My son and I have spent a lot of time together these past four months. The age difference between us is only twenty years. I'm forty-three and he's twenty-three. I would never say that I was an adult when I had my kid. I would say during the first several years of his life, I was still growing up myself, and I actually had to grow up a lot quicker than most just because of my situation back then. I would say I was about thirty-five before I felt like a full fledged adult.
I knew when I told him that I was leaving his father, he would be coming with me. His father and grandmother would have made is life a living hell had he stayed. They would have drilled him constantly, they would have threatened to kick him out of the house he was living in because it was his grandmothers. He's my offspring... it's that bond, that mother/son bond. I got him out of trouble and saved his ass so many times... there were a lot of things that my ex-husband didn't know about.
Was it wrong of me to do what I did? I hear so many people say we shouldn't be friends with our kids, we should be parents. I'm like ok, what the fuck does that even mean? I wanted to be his friend, I wanted him to think that I was cool, I wanted him to know that he was my kid, and for that simple reason, he would be able to withstand and thrive through any adversity that he will face. I wanted him to trust me. I wanted him to know that if anyone fucked with him, I would be there and I would have his back.
He also knew that if he did anything shady, anything questionable... that I would call his ass out on that and he would face the consequences. He didn't like that. But, we were a team. I could have beat him to a bloody pulp sometimes, and I'm sure he felt the same way about me from time to time but we squashed it like adults should. He had a good childhood, and he didn't want for anything because he worked his ass off to earn everything he wanted. He doesn't realize this. I have never seen someone who did the bare minimum in school and yet managed to graduate a whole year early and with honors.
Can you imagine what he could accomplish if he really tried. I'm not saying this just cause he's my son either. This dude just never ceases to amaze me. I've learned so much from him and I consider myself lucky to have him by my side for this adventure we've been on. And I wouldn't want to share it with anyone else.
You can imagine the deep conversations we've had while flying high during hours of driving on long and winding roads. He surprises me sometimes with questions that he would ask. He knows what I've been through, not all the details but enough to get the picture. As he got old enough to really understand my past, and to know how I am present day, he has the very high opinion that his mother is a bad ass. Of course that makes me smile, and I do want to be deserving of that title. I'm just not so sure that's me.
Anyway, we get on the subject of my father. For a long time, this subject was a hard one to talk about and one I usually avoided but I recently attended his clemency hearing and realized that he was no longer the monster I remember lurking in the shadows. That allowed me to finally let go of the fear I harbored and close this long drawn out chapter of my life. It's definitely an easier subject to tackle now.
My son was confused because I had some awesome stories about my father. He was a fucked up man, and did what he did. But I managed to separate that from the good guy that I saw from time to time. I did consider him to be a cool guy when he wasn't being evil. My son couldn't understand that and he didn't think that he would be the only one. How can my father be a cool guy in my mind when he did all those evil things to his own flesh and blood?
My father had an old beat up GTO in the yard. He would teach me how to do body work on the car with him and one the favorite smells from my childhood was the smell of Bondo. This is when I got the appreciation for the sexy curves of a hot rod and also why I own a curvy Mustang.
He also give me a great appreciation for music. Every time I would get excited about a song I heard and would tell him about it, he would go in the hall closet and pull out his huge box of records, and play the original version of the same song. It blew my young mind and I loved thumbing through his collection.
I was about the age of ten when my father came home more excited than I'd ever seen him. I had never heard of this guitar that he was screaming about. You see, we apparently needed the money for something so he hocked his guitar. It was a rare guitar and he wasn't sure that he would have the money to get it back. I didn't know about it until the day he brought it back home. I'll never forget when he taught me a couple of chords from a classic. I can only imagine the songs I could have learned had he not been such a douche.
He passed down to me his obsession with horror movies and books. And if you've seen the movie Sucker Punch you might understand how imagination can save you from reality when you need it to. It's not just a movie, this explains how I've coped. Horror gave me a vivid imagination, not all dark, but always brought me to place where I felt like a bad ass and no one could hurt me. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it, not only is it a good movie, but it will also allow you to understand how my mind works, if you care, that is.
My father introduced me to Dungeons & Dragons and taught me how to play chess. He turned this old work van into a boom box on wheels. He would sit in front of his stereo system for hours making a mix tape from his collection of records of nothing but his favorites. He had a lot of favorites and tons of mix tapes.
These are the good memories I choose to hold on to. Of course, there's the other side of this coin. I have had my share of nightmares, and depression and sleepless nights. And the best way I can describe my father, is to dip back to my love horror and describe him as the split personality figure of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I think it was a survival mechanism to compartmentalize the person that was my father.
Can you really have love and respect for the person who did horrible things to you for years? Can you think the same man who did those evil things is still a pretty cool dude in spite of all that? Absolutely, in fact, it's how I survived all of those years. I have never been a person to live with hate in my heart... ever. I've always tried to be caring and loving and compassionate. I have failed at that from time to time but for the most part it's how I've lived. And while I've not always been a straight arrow and have definitely done some things that I'm not proud of... I've never done anything with the intention of hurting someone or out of malice, it always came from a place of love and compassion.
Good people sometimes do questionable things for the ones they love. Had I faced the adversity I did with hate in my heart, I do not believe I would be here today to tell you about it. That would have lead me to a path of self-destruction. I've always had a very strong sense of self preservation.
I hope this isn't to dark of a subject so close to Christmas. It's really not meant to be dark. I think it's a pretty good story actually. Even though my dad was an evil prick, the things he passed down to me were the things that made him cool and all of it shaped me into the person I am today. Therefore, yeah... maybe my son's mother is a bit of a bad ass. Just Maybe.
To my fellow Hive peeps. I wish you all the very best this Holiday Season. May your house be full of love and your belly be full of good food and eggnog. I love each and every one of you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for being here and for being you! Merry Christmas!!
Thanks for stopping by y'all!
