unfortunately, I also remember the bitter sting of his palm one time. It happened when I was five years old. Mom ran out of time to find me a sitter and had to take me to a family wedding outside of St. John's. My parents had been divorced maybe a year or two at the most at the time.

I wore only shorts and a rugby t-shirt because of the summertime heat. We met up with Bill and he was not happy to see me tagging along. They argued in my uncle's kitchen while I sat in the living room. Then he called me in. I was terrified of this man. I knew who Bill was but I had no connection with him. I immediately latched onto my mom's pant leg. He reached over, pulled me off, called me a baby, and tossed me into the cupboards. I bounced back off it and careened straight into his open palm.

Bam. Right on the kisser. I can still feel the hard cold linoleum under my ass when my body hit the floor.

I don't remember much after that, except for the fact he bought me soda pop all night, and told me that he didn't mean to hit me. I sucked my liquid sugar through a straw and nodded at him in silence. Sure. Just please don't hit me again. I don't like it. But I dared not say that out loud.

I grew up in a house of boys without a male figure. My brothers tried to be a father to me, but our household was just too violent. Not a day went by without a fistfight. To this day, I am still in awe at my mother. How she put up with it all is beyond me. She only pulled us closer and refused to give up on any of us.

My mom met a man many years later when I was eleven years old. He became a male figure in my life but well; not a father figure. At that point, I had become so disassociated with what a father figure meant anyway. My mom was the law in our family. She was the solvent that melted away the sadness of not having a father. She was everything to me growing up.

I met a girl when I turned 21 and we ended up moving into her father's house. I became close with him. Jim was such an intelligent man with a caring and gentle soul. He opened not only his doors for me but openly embraced me into his family. We hung out in his room and watched old movies. I listened as he explained the history of etymology behind historical names. He had been a teacher once and he taught me during our conversations. How to love a child and the small little things that make a difference in a child's life. Kisses he said. Lots and lots of kisses. You can never give them enough kisses. Then he laughed at his simple words. And I laughed with him.

We even took a technology program together for a year. I sat in the same class with him and envied his ability to get better marks than me. Well son, he said, maybe you should actually study. Then he laughed at his simple words. And I laughed with him.

His daughter and I eventually separated but I continued to live with Jim even when she moved out. I loved her father. He was the father figure I never knew. He was always there for me. His door was always open. And, believe me, I took advantage of that open door policy many, many times. It was incredible to know that I was like a son to him.

Time went on and people move on as we are known to do. I moved out, left the province, and traveled across North America for five years. I spent each of those years in a different mountain every winter and snowboarded with abandon. I almost even died on a scary, dark night during those same years. I lost touch with all of Jim's lessons and forgot about everything my mom told me about drugs. I almost drowned under the dark heavy weight of misspent youth.

Yet, as those years passed, I still called him. We always knew how the other was and he always wanted to know if I was being safe. He was one of the few I called when I dropped back into town to visit mom. We always went out for lunch. He always paid. The last time I saw him was a couple of years ago.

I am back in town again. I emailed my old girlfriend to meet up, have some drinks, and meet her new fiancee. I have not seen or even talked to her in over eight years. I asked her how her father was and noticed an absence in her written reply.

Today, I called another old mutual friend of ours who I had also not talked to in over eight years. Have you talked to our friend, she asked? Yes, I said, and I left a phone message with her last night. Do you know what happened, she asked. Do you know that her father passed away from cancer last year? She mentioned that she had no idea how to get ahold of you. She told me how close you and her father were.

No, I said, no I didn't know that. I hung up the phone a couple moments later and put it all out of my mind. I spent the day shopping with my mom, saw my old friend, got a haircut, and dropped mom off at home later on in the night.

I drove to get some food and then it hit me. He's gone. He's really, really...gone. No chance to even say goodbye. Gone. The one and only father figure in my life...gone.

The keyboard blurs in my vision. I think of all the motivating reasons I have created over the years to make sense of my life. To push me forward with haste. To make sure that this life does not pass me by and leave me with regrets. For me primarily, for my mother, for my close friends, heck, even for the random strangers I will hopefully inspire to live a life more than ordinary.

I think about my age and guage how much time I have left to make an impact in this world. People talk about age all the time. We are a culture so inudated and saturated with youth that we forget what comes with age. We turn a blind eye to the time needed to develop experience, to develop character; to develop a life. Oh getting old hey, some tell me. No, I say, actually I am just still a puppy. My age only represents the number of years I have been on this earth. I have many years still ahead of me and many journeys still to be walked.

But, for some reason, tonight, my life window grew a little shorter. A candle flame somewhere inside snuffed out, never to be lit again. He's gone. So, I will do my best to honour him with the time in this life that I have left. I will do my best to honour the only father I have ever known. I miss him. I will never have another father like him in my life ever again.

I think of Bill and of his last words to me over eight years ago. They were not of the kind, fatherly type. He suffered a major stroke a few months ago and does not even remember my name anymore. In his mind, I have never even existed. I could really care less. I don't know the man, never have, and really do not even care to know him. Sad.

My mom tells me she is so proud of the man I have become. I tell her that I have no idea what being a man really means. I never had a true example other than Jim. I have basically been building my image of a man the only way I know how: in my own image. Learning from my mistakes, avoiding those same mistakes in the future, and directing my life to a higher purpose.

I will continue to push on, Jim, and one day may we meet again to sit and talk. You may have used simple words to make your point, but you were never a simple man in my eyes. Thank you for all the times you pulled me aside and told me what it meant to have a son like me. Thanks for being the father I always wanted to have.

Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"Now how I can survive without my friend of mine? My view is not perfect...yet somehow perfect. What I am to do? I've lost that part of me...will I be alright? Yeah will I make it?"
- Daniel Greaves of The Watchmen