Camino Journal - Dear Dad
La Madrugada - April 24
Dear Dad,
I no longer have your address. I see you also no longer work at your job. I hope you are enjoying retirement. I haven’t heard anything, but by the looks of your Linked In profile and your job’s website, as well as at least one TV appearance, things look like they have gone very well for you. I noticed the caption on the news video listed you as Chief of Police. Job well done, sir. I assume this letter will find your hands if addressed there.
Your stepdaughter in law, Chrystal, came by one of my shows the other day. It is not out of the ordinary to run into people I knew over the years in the gig economy, but you could imagine my excitement when she gave me a hug between songs. It made me think how long it’s been since we’ve spoken. And it made me question why we’ve never talked about any of it. I know, you may think we’ve talked about it enough, but I’m having such a hard time getting over everything.
I want you to know that I love you so much. I also forgive you for everything and anything you did or that people said you did to me. It’s ok. Like I said, I meet a lot of people in my line of work, and I met a lot of people as a teacher as well; a lot of parents, to be more specific. Parents like you and your wife. Parents like any ‘ol parent. In the end, that’s essentially what you are. A parent. Thank you for being my parent. I’m blessed with good looks. This life could have been a lot harder had I been born ugly. I think I owe 50% of that to you and yours. But I’m sure you’d still have to admit, my mom was certainly a looker in her day. There’s a great song by Ryan Bingham titled The Weary Kind. He’s real hot these days due to his success in the big hit Yellow Stone. When I hear it, I think about men, in general. Who are we? Us men. Manly men. Savages, even.
We see a beautiful young thing and our eyes tell our stomach something. Then our stomach calls down to the balls. The brain reinforces the stimuli, and the balls tell the cock to take command. Honestly, I can’t tell you how many women I’ve lusted over in my mind during my life. How difficult it is to not want to have them all to me. Especially the beautiful ones. And what do I want to do? At best, and most wholesome, I’d want to marry them and get them pregnant, and as Bingham says in the last verse become “the man who ruined her world.”
Ah yes. I must say, and I whole heartedly mean it, I’m so eternally grateful to be born of two physically beautiful human beings. I’ve never had a problem charming anyone. I’ve never yearned for long that a woman would flicker a smile my way or even directly ask me to bed with her. I’ve been given many opportunities in this life because I was more handsome, smiled better, presented more confidently, and had blue eyes. Thank you for all those qualities. Because of you and my mother’s relationship, I am born. I am alive. I breathe and eat and shit like the rest of us. Just like you.
I don’t think you ruined my mother’s world. I never put that one on you. I always thought of how I would ruin the world of the woman I loved. That I would make her fat and give her stretch marks and make her ugly from pushing a human being from out where my little 6-inch pecker used to barely fit. Thanks for the completely average, but again very anatomically pleasing, penis, although due to some videos I’ve seen from plundering your closet as a kid, the larger penis size must have come from my mother’s side. It seems that you make beautiful humans regardless of their mother and dick size. All the same, I can’t stress enough how much more difficult life could have been for me had I been born ugly. Had I come from a different father, I wouldn’t value the life I’ve lived as much as I do now. I would be genetically different.
I thought about you when I was talking to Chrystal. I was asking her not to try and play matchmaker. I was explaining that I still get very uncomfortable when trying to unpack and process the lives you and I lived together. And she was so sweet and loving that all she could say was, “Oh my god, Joey. You look just like your Dad. It’s like I’m sitting here talking to Jim.”
I never thought you were handsome, but one time I asked Donna if you were and she said, “Oh definitely. Your Dad is a babe.”
My mother will also admit your boyish charm, good looks and striking blue eyes. Jason looks a lot like you too. And Jason and I look and talk and act a lot alike, and that also happens to be a lot like you. Fortunately, I get to work with Jason more than a few times a year and I can’t help but see the same thing Chrystal saw in me when I’m talking to Jason. Sometimes I can hear your voice when I’m talking to someone. Must be genetic. Even after all these years, with merely a visit or two over a span of decades and I still resemble the seed from which I rose. Thank you again.
