Father Locked Inside

     I had another blog years ago and I published my stories.  I thought they were clever.  I sent the link to my father even though I was I unnerved and I thought that he may be very angry.  I was sort of irreverent about Jesus in one of the stories and he’s pretty serious about Jesus.  

     
     Dad shouldn’t have even lived.  I don’t know how he’s even here.  He weighed 3 pounds 2 ounces at birth in1942 in the the backwoods of North Carolina.  I recently found out that the doctor told my granddaddy to get the box ready because the boy wouldn’t make it through the night.  He also beat scarlet fever when he was a kid.  The man is a genius but he has trouble with the written English language.  A Jewish doctor lady who he built a house for taught him how to read when he was an adult.  He still can’t spell and it I know it pisses him off because I think he feels very left out in the world of Facebook and texting and emails.  I guess it is very lonely to live in a world of codes that you can’t decipher.  Don’t get me wrong.  The man will send you a forward in a heart beat. His messages vacillate between semi tasteless jokes, well meant political commentary and you got it, Jesus.  His language deciphering limitation doesn’t stop him from being able to read a set of blueprints and set a house on the ground or figure out complicated machines.

     
     I ended up taking the leather in my teeth and I sent him the link to my old blog.  I couldn’t believe it.  He called me and he was sounded so happy.  I was shocked.  He went on and on about how great they were even with his bitchy wife sitting right there.  I’m very grateful that in this little life we were able to live long enough so that I could tell that man how much I admired his tenacity.  I told him that I thought that he wanted to be here very badly so he beat death.  On one occasion, I told him that I believed that he was the only man who could have done the job of being my father.  He wasn’t the perfect parent by any means. Then again, I wouldn’t have wished me on anyone.  In fact, I told my mother that I would have drowned me.  She doesn’t believe me but I know myself well enough to know that I would have done it.  I think you could get away with stuff like that back then fairly easily.   

     
     For the past 15 years, I have worked diligently to convince my father that I was making a sincere effort to do a better job with the life that he had so graciously bestowed on me.  As a teen I had frightened him horribly with my recklessness and he was ill-equipped to deal with such nonsense.  It took many years before I understood that his feelings of helplessness coupled with regret and guilt had morphed into a seething anger.  He always knew that I was one person who he could count on to absorb all of it and that I would never turn my back on him.  Back then, in that respect, he trusted me and none other.  Dealing with that man has been a lot of work.  I felt like giving up many times because he would make me furious.  I needed a lot of help in order for me to set that relationship right and when I reached out it was there.  I don’t like the word miracle very much because of the absurd connotation it has been shackled with but my relationship with my father is nothing short of one.  I have told him several times over the years that “It’s in our blood.”  He always remains silent when I say it.  I believe that now.  It’s why I survived.  It’s why he survived.  It’s in our blood.  I rarely tell my father that I love him because he doesn’t like to hear that shit.  He is a primitive creature but he is wise in his way and knows that love is an action word that has been cheapened to the point of exhaustion.  

     
     I was afraid to send those other stories to him because, like I said, he is pretty serious about Jesus.  I can’t remember what it was that I said but it’s in this machine someplace.  It wasn’t horrible but It was certainly not very reverent.  My father is the stuff legends are made of.  He is a character.  He’s so pissed off at the fucking government.  He used to always say, “We’re going out of here in a flash! You're either going to be on the right or on the left!”  After Trump won the election he changed it.  He actually believes that God put Donald Trump in the white house and my brother told me that he would not shut up about it.  He sounded like he was on some kind of drug.  Now that Trump is president we’re not going out of here in a flash anymore.  Instead, “The sky is going roll back!”  The right and the left thing stands.   

     
     I once gingerly told my dad that what worried me about all that talk was that maybe the people didn’t care about Jesus at all.  Maybe, all they cared about was feeling hatred towards who they viewed as the bad people and that they think that they have a right to share in God’s vindication.  I said I didn’t think Jesus would like that.  He was in a very calm mood that day and he said that wasn’t the point.  He said that Paul preached every day that today was going to be the day that Jesus came back for the judgment.  I don’t believe any of it and I have no intention of digging through the bible but he is my Dad and I’m not going to disrespect the man.  He claims that this Paul said it every single day.  Today is the day.  Today is the day.  I’m sure that guy got on everyone’s nerves but who cares?  It’s not real anyway.  It’s just a story.  My dad said that the point of Paul was to be ready.  Don't waste your time.  Be mindful of what you have in this life and consider every moment of it precious because it could all be gone in an instant.  

     
     This I can relate to.  It doesn’t have to be the sky rolling back or some crazy war or the ocean finally getting sick of us and sucking us all to the bottom.  The sky rolling back could be a lot of things.  It could be that dreaded call.  I’m sorry to have to tell you but . . . Fill in the blank.  

It could be anything that makes the sky roll back. 

     
     I can no longer think the same way I once did in light of recent developments in my “world view,” for lack of better terms.  For me, the sky did in fact roll back.  I guess, it’s my own stupid fault for being so pissed off about not being told the truth.  Still, I can only talk with my own voice.  I don’t have but so many brains and so I have to talk the way I talk.  

     
     It’s funny.  I have these memories of my childhood and I have no way of knowing if they are real.  They’re stored.  I have detailed files, as they say.  It’s just that there are worn spots or something so I can’t bring them up very well sometimes.  It’s frustrating.  It may be the psych meds but I don’t feel sorry for myself.  At least I didn’t get the shock treatment or the lobotomy.  I didn’t even get burnt at the stake.  That is, that I know of.  

     
     When we were kids my Dad bought this ugly yellow Cadillac.  We’d go someplace and he wouldn’t lock the doors.  We’d say, “Dad, aren’t you going to lock the door?!”  He’d say, “Awe, if they want it that bad they can have it.”     

     
     After, my dad called to say he was so very proud of my stories.  I completely lost interest in my blog.  I told myself that I was paranoid.  I didn’t want the machines to have it.  It’s too late for that now.  It always was but I didn’t know that then.  So, this is me.  I’m showing up when I really don’t fucking feel like it cause I’m fucking tired.  

   
     It just feels like I may be running out of time and I feel like I need to share these things because they were important to me.  If they are important to me and I have the ability then I feel strongly that I must act.  I must act as if.  I’m going to act as if those memories are real even though I have no way of knowing what’s real.  I don’t mind that I don’t know what parts of my memories are real, or what happened, or when, or why.  I don’t mind because I know one thing for certain.  It is in my blood.  I do have a spirit and I’m leaving the doors unlocked because you know what?  If they want it that bad they can have it.