and what would i say if i did? - part II

In a previous entry (and what would i say if i did), I created an action plan of what to say to my father when I grew the testicles required to call. Well, I grew the testicles, I found his number, and the following is the current outcome. Although I was not sure of how this would all go down, I was unprepared for what was to come next.

Driving up 95 to see my brother and sister and friends in the northeast, I realized that an in person conversation with my gnarley alcoholic drug addict father would be an even better way of confronting this skeleton hanging in the crawl space behind my walk-in closet. about 4 hours into the drive I called. I was first greeted by a voice mail in which I left the message that said, "Hi this is Lincoln James, your son. I realize we haven't spoken in quite some time, but am going to be in the area and was wondering if you had time to get together to catch up a bit. I will be at the coffee shop on main street at 6pm, and hope you can make it then."

To hedge the bet, I called the other number that I had gotten for him also. This was to the house that he was staying in somewhere in pa. A woman answered the phone, and was very polite. She said that he was occupied at the moment, but she would make sure that he would be at the coffee shop on main street at 6pm. We made our pleasantries and hung up the phone. As I drove north on 95, I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to vomit. I refrained by chain smoking.

I arrived in town just before 5pm. This left just enough time to have a drink and take off the edge. The edge remained present throughout all four drinks and persisted on afterwards. I walked around the corner to the coffee shop and sat on the steps beside it, and stared at the lights turning green yellow red, repeat.

I was thinking about how I would greet him. A handshake? A hug? A fist bump? A head nod? I was nervous, and he was late. I waited for a while, then went in to grab a cup of coffee. Maybe he snuck in and I didn't see him. Maybe he was watching the same lights from inside at a high cafe table...He didn't sneak by me, and he wasn't at a cafe table.

I sat down inside, and drank my coffee. I read the posts on the bulletin board, and there was little expectation at this point for anyone sharing my name to walk through the door. Regardless, I waited. At 7:45 pm, I picked up my brother, and went to the side door pub. I didn't care to mention what had just happened, I preferred to have a few drinks and enjoy myself.

Enjoy myself, I did. They threw me a little birthday party. Albeit a month late, tears of joy came streaming from my face. It was the best thing that could have happened after a really shitty thing.

The days after were great. A visit with great friends in jersey, then a trip to NYC, and a concert back in Philly the next day. 4 days had passed since I was supposed to meet my father, and I hadn't gotten a phone call. At this point, his desire to see me was non existent, and that point was made clear.

Driving south on 95 on my way back to NC, my sister called me. She asked if she was being selfish by not wanting to transport nor see her gnarley alcoholic drug addict father. I told her no. I probed for more, and she said that he was in the hospital, but didn't have any more information. I called my brother.

On speaker phone in my car, my brother said, "Yeah, I just talked to him. He sounds pretty bad. Apparently something happened on Saturday afternoon that set him off, and he has been on a bender since then. He is in the hospital detoxing, and it sounds like he may have overdosed or something."

I knew what happened...His son that disowned him years ago (me) just gave him a call and asked to grab a cup of coffee. Of course I am flattering myself by assuming this is my doing, but I mean really? Again, I digress.

I pulled over. I was in shock. Tears were welling up. I felt guilty. I felt like this occurrence happened by my hand. (I knew this wasn't true, its just what was running through my head.) I was confused. I was at a rest stop on 95 somewhere in Virginia. I pulled my shit together, and drove home.

It is now 10 pm on Wednesday. I reached out to my gnarley alcoholic drug addict father on Saturday afternoon. As I think back on why I did this in the first place, I wanted to accomplish a few things. Those things were:

1. See who he is.
2. Learn about his life.
3. Say goodbye.

My gnarley alcoholic drug addict father is still alive right now, but will likely not be for a real long time. I will likely never get to know him, and I can learn about his life from others. These things I will accept since his actions will make it extraordinarily difficult to do so. The third item, will be put in print, and mailed, and my first draft will commence now.


Dear Gnarly Alcoholic Drug Addict Father,

I realize that we have never been close, and that all relationships require work from both parties. I admit that part of my self preservation throughout my life was to seek guidance from other male role models, and to shut you out of my life entirely. Although this may have not been the best decision for our relationship, it is the one that I made for myself, and one that you have chosen to continue to embrace. I do realize that this was likely a hurtful experience for you, but the purpose of this letter is not my reasoning nor an apology, but where we go from where we are.

Although I do not know you well, I do know that I am very much like you in many ways. Like you, I hurt the ones that I love. I take for granted those that love me. I am selfish. I am depressed. I share the same love for hootch.

The major difference between us, is that I am aware of these flaws, and try harder than anything to make sure that I do not let them negatively impact my life, nor the lives of those that I love. Unlike you, I work at relationships with the ones that I love. I am grateful and thank the ones that love me. I am giving to all of those that I care for and that care for me, and this makes me happy. I have not perfected any of the aforementioned, but will work tirelessly trying. And alas, I love me some hootch.

There is one thing that I can thank you for a million times over. When I was 14 years old, and finally realized what had been going on around me, I developed a slogan. A mantra if you will.

"I will never be like you."

When I wake up. When I study. When I read. When my relationships fail. When I workout. When there is no visible light at the end of this long tunnel. When times are tough.

"I will never be like you."

Every day, I tell myself that I will never be like you. Every day, I am not.

There will come a day that you will not wake, and your destructive lifestyle will conquer your body. Know that you are in my thoughts until this day, and that if there is a time that you would like to reach out I will likely render a reply in a timely manner. I will not, however, be reaching out to you in the future for closure as I will be using this correspondence as a farewell. If our paths do not cross before this day, I will be at peace knowing that the father that I did not know, was exactly who I thought he was.

Sincerely,

Lincoln James