This is also to say that I can see how you got yourself into quite the pickle. Marrying the wrong woman the first go round, and all. There’s another great song out there. George Jones sings, “I’m gonna put a golden band on the right left hand this time. And the right left hand’ll put a golden band on mine.” You’re not so unique as a father in the divorce thing. It sure did seem like it back in the late 80s. Man, what an explosion. I see what you mean about my mom. I get it. I have her in me too. You’re not wrong about everything. I can also see it from any woman’s point of view. Take us out of the equation. Let’s use me again. I marry this hypothetical woman, get her pregnant and then divorce. I’ve pursued women. I’ve really thought I was in love. I’ve almost married the wrong one. I know what it’s like to blindly go into something and have no idea what it’s all about. Sucks that you had to go and figure that one out on your own as well. And even more unfortunate for you, is that you had children with the wrong one. But alas, again I must only thank you that you and my mother did find each other. I do enjoy being alive.
I’m also glad you joined the military. I use USAA for my car and home insurance. It’s miles ahead of any other agency out there. I really appreciate being able to take advantage of that benefit despite any lack of relationship between us. I really mean it. Thank you for the USAA family benefit. They cover my gear and equipment for work as well and never fail to provide care and quality attention. That’s hard to find these days.
I read a book recently titled Unbroken. It’s about Louis Zamperini. I’m sure grandpa had to have heard of him. He crash-landed early in WWII over Japan somewhere. Zamperini and one other survived over a month on the ocean only to find themselves captives of a terribly violent POW camp. Later Louis was singled out by a warden known as “The Byrd”. For over a year Zamperini was almost tortured to death by this POW warden. The book help me understand why so many of grandpa’s generation hated the Japanese. They were by far the most brutal in their treatment of prisoners, the world over. Nobody tortured and stole the very dignity from their POWs like the Japanese did. After Zamperini survived all that, he became an alcoholic. He tried to dull the pain and when that didn’t work, he spent his life and all his will planning to return to Japan and find The Byrd and have his vengeance. Zamperini fed himself a daily dose of poison in the hatred he felt for this man. The Byrd long gone to the hills and Zamperini in fits of terror during nightmares and drunken stupors during his waking hours.
By the 80s, Louis Zamperini was a complete wreck. Then he found Billy Graham and God. Zamperini had been heard admitting over the years that he was an alcoholic. I’m sure Louis tried a lot of things before finally settling on the idea of heading over to Japan to find The Byrd who was never sentenced for war crimes. I didn’t see the connection between you and The Byrd until the end of his story. What happens, if you haven’t read it, is that Louis forgives The Byrd, writes him a letter and even agrees to meet him in person. The Byrd was momentarily found and agreed to meet in person with Louis. The meeting never happened, and The Byrd never got Louis’s letter, but the amazing ability to forgive such a terrible man made it easy for me to forgive a relatively nice man, such as yourself.
I’ve only ever loved you, and my one plan for vengeance was to write some grand novel that would expose you for a phony. The problem with that is I don’t think you’re a phony at all. I also see it would be futile to drum up such a personal story – that after all, is so utterly played out and generic. None of us could see that in ’89 or even well into the 90s. None of us had a clue if a life for a divorced family was even possible. I’ve spent years hating you and poisoning myself. I think over and over some of the monologues you’d give and how I’d try to portray you fairly and accurately. I felt a sense of relief knowing that if your police officer friends knew you had a kid you didn’t talk to that they might look at you different. Thank you for inviting me to your office and to the station to get to know your work buddies. I felt special that day. And thank you for taking me out to pizza.
My only goal was to write a book about the noble policeman with two families and a bastard child. As you rose in the ranks, I fell. As you became rich, I became poor. As you carried on a noble name, I live as a bastard. I need you to read these words from me and attempt to see my perspective. I’m sorry I wished so much hatred on you and your name. I’m sorry I wished you’d be fired or that you’d be exposed for some corruption. I really feel terrible about it. It has made my life the lesser for having lived it feeling that way toward you. I’m not only sorry because of what the hatred has done to me, but what it did to you.
