There are lovely flattened circles in my yard where the deer sleep at night. I have planted native grasses and the insects and butterflies love it. It requires less water than my neighbor’s lawns. Zero mowing. And it’s good for the environment, both flora and fauna.
When I first moved in, when cash was more readily available, I planted several Arizona Cypress trees. A virtual wall, without building a wall. A better view than their dead unkempt lawns.
My dad was a doctor. When I was a kid I would get to visit his office when I was sick. The nurses all fawned over me. I napped on the couch in my dad’s office. It smelled like him. I didn’t get to spend that much time with my dad, so these afternoons were special, even with the finger prick for the red blood cell count.
My dad’s diplomas and awards are now unframed and gathering dust in my guest bedroom. Also, the music room, when my son is not here.
His office had a very distinct smell. All the cleaning chemicals, the sterilization machines, and dark wood paneling. In his office, there was a four-foot strip of garden and then a wood slatted privacy fence. I think there was at least on gnome statue in the depths of the ferns. I would lie there, waiting to see my dad, listening to the nurses chat, and fall asleep.
In my dreams, we were all going to Europe on vacation. Dad was the most excited of all. He was childlike in his enthusiasms. I guess that’s where I get it. He was a lot of fun, apparently, before I was born. Before the stress, success, and alcohol began to veer his mind off course.
What was important before was now expendable. With enough money you could afford a new wife, a new plane, a new boat. His house was massive, beautiful, on a hill overlooking the city of Austin. Glittering in the night sky I would pray from that balcony, “Please, Jesus, help my dad get better.”
He never got better. For a while he got worse. His new wife was devious. A Cruella De Vil type. Loved everything green. Green custom golf shafts. Green eye shadow. Green pantsuits. I guess her eyes were hazel. She got more than she bargained for with my dad. The wealth and alcohol weren’t worth it. She died a few years after him, in a suspicious fall from a balcony overlooking the pool, which was so high it would’ve required a stool to get over it. The police report said she fell to her death. It was called an accident. She did not fall from the balcony. She did not marry my dad for love. She went out the same way she came in.
No love lost for her.
Her impact on my life and my father’s life was massive. They could now drink together. My mom had stopped indulging my dad. She gave him a choice, “Me and the kids, or the bottle.” I’m guessing he regretted his choice later. Bitter and vindictive, he never forgave my mom for ruining his life. It was an odd mix of Charlie Pride’s Most Beautiful Girl and the movie Arthur. He was a slurry drunk, easily provoked, and loaded with venom when it came to my mom. I still don’t understand how two parents would attack and try to hurt the other parent.
I learned the same lesson from my second wife, and mother of my two children. She lied. She turned our “case” over to the Attorney General’s office for enforcement. She knew what she was doing. Punishing me. Like my father would’ve done. I cannot imagine doing the same to her. Trying to actively damage her life. She’s still their mom. I guess many divorcing people no longer consider the impact their actions have on their kids. When you attack a co-parent, it is impossible not to injure the kids. Thank god I didn’t have kids with wife number uno. She was a basket case. Beautiful. But deeply damaged.
Tonight I walked through the grass and could almost see the deer, examining their resting places. I liked the idea that my yard was a safe place with soft grass. I love the deer, foxes, and armadillos who pass by my front yard. In some simple way, I am making the world a better place, on my cul-de-sac, in my neighborhood, at my job, as a father. I do my part.
