Respecting Your Father and On Your Relationship with Your Father, by Our Papa
The Fatherless Family |
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My parents divorced when I was only 5 years old,
and my father's presence in my life diminished significantly. Mom
remarried when I was 9, but our stepfather was no better a role model
than my father had been. My mother passed away one year after getting
remarried. When my siblings and I arrived back home after her funeral,
we found our stepdad with his bags packed. He jumped into a cab with
the five of us kids peering at him through the living room window. We
never saw him again.
With our mother dead and our stepfather out of the
picture and after one year in a foster home, my sister and I moved back
in with our birth father. Unfortunately, dad's struggles with alcohol
had not improved in the years since the divorce. I was 11 years old at
this point, and actively involved in Little League in Southern
California. Most kids in my position would have been thrilled to have
their dad in the stands, cheering them on at a baseball game. However,
much to my own embarrassment and humiliation, my father attended a game
completely drunk. His offensive, belligerent behavior made it clear to
everyone in attendance that he was intoxicated.
One year after we had moved back in with our
father, my sister turned 18 and decided to strike out on her own. Since
I was only 12, my siblings and other extended family members convened a
"family conference" to determine whether or not I should stay with my
dad. My older brother had offered to take me in if I so desired, and so
the choice was ultimately mine to make. I'll never forget the feeling
of having all of my remaining family members — dad included
— looking at me and awaiting my decision. I chose to live with my
brother.
During the preceding year, my father had
experienced four or five serious drunken episodes, including the
aforementioned baseball game debacle. However, my decision to move in
with my brother was not primarily the result of the pain and
embarrassment that dad had caused me personally. In fact, when I stated
my intention to move out during the family conference, my dad asked,
"Why?" Without hesitation, I told him, "Because of what you did to
Mom." More than seven years after their divorce, the wounds associated
with my dad's drunken mistreatment of my mother were still fresh in my
mind. And so, at only 12 years of age, I moved in with my older
brother. A year later, my father died intoxicated and alone in a frozen
abandoned building, the victim of exposure.
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