Like other kids growing up in the 70s my dad had a lead discus, a discus like the kind they throw in the Olympics, a discus that looked like a 1950s photograph of a UFO, perfectly saucer shaped and black, nicks around the rim. Dad would throw the discus in the park across the street from our apartment and me being little and otherwise useless dad would have me stand on the other side of a field from him so as to retrieve the discus like a dog.
Dad always had me stand far enough away he wouldn’t hit me with the lead discus but on this day dad’s throw was unexpectedly long and the discus hit the grass and skipped upwards and clipped me right in my little boy knee and wow did that hurt! I went down screaming and crying and probably hamming it up a bit but still, it made an instant welt, a depression above the knee, and dad came running, terrified, but more for the thought of what would happen to him if mom found out. And so dad begged me not to tell: he said if you tell mom she’ll get so mad at me she’ll leave! And so having to consider what that would be like (living alone with dad and unprotected), I promised I wouldn’t.
And it wasn’t on this occasion but another one at the park for some reason we got into a fight and it was Christmastime and dad blurted out that there wasn’t actually a “Santa Claus,” in fact by his tone he suggested I was foolish for believing that, like naive, gullible, the only little boy who would believe such a thing!—and I find all of this darkly humorous now, mostly since dad was in his late 20s at the time, still a kid himself, a kid no longer allowed to be a kid as a sudden parent, and how much older he seemed to me than I was in my late 20s, getting drunk and high every day, not exactly training for the Olympics—and I’ve come to accept and love my dad now in new ways as we’re both older and I can love him more for the man he is and made me and less out of what feels like a requirement. It’s more something I want to do for myself than something I’m supposed to do for him. And my love for dad is funny like that. Rough around the edges but real.
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Categories: Creative Nonfiction, Humor, Memoir
Bill Pearse 
Firstly, great photo. Corker.
Lots of subtext here, but I certainly resonated with the casual emotional cruelty of the clueless parent. How much older was I at that discus-child-stage? And how poorly I did. Unpleasant though it is, shame has a function in keeping us trying. And that helps us move towards more acceptance of ourselves which makes it easier to accept important others. Well, I guess that’s the idea.
Lastly, great last line.
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Lots of layers and lovely depth to that response Bruce, thanks. On that other post with the Earth CD it’s odd, I didn’t realize there was a bees theme to that until you mentioned it! Cosmic isn’t that? We passed a shop here tonight called Crepes and Capes. It’s a creperie that also sells used role playing games. Typical Portland right.
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That’s my kinda town!
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The way I look at it with my parents is that they did the best they could. My siblings and I were not abused or neglected. We had a roof over our head and food in our bellies. But … my dad was not very present. His job was to work and provide, and that’s what he did. Sure, there were times when he was involved, but in my memory, always kind of on the periphery. That I chose a different path when I became a father doesn’t mean I was right or he was wrong. He did the best he could and I can’t complain about that at all.
I’m glad you found a path to love your father and accept him for who he is.
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That’s right, it’s a kind of acceptance when you get there and we’re lucky they did the best they could, is all we can! The peripheral thing and the memory that’s funny how things work out like that. You don’t realize what kind of impact you’re having on your kids (at least I didn’t) or how much they actually see or maybe need. I found a lot of inner conflict around wanting to protect the selfish kid I was as a parent and resisting that growing up that was necessary. Thanks for the kind note and thoughtful comment Mark. Appreciate it!
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