My Father, The Hero
I know you won’t read this, and if you do, it won’t matter. For a long time; you’ve been the main reason why I was so bitter towards life. Everything I did; all the mistakes I’ve made, it wasn’t in spite of you, but when I would get you angry, it was a bonus. It wasn’t until the phone call I received from you, last Saturday, that really opened my eyes to everything. In fact; that phone call revealed a lot to me, and the following days have been nothing but reflecting. You’re 50 years old, or 51, I always get it confused. That’s five decades on this earth, and you’ve spent 24 years of those five decades, in mine. I’m not sure how much I can remember; but I remember mom showing me the videos of you and I, and the look in your eyes, you were in love with me, I was your first born son. You named me after you, and wouldn’t let me leave the hospital unless I was named after you. I can tell; just from that, you wanted me to carry on some legacy. Well; old man, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have other plans. I have MY dreams, visions, my own legacy to leave behind. I just hope that you’re okay with that, as long as you know that I’m happy. A child; watching his father act a fool, because the wine was too rich for his taste. I mean; I just watched, and you laughed with your friends, that was you. That’s what made you happy. I see why I am your son, because my friends come first, too. The price for friends, was your family. You never gave up the opportunity to drink with them, shit, you even brought them to our home; a place that was suppose to be safe for us, only for them to soil. I understand, now. You’re perfect when you have to be, and yourself when you’re tired of being perfect. I mean, I’m like that, too. I’m kind when I want, and when it gets to be annoying, I am who I am. I need my space, or my friends, or my sins. All of my questions were the same, for years.
- Why doesn’t he love me?
- Why is he acting like this?
- Does he care about us?
- When will this end?
- Why us, why me?
You had a funny way of showing your love. Bribing me with whatever I wanted, who could complain? Insane; but here I was, this spoiled child, and you thought it could distract me. Impossible; I saw you for what you were, or maybe what the bottle made you out to be. All of these years, I blamed you for everything, I saw you as nothing but a drunk. A drunk who couldn’t deal with his consequences. It made you violent towards mom. From what I recall, she never did anything to wrong you, yet, you took everything out on her. She was your target, for years, and in front of me. Many years, many tears, many fears. I couldn’t do anything, I was too young. I did appreciate the nights that you were sober. You did spend time with me, but as I got older, my heart grew colder. I started to pinpoint everything. I started to develop my own issues, and you never helped me. You were always busy working; gone before I could wake up, and sleeping, by the time I finished my homework. You became this man, who occupied a room in our home. You were no saint, and neither was I. I did everything I could to get back at you. I admit, I’ve done things that I’m not proud of, and I could sit here and say that it was a call for help, but the truth; I didn’t care anymore. I just wanted you to notice. Notice that you created a monster. You never did. We would always go to the park, and you would play volleyball with your friends, while I wandered into the playground, alone. I would get bullied, harassed, you name it. I just took the abuse, from the others. When it started to get dark, I would go back to where you were, and by that time, you were hammered. We would be there for hours, and I would patiently wait for you to finish acting like a fool, to take me home. By then, you went from hammered to beyond. How could you drive me home like that? Knowing you have your child, in the front seat, and your vision impaired. I don’t know how we made it home, but we did, each week. On certain nights, if you were really feeling it, you would berate the woman that you loved, the mother of your children, and the woman that gave me hope. To grow up, knowing that she was nothing to you, it killed me. My mother did whatever it took, to give us a better life, as did you, but you felt like you were forced to. All I remember, is her raising me. You were nice when it was convenient, my mother, she taught me everything. I didn’t learn how to be a man, no, not by you. All the other children, they had fathers that were proud of them. Fathers, who were there for them, when they needed them. Fathers, who wanted to be in their lives. You never showed an interest in anything that I did. I resented you for that. I wanted you there.
August 2nd, 2014, I received a phone call from you. You were drunk, but not enough to where you were slurring, and making a complete ass of yourself, like you normally do. This was different. You see; my younger brother, Nick, was smoking weed in his room a couple of nights ago, and my father was furious. He was cursing up a storm, in front of my youngest brother, Matthew, because he felt like he was being disrespected. Understandable, but my father’s methods were never effective. He just curse, yelled, and broke shit. I was in the room with my girlfriend, and decided to argue back with him, because Matthew doesn’t need to be exposed to this, even though arguing back wasn’t the proper answer. I told him to talk to Nick, instead of yelling. Help him understand why you’re mad. Instead; my father curses me out, and we just go back, and forth. We ended it with us saying things we were going to regret, but our prides didn’t allow us to apologize. Now; my father, drunk, tells me that he’s sorry for yelling at me. He didn’t mean to curse me out, he was just upset that my brother would smoke in his room, knowing my youngest, was in the house. He doesn’t want him being exposed to it, and he just overreacted. My heart sunk, because this was a man, although intoxicated, but sincerely sorry for yelling at me, which I never expected. He then explained to me how his brother has had problems with his son going to rehab for marijuana, and that he didn’t want us to end with the same issues. I felt horrible. He then tells me, that he loves us, and that everything he did, working 9-5, never seeing us, was so that when he dies, he leaves all his money behind, so we won’t struggle. God, I felt like an asshole. He continues; telling me that he doesn’t want me to struggle, he wants me to enjoy my life, doing whatever I want to do. All of these years, I’ve been attacking his character to everyone, to the world, through my music, poetry, everything. I never once, took the time to understand where he was coming from, I mean, it doesn’t justify him abusing my mother when he was hammered, but this was a man that was so deep in his problems, he couldn’t get out. I can’t change my father, he’s been here way too long as this person, and this is who he is. I can, however, be there for him when he needs me, because he will. My father broke his back, so I wouldn’t have to break mine. He showed me love by giving me what I wanted, because he never had it. He had to work as a child, to support his mother. I will never be able to fully grasp it, because I didn’t go through it. He made sure we got whatever we needed, AND wanted. My father may not be a saint, at all, in fact, we may burn in hell for this, but he will always be my hero. He loves me, he cares about me, my mother, my family, but he is lost. He is forever lost, and I won’t stop trying to find him. My father, the hero. I’m sorry, for everything, dad. I love you, so much. If I could, I would take what I did back, but you always forgave me, and for the first time; I forgive you. 
word is bond 