My son will be 20 this year. That’s hard to believe, you know? I recently found a bunch of baby pictures and such that I hadn’t looked at in years, and I’ve been reminiscing a little about the past. I wanted to write down this particular item for your review and enjoyment, since I find it moderately amusing now.
Like the Johnny Cash song says, "We got married in a fever/hotter than a pepper sprout/ we been talkin’ ‘bout/Jackson/ever since the fire went out." And it went out quickly.
That was my ex and I. I was married at 19, thinking I was in love, as young people often do. Got married by a judge, in Wheeling WV, on October 10, 1986. One year to the day later, our son arrived. Now, in my callow youth, I admit, I was…shall we say….less than ambitious.
Not that I’m setting the world on fire now, by any means, but it shames me to admit just how much I really loved my leisure time back in The Day. I had a job, but not a great one, and back then, before the concept of responsibility really kicked in, I was…well….okay…kind of a slacker.
Even after my son was born, I wasn’t too enamored of punching the time clock. My ex-wife, on the other hand, was and, I assume, still is very ambitious when it comes to chasing the greenbacks.
Our marriage lasted 3 years of hell. Well, really only about a year and a half of hell, when you consider the amount of time we spent apart in those three years. We loved each other when my son was conceived, at least, and things hadn’t gone too far awry when he was born.
But yes, I was a lazyass then, and if that were the only reason for our split, I could understand. But to this day I have no idea what I really did to earn the level of open animosity and contempt with which she treated me.
I learned some years ago (when, out of the blue, she called my present wife to warn her not to marry me) that she apparently thinks that I was unfaithful to her. On my parent’s memories, I was not. Not once. But even if I had been, I knew the guy she was cheating on me with.
At any rate, she was a complete psycho bitch, and through the early 90s, made my life a living hell. We divorced in 1989, I think it was.
One night, when I was in my early 20s, after I had moved home following our last split, my dad came in and woke me. I asked him what was wrong, and he didn’t say anything; he just sat down on the edge of the bed. I turned on the light, and I could see that his color was bad. Also, he was shaking quite a bit.
Again, I asked him what was wrong. He took a deep breath and said, "Now, I’m just delivering a message here; what you do with that message is up to you."
I cautiously said okay, and asked what was the message.
It seems that he had just come from his favorite hangout, a neighborhood beer joint owned by a man named, no kidding, Tony. I pretty much grew up in this bar, and they’d all known me there since I was a very little kid.
As my dad was sitting there at the bar, enjoying his suds, as he tended to do a little too often back then, Tony came over and put his arm around him, whispering in his ear.
Tony said that he wanted my dad to pass on this message to me. He’d heard that "the bitch" was giving me a lot of problems. My dad replied in the affirmative.
Well, Tony offered, if I said yes, he could make a phone call to some people he knew, and she would disappear forever; no one would ever find her. He could pull some strings up at the City/County Building, assuring that my son would pass to me with no problems at all. All I needed to do was give him the word, and it wouldn‘t cost me a dime.
Now, knowing Tony as I once did (he died perhaps ten or so years ago), I knew this was not idle smoke-blowing. You don’t get the half-joking nickname "Godfather of South Wheeling" for nothing. He was well-connected with certain people in the "professional criminal" class, and could easily do what he offered. I had no doubt that it would be done professionally, as well.
Though the part about getting my son with no problems was attractive, I unhesitatingly refused, stating that I’d wanted no part of anything like that, and using a word I had never, before that moment, used around my father. He exhaled and sagged, relieved, and smiled thinly. I knew he was proud of me, and I will always be glad I said no, if only because I would have lost a great deal of my father’s respect if things had gone differently.
In late 1993, my ex and I had a screaming match over the phone. She said that she wished I was not my son’s father, and that she didn’t want me around, didn’t want to see me, hear from me, nothing.
After all I’d been through, I said that that was fine, but if I wasn’t going to see my son, I wasn’t going to pay for him, either. She said "fine", and hung up.
I terribly regret saying that, because it doesn’t say much for me as a man. It also ultimately put me 10,000 clams in arrears. Oh, well.
More importantly, it really screwed thing up. I had always been hopeful that things would work themselves out; that I would eventually get to see my son, and all would be right with the world. I was wrong.
I didn’t hear her voice again for six years, when I called her about something my dad had told me about my son possibly being sick. We had a nice chat, really. I couldn’t believe this was the crazy woman I’d known before.
By that time, however, I had of course missed much of my son’s life, and irreparably damaged any real relationship I may have had with him.
I finally saw him in early 1999, after I had resumed support payments. We exchanged e-mails, often IM’d each other, and he stayed with me a couple times.
He wasn’t very interested in me by then, however, and I wasn’t driving then, either. This made it very difficult for me see him, as he lived about an hour away. Also, having had no contact with him, it was hard for me to know what to do or say. It was awkward for both of us.
I haven’t seen him in nearly five years, by his choice, with only one brief call in that time. He doesn’t seem too interested in picking up where we left off, if you get me.
I recently located him on MySpace, and have sent him a message to get back to me, if he’s willing. I’m hopeful he’ll do so. He looks like he’s doing okay; he’s a good-lookin’ kid; looks like his old man.
I won’t say that I didn’t ever look wistfully back on that offer Tony had made; I often thought about it, especially in those horrid years of the early 90s.
But, I’m glad I said no; it may not have cost me a dime, but my soul would have been lost. It would have made me a person I wouldn’t want to be. I may not be all that and a bag of chips, but at least my conscience is clear of murder.
Well, this didn’t turn out as cute as I’d have liked, but I have to say that I feel somewhat better having written it.
If anyone would like to do so, I’d appreciate some prayers for my son, that he’ll be well, and…..that maybe he’ll see his way clear to contacting me. Thanks for your time.