Hatred is such a poison. You might ask yourself, “Why does he hate me?” Well, first. I don’t hate you anymore. I’m trying to deal with it. And I realize Hatred is something that comes from me. Not from you. You are only a part of my hatred as much as I make you a part of it. I hate. I’m sorry that I hate, and I’ve involved you in my hatred. And I forgive you, as I feel my life was made harder at time because of your actions and influence. You used your position as a man and as a police officer and the son of a decorated coronel to get your way at times when it didn’t wholly benefit me, the child. As a result of my experience under your unwarranted and unreasonable punishment, my life became a disaster. It was not so much the pain, but the consistent tension and stress of humiliation over long periods of time, culminating with disownment and being barred from the high school football team on your advice to the coach that caused me to begin to hate and to hate with a vengeance. Under your discipline, the hope for my future and wellbeing, not only as a child but as an adult, was stripped from me and the struggle to maintain enough dignity and hope in this life became utterly difficult. With your love, wealth, privilege and heritage, my life could have possibly been easier. I wish we could know.
When I called you in 2009, I was riding a bike around Eugene, OR. My relationship with my fiancé was failing. We’d moved into a nice cozy back yard mother-in-law suite. I didn’t know what I was going to do with my life. I knew then I had to start to make a way back to you - and through this hatred. You told me I needed to find God. So, I started looking. At that point, I had no reason to look to the father. As a Christian, I’m sure you understand that a child’s ideas of God come from his ideas of his Earthly father. Because of you, I’ve found more beauty and understanding than I could have ever hoped for. Seeking your approval and that of God, I’ve been fortunate to travel to Europe and go to school in Oregon. I’ve traveled America and lived in different cities. Because of you, I’ve learned about peace and love and Jesus. You asked me to look, and I did. It led me back to you and has led me even further in this life. God has provided me with what I needed in this life, and now provides me more than I need. I’m not sure I would have found that if it hadn’t been for you telling me, “That I needed to find God,” before we hung up that phone call.
Alas I must confess this journey began with small-minded manipulation on my part. I am very sorry. I have likely always said what you wanted to hear. I just wanted to be loved and recognized. I didn’t know it then, but I am an avoidant. I have a large tendency to err towards compliance when I’m faced with fight or flight situations. I have to say, thanks for coming to that hotel room that night and giving me some snacks and sympathy. Things were not going well at that moment with either of my parents. Again, I only sought some love and recognition. I really did need it, and there you were. And thank you for taking me into your home before I went off to teach English in Spain. I felt so accomplished. You guys even paid me to do some painting for you.
To be quite honest though, I again plundered your stuff. I’ve never been able to contain myself as to the mystery of my father. I found your will. I read it. And it made me feel that you didn’t really believe any of the stuff you’d said about God. But then I couldn’t figure out if you’d left it out for me to find. You still have letters I wrote you and that my mother wrote me while living at your house as well as my high school journal in some locked safe somewhere. Even if you didn’t want me to find your last will and testament, the humiliation and confusion continued.
You have some fantasy where I show up at the end of your life with my hand out for my portion. Knowing that I’ll receive nothing ever, “zilch, zero, nada, nothing” and whatever other words you looked up didn’t change my pursuit of a relationship with you. God had already found me and helped me push past your perspective on things. Yea, your house was nicer, we had go carts and dirt bikes, but none of that stuff was mine. Maybe that’s why I wanted it so badly. You say, “Come. This is your house. These are your things,” but that is just completely not how a divorced family works. We lived with our mother.
After all those years, you harbor such a deep disdain for me that you envision a scene where I’m somehow embarrassed that I don’t get any of the money. God told me to keep going. I wanted and needed money as a child and afterall, a little money never hurt anyone, but it was never what I wanted overall in life. Your money. I just wanted to be helped to make some of my own money. Or be taught something. By the time I was 16, you looked at my mother and me as gypsies going after some treasure trove of a fortune with a lock only your penis could key. I never understood it all, but I’ve learned about my mother’s heritage and the differences there. Commonality would be that on both sides of my family – all men went to the military. A difference in my two families is on my mother’s side, the women went to the service as well, like my mom’s older sister. In your family, women like your mother were going to university at a time when only 5 percent of American males had college degrees. You sought after my mom. You transferred schools to be closer to her. Took classes with her. You spent time to woo her. And that’s why the breakup was so traumatic. There were a lot of promises made and a lot of assumptions unspoken – from the both of you. Just like millions of couples today who have no sense of who they are or what they are getting into. Maybe that’s just the way it is.
