Andy Schulkind explores the complexity of his relationship with his father.
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Dear Dad,
It sure is tough trying to figure you out. Ever since that night when I was six years old and you tossed Mom and me out of the apartment, with all of our clothes, too.
I remember long the walk up to Nana’s on Park Terrace West in what seemed like the middle of the night. Yeah, we came back the next day, but I never learned what was going on in your mind.
Nor did I know six years later when you left us both. I understood later on … but not then.
With the barriers you build around you, one would think you had the gold of Fort Knox hidden deep inside.
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Fifty-four years later, I’m no closer to gaining an understanding of who you are and what makes you tick than I was then. With the barriers you build around you, one would think you had the gold of Fort Knox hidden deep inside. Maybe it’s the walls of an institution for the criminally insane; no matter, because I’m no closer to breaching those defenses than I ever will be.
You’re going to be 86 in a few days. You used to live alone, and that’s the way you wanted it. You used to interact with the world on your terms. You’ve always had a parenthetical attitude towards the rest of the world. No close friends, no close relationships with anyone. Ever. Then you let your health deteriorate, and you collapsed and almost died. Three weeks in a hospital, then two months in a rehab facility. Then you were told you were never coming home.
Parts of your life came easy to you. Rehab did not. You went from the first floor to the second floor of the facility that is now your home. You hate it there. It is a prison for you. But you didn’t plan. You didn’t share your feelings with me. You never told me what you wanted. Now you are angry and bitter about where you are. And I can’t change anything.
You’ve lived a life that only the late Henry Ford II could appreciate. You never complained and never explained.
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You’ve lived a life that only the late Henry Ford II could appreciate. You never complained and never explained.
I moved back here so I could provide some support for you as you needed it. You made it clear you didn’t need it. Until it was too late. You did make some sacrifices; you took in your brother with full blown AIDS when his kids disowned him, and you were with him when he died in your house.
Now you were an only child and I saw how you managed Nana’s descent into dementia when you lived 1,500 miles away from her. You compartmentalize your feelings well. You did your duty as a brother and a son. As a father, not so much.
You don’t have much time left. Now you’re healthy again, and you’ve got your faculties; well the faculties you’ve always had. But in the grand scheme of your life, there’s more life behind you than in front of you.
I’ll be there when you need me. I may just be a bigger pain when I am there, than you are now. It won’t be revenge, it’ll just be how I need to cope with you.
Happy Father’s Day!
Photo—Cristian Iohan Ştefănescu/Flickr