From a young age I had what people would call "Daddy issues". My birth father was a very mentally ill man who appeared and disappeared as he went on and off his medications. I was 4 when my parents split. Most people would say their memories of their four-year-old-self are hazy at best, but mine are crystal clear. I remember every psychotic episode and every argument.
Along the way my mom remarried and my new Dad played the role well. He was loving and caring and often tried to guide me through problem solving my life. But the damage had already been done.
My father remained in (and out (and in and out)) of my life until I was about 13. Somewhere in there he had met a woman (in the mental hospital he was taking up residency in), and married her. I, of course, hated her. She was all wrong for him. She was an enabler and a chain smoker (something which to this very day I don't respect or understand).
They bought a cat, and within a few months gave it up for adoption because the responsibility was too high. Months later they tried with a puppy, Mortimer. They would bring this little fluffy white pooch into my mom's home and my brothers and I would pet and love it every second it was in the house. Having never had a dog since my mom remarried, we instantaneously fell in love with the little guy. But, as was to be expected, the responsibility became too great for my father and his wife, and Mortimer was adopted out too.
When I was 12, my father and his wife came to my house (unsupervised visitation rights in my mother's home was the custodial arrangement). They sat us down and told my two brothers and I that they were going to have a baby. Everyone in their lives told them not to have the baby. Their parents, his children, their friends, everyone. But nine months passed and out came the most adorable baby brother - Joshua Tyler.
Josh was a happy infant. He cooed and he smiled almost from birth. His big ears and small head reminded my brothers and I of a cartoon character called Ned from the show Ned's Newt. But the happiness quickly faded...
My father and his wife had smoked all through the pregnancy. I suspected there were drugs involved too, but who could say for sure? Josh, of course, didn't develop right. He learned how to get himself into the crawling position, but never learned how to get moving. He could not learn to eat properly, and once my step-monster's breast milk started flowing badly, Josh was fitted for a tube in his stomach that would hook up to liquid food. He never talked. He hardly grew. And then, one day, Jewish Family and Child Services came along and took him away to put him into a foster home. Another adoption
It was at that moment that I realized, if my father could give up a child; I could give up a parent. And I did. Cold turkey. I stopped answering his calls or letters. I stopped visiting him. I erased him from my life entirely. I legally took my step-dads last name and I decided that if if my birth father wasn't going to be a proper parent to my brothers and me, I didn't need to be any kind of child to him.
This was the first of my triumphs. I know there will be many more to come
No comments:
Post a Comment