So, I overlook the differences in your story of my life and my story of my life. I accept that the influence of my mother plays its role in there. But where my mother went sorely wrong was to not be honest about all the times you tried to completely break her, and me in the process. The 1990s – Azle Texas. Single mother working as Social Worker at a nursing home. Gets served for custody court once and sometimes twice a year and once on the day after Christmas. Where did you get all the money to pay for that? We didn’t have it. My grandmother lived with us. My mom made less than $20,000 a year. It was humiliating to be the poor kid. To feel like a Savage. To feel like I belonged to the rich, the talented and the beautiful and then have nothing but the literal house you left us in. How much did you lose in the divorce? That’s what men talk about at bars. How much they lost and how much they must pay. I recall getting your very last child support check after being punched in the face by my mother’s husband for demanding it from him in what I considered to be a situation of dire straits. The punch to the face wasn’t worth the measly $300 check you were sending my way. And despite that, you went on and on about money and how that’s all we wanted from you, it didn’t seem like you minded spending money with the number of times you went to court with my mother over the span of 10 years. And I thought it was all over thousands and thousands of dollars not a couple hundred bucks a kid per month. I’m quite sure your parents gave you more than enough to cover all of that each year at Christmas, alone.
I forgive you. I really don’t know much about what it’s like to be married, but this is how I see my life, and that’s a fact. Poor kid from Azle with no Dad. Every woman I’ve ever come closed to settling down with is scared to death of my nightmares, of my insecurity and heightened cortisol levels and over all deregulated nature in the core of my being.
After you would come and pick me up in Azle, and you and my mom would fight, or sometimes you’d fight and yell and scream with my Nanny, then I had to ride with you for an hour or two to wherever you lived. Or if my mom met you somewhere and there was a nasty exchange, we had to ride off into that. There was no immediate regulating of the child. The adults were out of their minds and barely able to control themselves. You and your wife used to humiliate me when I mentioned once that I saw my mother crying because of the divorce and breakup or at any time we had any opinion on anything. And you forced me to call your new wife mom. You and your wife were terribly mean to me. Once you threw my little brother back out on the yard and peeled out back onto 730. I know because I was in the Astro Van wishing maybe I could have been thrown out too. And yes, it was for some regulating experience like going to McDonalds. Or just going inside and watching TV. Or being served home cooked meals or having access to calming music and a calming house. When it was just me, my mom and Nanny – it was a calm house.
I know you now, because I know me. You couldn’t settle down after your arguments with my mother and if you could, then it was just not to talk. Just seeing her became a triggering factor for you. I’m sorry that things got so poor between yall that it came to that. There should have been counseling or church or someone somewhere to help you two work through it. I think those long car rides and the constant fight or flight thoughts I experienced while infinitely having to decide between two parents still play a part in my life and come to the surface when I’m feeling most down. I had no where to go. I loved you. I was a child. You were always angry when I was around. It got to the point that Jason looking like my mom would trigger you and Donna. I would trigger you. You guys hated us. And maybe it was because you only got to see me on your angry days, or you were over worked. I don’t know. You also worked nights. You slept all day. You wanted nothing to do with me, but that’s just a kid’s perception and kids don’t know shit about shit. I was just supposed to be this perfect kid. And even your new kid was huffing gasoline to cope with the chaos of your house. It wasn’t safer there. There was less super vision, less food, and more invitation into madness because that’s how you ran your house. I think a lot of the vengeance feelings come from wanting all that money you spent on court to have come to me. Or the money my mom was forced to spend. What was that all about? Have you heard about the Herndon boy who shot himself in the head out there in Mountain Valley? Didn’t all your kids go through some sort of rebellious phase and drug use? I was the first born. The experiment. I’m grateful you got to learn so much about parenting from me. And I wish I could have been a better kid.
