3. Speak to your children. Stay connected.

Chapter Three.
Back for more.

Well, my father rather effectively dropped out of my life after my graduation from High School. Not really a surprise, but it happened. As I said earlier, I tried to visit and keep a connection going, but it was fruitless. The irony is that there never really was a ‘connection,’ however, I never woke up to that until many years later. By then it was useless to try, but I didn’t see that and continued to try anyway. I can see today that I was just a bug to be squashed, an annoyance in the least and never to be considered as worth his time in any manner at all. As I stated earlier, I believe my brother’s criminal activities had a part in establishing a stigma that planted itself firmly in my father’s mind, but I certainly don’t want the reader to think that I consider that to be the only source of the problem. However, I really can’t come up with much else. I have never berated my family, defamed our name, or disrespected any family members. I certainly have never committed a crime against or in my families name. I would never do such a thing and can really see no reason to do such. If I were to actually pinpoint a reason to be a focus of his hate, I have no idea what it would be on my participation. Me being his son from a woman he ended up hating? Quite possibly. Hated by proxy? I just don’t know.

I know that my father was extremely racist. A trait that is taught, handed down to offspring. “N****r” easily slipped from his lips regardless of the present company. He was a very hateful atheist. It showed normally in any discussion that slightly hinted on religion or spirituality. Actually, if any subject came up that he didn’t agree with in conversation, he reacted very vehemently and angrily. You had to agree with him or you were a waste of time. You were not allowed to voice your opinion or position on the subject if it didn’t align firmly with his. Again, I was around him for only a 12 year span of my life. Ten of those as a small boy, then my final year of high school. 11 or 12 years all together, so he could possibly have changed, but I really don’t believe he did. The final time I actually saw him and spoke face to face with him was in September of 2004. I had taken my new wife to meet him and my family a year or so after we wed.

I believe in 2002 that he bought himself a computer. The reason is because he found me on the web. I really doubt that he was using a computer that wasn’t his own. I do know he had a penchant for finding people on the web after his initial purchase. I know because he searched and found me, then proceeded to berate me based on whatever tracks I’ve left behind on the web. Whether I helped someone with computer problems or commented on a web graphic, to anything political. In other words, my father stalked me, then, for whatever reason, denigrated me because of some reason I can’t imagine.

During my year in high school in Seattle, he made a very strong effort to talk me into becoming racist. I wouldn’t do it. I absolutely refused and told him to stop. This certainly fueled the hate he already had because of the earlier burglary by my brother. I was also a Christian, not the most devout Christian, but, none-the-less, he knew it and hated that as well.

Who does these sorts of things to their kids? Who hopes to find something they can beat their son down with, berate him with no reserve? My father.

When he found me on the web, he started with e-mails. He started sending me pornographic web addresses, gif files of exposed women, the whole “high school kid in mom’s basement” type scenario. He sent me extremely distasteful stuff, pictures of people from the area I now lived in, in the southern U.S. Of course, I was offended. These things are all over the web. Wal-Mart people, he called them.  More than anything because of his adolescent mind-set and attempts to be such an ass. Why did he do this? I still do not know. I eventually told him to stop, but he continued. Finally, I blocked his address and bounced his e-mails.

Then he found me on Facebook and sent me a friend request. Well, I knew better, but I accepted. He started off very nice. Then one day he started posting nasty images and documents to my page. I deleted them and restricted him. He then began to message me on Facebook. Always starting problems, being contentious and denigrating. Then he apologized. I figured he may be changing. he then started sending Christian memes and messages. I was surprised, knowing how atheistic he was. Maybe he had changed. For me, being a nice guy would have been enough of a change. I wasn’t concerned about his spiritual life. Well, that morphed back into being an ass in just a short time. I finally blocked him completely and left him on his own. He now could not find me on Facebook at all. As if I had left the planet.

He has, at any  time we have spoken since my last time with him, told me to stop living in the past. All I really wanted to know is “…..why so hateful?” That’s all I wanted to know. Thinking that I may have done something wrong that I had never known about. Something that I may need to understand, be reminded of so I could apologize. I never have received an answer. He would always tell me, “That’s the way my father raised me.” It didn’t make sense. It just never added up. Telling me not to live in the past was his way of hiding his answers, but yet telling me it’s always been that way for him. Who was living in the past?

One day, I felt bad for him and unblocked and friend requested him. I still wanted to make a connection. He accepted. I was hoping for the best. Remember I said I had continuously made attempts to understand him and somehow be on his ‘good side.’ He doesn’t have a good side. With this new attempt I figured, ‘all or bust.’

I messaged him privately through Facebook again. I didn’t want this (final) attempt to be public. This would yield my answers or it would be a bust. I was going to give it all I could. I was sure he would get nasty with me. I saved the conversation, but have since deleted it. I would link to it here, but I can no longer do so. It was a bust.

I posed some very direct questions asking why he had been so hateful to me through my life. All he could do was say that he had been treated badly as a boy. I tried to reach out to him, but he became very evasive. I eventually gave up, removed and blocked him. This was a couple of years ago. Now he has passed away. Three days short of a month at this writing. I really wish we had had a better relationship, but it was never to be. We never, ever made a father-son connection. He did this very same thing to his youngest son, my youngest brother. His loss, never our gain.

I can’t imagine what makes a man treat his son this way. He completely denied my youngest brother back many, many years ago. He embraced my younger brother with open arms. Gave him cars, gifts, they visited constantly between Poulsbo, WA. and Everett, WA. where my brother lives. I just don’t understand.

My final bit on this is in the next part of this story.

Chapter Four
Make them laugh.


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