I have been paused ready to blast my son out of my house for his transgressions. He’s a 25 year old man. He needs accountability. Some tough love. A dad.
He was pulled out from under my care by a careless and distressed mom, my ex-wife. So, in some ways, I’ve got time to make up for. I wondered if that’s why I’m being easy on my son. So many friends say, “Boot him.” They don’t understand. They didn’t lose a kid in a divorce. My son, pulled away from me after I was out of the house. I did my best. Sons often bond with moms.
My daughter was often an easier connection after the divorce. We simply never got enough time together. That’s my reflection. She probably remembers it differently. I can’t imagine if my father had tried to stay involved in my life. If he had stopped drinking and wanted to be a standup dad. Fat chance.
I struggled, for sure, but I gave 100% of my effort when the kids were with me, for the limited time. I could pull myself together for one night, on the off weeks. Dinner at my mom’s. Homework. Bed. Wakeup, breakfast, school. I was always very sad dropping their suitcases back at my old house in the old neighborhood. My ex will never understand the trauma of being completely ousted from your entire life.
I would tell my daughter how much I missed her. She was seven. Of course, before they had mobile phones, she would have to grab her mom’s phone to call me. She would send a wall of heart emojis of all colors. It was part of our love language. Lots of hearts back and forth.
I have troubled myself on both sides of the issue: was I being too hard on my son, or was I being duped into supporting him? Was he dealing drugs? Could the burner phone be for the guns? That’s what he said when I asked.
Walking through my house most mornings, I would catch myself muttering, “Dumb ass.”
I was referring to my son. In a more holistic way, I was also criticizing myself. I was saying “dumb ass” to me for being so lenient. The flip side was, I also needed to understand how immature he is, and how valuable time with me might be as he tries to figure out what to do next. I needed to love him. To be compassionate for him and his struggle. I struggled after college. Most of us do.
There is something to be said for not lighting the bridge on fire and walking away. I want a long-term relationship with my son. Any dumb trauma that might be created by my aggressive action, why do I need to add to his bullshit? I don’t.
Also, I don’t know the answers. I don’t have the key. I’m struggling myself with many of the same issues. Money. Women. Sleep. And I am hard on myself. In learning to give my son some slack, I am learning to be more supportive of myself. I stop the “dumb fuck” comments now before they come out of my mouth.
Bless his heart. Bless our hearts.
This parenting stuff isn’t easy. The current crazy-time administration is not helping any of us. My job search is just as fruitless as my sons. Forty years difference. I am applying madly for jobs. My son is not. He doesn’t want his first job.
He wants his own apartment. His space.
Yeah, it takes a bit more than desire and willingness. I have been on five interviews, so that’s something, but the hiring is stunted by the trashed economy and political uncertainty. Companies are cautious. I’ve got one in the final stages. “We should know something tomorrow,” the recruiter said. That’s what they all say.
Part of me wants to blast my son out of here with a canon. Part of me wants to keep him here, regardless of the somnolence and aimlessness. We had the best chat of our lives a few days ago.
He seemed settled enough in his anxiety and verbal defensiveness to have the talk. About work, about what’s next.
I caught myself using a lot of phrases like “I’m not checking up on you, just curious…” and “It’s not like I think you’re drug dealing, but…”
I did, do, (unknown) think he’s dealing drugs. Fk, I’ve just asked him to get me a little something. I guess I’m getting into bed with him at that point.
My empathy extends to his disease and his loss of forward momentum. Twice, I found myself back at my mom’s house.
I am giving my son, unconditional support. I am doing my best to stay out of his business. I have been pushing back, establishing some new boundaries. But the real head scratcher is, I want to have conversations, I want to spend time, I want to be with my son. It’s not like that. 90% of the time he is gonzo, tuned out with his airbuds in, wonderleaping all night long, or sleeping all day.
Again, I have to remember my own life. My own mistakes. My own drug use. He’s not doing anything radical. He doesn’t want to get a real job. Okay, I didn’t and don’t really want a job either.
To have things like a house, a car, a relationship, a job is essential. Money no object, perhaps things would be easier. I’m pretty glad that I have not been discovered up to this point in my life. Had I gotten famous, say for my band, signed to Atlantic Records at the first SXSW in Austin, Texas. Had Keith come through, I could’ve been famous. I’m not.
I have to work at it. Continue to work at it.
And through all the toils and snares I continue. I write. I sing. I paint. I parent. I … I…
All this “I” bullshit. I prefer “i” as in the poetic me. Anyway, having not broken through with any of my creative pursuits, I have continued to push and develop more skills, more ideas, more “time at craft.” I am ready to come out of the oven and shine.
I am ready for my pumpkin pie. My infinite pumpkin pie. And for now, the kisses of cats. Maybe kisses of a woman again, at some point. This is not the season of love. This is the season of truth. Made ever more urgent by the recent firing from my survival job at the grocery store. WTF?
Looks like there’s a legal case with this one too. The big ass company, owned now by Amazon, did not follow their own procedure. TWICE. They fired me twice for UPT, unpaid time off. The first time, the manage didn’t look at the HR system that showed me getting an accommodation. The mistake was never acknowledged. But, I’m sure that manager was not upset by my dismissal. Except the store owner, this time, did not look at their 3rd-party HR system. I am waiting for a response from corporate to my email offering a settlement before going to litigation.
We’ll see. At the moment my engines are revved and firing hot. Something is about to break loose. I feel it. I pray for it. I welcome the transformation. I have also done this enough times to know I will look back on these 8 months at Whole Foods as a moment in time.
Now, a new year, a new trajectory. There was nothing for me in the corporate grocery world, with such leaderless leaders. Time for a change. Change is underway.