Because of the things I did to you growing up, the consequences on my life have been great. I chose to go to college and take loans. I’m faithfully paying them off and will one day be finished, but I’m almost 40 and still own no property. I can get no less than 12% on car loans and can’t borrow money from banks because of my student loan debt. The way I understood it from both you and my mother, was that you were saving for me to go to college. I do remember you showed me an account sheet once. I was still small enough to sit on your knee. For a 90s kid, there was no other option than to go to college, and for a 90s parent, no other option than to save, especially for a child coming from the Sullivan family. But this was all renegotiated with the divorce and over time. I do thank you for being so considerate as to pay off a bill for me in a time of need. Thank you. That could have been one of those moments when I was just barely hanging on.
I know you’ve tried to be a good dad. And you’ve demonstrated that perfectly well. Great job raising up 4 of 6 damn well. It hurt me the most when Savannah said that she was tired of me making you cry. It was just so ironic. So incredible. To think of my many nights of crying and then be blamed for your tears. I haven’t been able to return to your sight. I couldn’t play the part. I’m unwilling to buy into your story line any longer. I appreciate all the kindness in drinks with Donna and the couple family dinners. And I even appreciate you and Donna coming to one of my gigs back then at that little winery. I used to play there for $75 for a two-hour gig.
I don’t know what’s to come of my life going forward, but I took on a lot of yours and my mom’s problems when I was very young. You both put me in the middle. It’s unfortunate, but again, just an everyday occurrence in today’s world. Pretty soon the government will be growing the humans in labs right out of an Aldus Huxley book. I’d still be just as handsome if I was grown and raised that way – that is if my mom’s egg and your sperm made it into a govt sponsored petri dish.
For us to have a relationship we must come to terms with my problems. I think by understanding my problems as “our” problems, we can better get a grip on what’s going on. If you can empathize with the difficulty and strife I experienced not only under your discipline, but under that of my mother and under the household of another man, then maybe you can forgive me and my mother. I also think part of that forgiveness is to be honest about how you met Donna and how you came to fall out of love with my mother and into love with Donna.
I will admit, for many years as a youth, I wished you and my mom would get back together. But not in the way I see adults interpret it these days. I wanted my parents back together. I wanted the full systems online to help me succeed in this life. I wanted two people who were devoted only to me, to give me all their money and time and love and effort. That’s what I wanted and meant if I ever said that I wanted my parents back together. I still love you. Your differences with my mother seem to have spawned from pettiness. Things that harken back to your college classroom days and broken toys. Little did any of us know – this was my foundation.
Today you get a kind letter thanking you as honestly as I can for this life I have. I still have a relationship with my mother and she’s a great mother. Things get better as we grow older, and she’s been there to talk with me all these years. Your influence has at times shattered the gentle trust between a mother and her son. I’ve angered with her in times where I should have been angry with you. I’ve yelled at her when I couldn’t yell at you. I defied her when I wanted to defy you. When she couldn’t do it anymore, I went about defying the law. Looking back, I can see that in a subconscious way I could have been lashing out in order to be arrested by you. To garner your attention. When you could have made life easier for me and my mother, early on you consistently chose to make it harder. I’m grateful that although there is no reconciliation, there is at least peace. I hope and pray that you can see these words and this process as merely a lonely aging man’s attempt to propel his life into something greater, if not before the wind leaves the sails. Had things been more “normal” for me, I’d of have the opportunity to have a healthy disdain for my parents and a nice teenage rebellion that culminated in me finding myself. Instead, I’ve spent years pleasing others, using drugs and alcohol and abusing people to suit my desperate needs and fill the empty place where I sought an identity. Where I sought to be loved by my father and to not only be loved by him but blessed and bestowed upon.
Life has not been easy, but thanks to you I’ve found God. I struggle sometimes, and sometimes wish things were easier. I often feel I’m a burden on the world, or that I’m useless, or that I’m flawed or somehow just not enough. I must recognize a lot of those feelings are biological responses to some of your actions and the way you handled having your first kid. I’m sorry I’ve been so tuff on you. It hasn’t been easy.