“Overnight nut roaster wanted,” I said. “It’s perfect.”
“Fuck off.”
“No, wait. Hear me out. Night. Check. Doesn’t have to deal with people. Check. Nuts. Check. What could be wrong with that?”
Two months ago when my daughter spontaneously blurted it out in reference to her brother. “Overnight Nut Roaster.”
“Yes. Oh my god, yes. It would be perfect for him.”
It still makes me snicker. Not ever going to happen, but still.
Today, he prefers day labor. You can just show up on the days you want to work. And no one sweats it if you don’t show up.
That’s not how life works, I think. At least, not the life he’s hoping to live. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong. But, if I croaked today, there’s not enough money to give him more than a few years of vacation. Then what?
He imagines the world of work as hell. I suppose in many aspects he is correct. I have done my share of jobs beneath unhappy managers. They can make your unhappy job even less fulfilling. In that exact store, the one wanting a nut roaster, I did ten months as a common cashier. Toward the end, I paid attention to the great benefits that went along with the average non-skilled wage, and I started lobbying for a full-time position. I don’t think I would’ve lasted all that long. Great grocery chain, small-minded management strategies for herding the unskilled sheep.
My son will do fine when he reconstitutes. He’s got a bit of time to figure some shit out. Like: waking up on your own. Or: eating more than scrambled eggs, Gatorade, and pop-tarts. Like working under an asshole and putting up with it because you need the money. We all need the money.
At some point, my dad no longer needed any more money. His wife at the time, my mom, tried to pull him back from his baffling love affair with Cutty Sark. “We can go away. We’ve got plenty of money. We don’t need any more money.”
He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to let go of the booze. In making that decision he let go of his four children too. He became the alcoholic dad we all talk about. It’s a cliché at this point. The stereotype is so prevalent it seems like a caricature just saying the word: alcoholic. Nothing comedic about it. Arthur was not a comedy, it was a tragedy.
What a body at rest needs is a goal. A stone to push up a hill. A milestone to achieve. Some friendly competition. Waiting for the rescue wagon to come and sweep you back into optimism and hope… That’s not going to happen. Even with all of my powers and provided jovial pushes, I cannot give my son an ounce of optimism. He’s simply lost all hope. The molecules (hope, dopamine, serotonin, love) are all used up.
All I can do, in this life, as a father, is give my support as hope. Give shelter as hope. Give patience as hope. Quiet as hope. Forgiveness as hope. I can forgive my son far easier than he can forgive himself. That’s what parents do. We forgive. We continue. We cajole from the sidelines. We find nut-roasting jobs. We buy your favorite healthy snacks, trying to give you more grams of protein than sugar.
He takes a daily stroll in the heat to the convenience store. Buys shit I am not buying. Squirrels the sugary snacks into his bedroom, either for fear of my ravenous sugar cravings, or his own shame at buying such empty food.
What can I do?
I wait. I love. I stand by.
I also give up. I reboot daily. I check in with my own care team. I give myself “Only For Today” reminders from the program. As I am judging my son, I am doubly harsh on myself. As I complain about my ex-wife and her husband, I am filled with my own failure in holding up a damaged marriage, in spite of all the dysfunction.
I can’t do the past any differently. I can’t make my son, my ex-wife, my next girlfriend change anything about their lives. That’s where I made a mistake. So much was perfect about my last relationship. And there were a few gaping holes. I overlooked. I mediated with myself. “It’s not a problem. Just be patient. Give it more time.”
I will not change you. I will not change for you. I will stay and dance with you, run beside you, love you. Mostly, we will stay who we already are.
I love that about myself. This time alone, reminds me: I am happy at rest. I want a lover. And I believe a lover will be an essential part of my life going forward. Not today. Not this week.
Learning to let go of my son during his time of need has taught me a valuable lesson. I have to let go of everyone. My control is only over my own thoughts, words, and actions. I’m doing my best on those. Everyone else is on their own. With their own higher power, if they can find the right broadcast.
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