Capella
Footballguy
I try not to get too personal here but other than my wife I don’t know who else to talk about this to. I’m sure I need a therapist but anyways I’ll explain.
My dad has been the orbit which we revolved around for many years, until I broke away in my late 20s. He was an awful father, rarely around and truthfully it would have been better if he never was. He was verbally and physically abusive, he was a serial cheater on my mom, and he offered nothing even slightly consisting of good advice. We never once played pitch and catch despite me playing baseball until sometime from 6 yo until high school. When I tried to ride a bike for the first time he recorded it and laughed at me the entire time, with plenty of insults to follow. For some reason we held on to that tape for years.
He was a man who would barely speak. We had nothing in common. Our only touchstone was the Tampa Bay Bucs, which might get him to say 15 words instead of his usual 5. But he despised being around me so much that even when they won their first Super Bowl in 2002 he got up and left my little party at halftime because “I have better things to do.” That better thing was going to another bar to drink with the losers.
Oh yea the alcohol. 5-6 vodka tonics a day, minimum. He would come home at 8-9 pm drunk, yelling at my mom. I would hide in the bedroom and pray he wouldn’t fling my door open yelling at me about whatever problem he made in his head. I could go on and on but honestly it’s probably not worth it. He was a monster.
Despite all of this and his cheating my mom stuck it out with him until I graduated high school. I told her I would be fine from age 13 on, in fact I would prefer it, but she had that in her head. One day I answered the phone to have his girlfriend at the time say “you must be Chris. I’m the one ######### your dad.” My mom finally threw in the towel shortly after that.
As we all got older, he never apologized for anything. He does love my two sons, and I’m sorry he won’t see them grow up but over the last 60 years he built this prison he’s now trapped in and that will kill him.
The other day he grabbed my hand in the hospital and said I love you son. In my entire life he’s only told me that once, in 2004 when Katrina was temporarily pointed at my location and he begged me to come home.
My sister is on a different path of grief here. She was always daddy’s little girl and she acknowledges that and I’ve been happy one of us got out of this alive. That’s probably the hardest part. Trying to walk her through her grief when I’m not even sure how to feel myself.
I truly don’t know how to feel here. I go between anger at him for wasting our time together to sadness to pity to seeing him in this condition. Hospice is picking him up tonight.
I learned a lot from my dad. I learned I don’t want to be an alcoholic. I adore my wife. I’m smart with money. But I think I’d give all those unintentional lessons up for just one pitch and catch. That’s never coming though.
Thanks for reading if you did. I needed an outlet.
My dad has been the orbit which we revolved around for many years, until I broke away in my late 20s. He was an awful father, rarely around and truthfully it would have been better if he never was. He was verbally and physically abusive, he was a serial cheater on my mom, and he offered nothing even slightly consisting of good advice. We never once played pitch and catch despite me playing baseball until sometime from 6 yo until high school. When I tried to ride a bike for the first time he recorded it and laughed at me the entire time, with plenty of insults to follow. For some reason we held on to that tape for years.
He was a man who would barely speak. We had nothing in common. Our only touchstone was the Tampa Bay Bucs, which might get him to say 15 words instead of his usual 5. But he despised being around me so much that even when they won their first Super Bowl in 2002 he got up and left my little party at halftime because “I have better things to do.” That better thing was going to another bar to drink with the losers.
Oh yea the alcohol. 5-6 vodka tonics a day, minimum. He would come home at 8-9 pm drunk, yelling at my mom. I would hide in the bedroom and pray he wouldn’t fling my door open yelling at me about whatever problem he made in his head. I could go on and on but honestly it’s probably not worth it. He was a monster.
Despite all of this and his cheating my mom stuck it out with him until I graduated high school. I told her I would be fine from age 13 on, in fact I would prefer it, but she had that in her head. One day I answered the phone to have his girlfriend at the time say “you must be Chris. I’m the one ######### your dad.” My mom finally threw in the towel shortly after that.
As we all got older, he never apologized for anything. He does love my two sons, and I’m sorry he won’t see them grow up but over the last 60 years he built this prison he’s now trapped in and that will kill him.
The other day he grabbed my hand in the hospital and said I love you son. In my entire life he’s only told me that once, in 2004 when Katrina was temporarily pointed at my location and he begged me to come home.
My sister is on a different path of grief here. She was always daddy’s little girl and she acknowledges that and I’ve been happy one of us got out of this alive. That’s probably the hardest part. Trying to walk her through her grief when I’m not even sure how to feel myself.
I truly don’t know how to feel here. I go between anger at him for wasting our time together to sadness to pity to seeing him in this condition. Hospice is picking him up tonight.
I learned a lot from my dad. I learned I don’t want to be an alcoholic. I adore my wife. I’m smart with money. But I think I’d give all those unintentional lessons up for just one pitch and catch. That’s never coming though.
Thanks for reading if you did. I needed an outlet.