There may be those who can’t understand how a son could still love a father after all that which has already been described. The answer, even from a comparatively young age is … “God’s grace.” It could be easily said that I hated those who had treated Dad so badly. His own father never had a word of tenderness for him and he never passed on to his son some life skills that Dad could have plied to make his way. His half-siblings never did anything but give him abuse. Dad’s grandmother, who was important in his life, turned her back on him in the end. Even on a macro scale, Dad was born during the depression when rural people like his mother often didn’t own a pot to pee in. Then when Dad gets to his teen years the Government is pursuing policies to shut down small landholding farmers. “Get big or get out” becomes the new cry and Dad and his people had no capacity to “Get big.”
Sure, I get it that every man has to shoulder and be responsible for his own life but realizing that doesn’t mean an observer can’t look on from the outside and see that someone, quite in God’s providence, was dealt a difficult hand. Dad was dealt a difficult hand and because of that I never hated his person or him as a father, though my disposition on his general treatment of me was never on the favorable side.
My relationship with Dad never straightened out. There is no, “and they lived happily ever after to this story,” therefore one should not wait for that part of the story to eventually rise. There is no denouement to the story that resolves all loose ends. If there had been, I may not be writing about this here.
Eventually, the divorce comes. Dad tells Mom that “I don’t really want the children but because you do, I will eventually gain them.” And the ironic thing is that is exactly what happened in the short term with my siblings. Dad was a malevolent genius in many ways and his manipulation to get custody of the children was masterful. Mom was broken-hearted.
However, Dad did not “get me.” He had promised to let me graduate from the Sturgis schools system having attended that school system all my life. He was good to his promise the 2nd half of my Junior year letting me drive 30 some miles with my siblings every morning to Sturgis. However, in the summer preceding my Sr. year he let me know that he was going to break his promise and force me to attend the local high school in the mini hood. I was not cooperative in terms of the broken promise and he tossed me from the house. After a few weeks of trying and actually attending a High School in Grand Rapids for a couple of weeks, it became clear that I wasn’t a fit for my Mother’s new living arrangement either. In God’s providence, I ended up living with a family I knew from the Church we attended in Sturgis that Sr. year, and I was able to graduate from Sturgis High School. (How that happened is another story.)
At this point, Dad, except for intermittent contact falls out of my life for a season. His second marriage had shut down the beatings before I was tossed from his new living arrangement in Three Rivers. His second wife had witnessed one of those beatings soon after their wedding and she told him, “If I ever see that again with any of your children I am leaving.” Dad never touched me again though his rantings and psychological twist games continued unabated for the few months I lived there.
I turned 18 the summer after I graduated High School. I visited Dad that day at his workplace which was just a few blocks from where I lived that final year. I wanted to talk to him about something and all he would say was, “You are 18 now. You are a man. You make your own decisions. You don’t need me.” He said it several times, making it clear, so it seemed to be, that he was done being my parent. I just left shaking my head.
He was true to his word. Though he did attend my High School graduation in May of 77 (where there was a slight confrontation with one of his ex-brother-in-laws) Dad did not attend my college graduation or even my wedding. I phoned him occasionally but the conversations were typically short. I would also spend some time at his place in Three Rivers during the college summers but I never lived there. I honestly think that at this time Dad was closer to his step-sons than he was to me.
In the early 80’s Dad lost a lucrative job that he had finally gained for a year or two, (again … that’s another story), and with the loss of the job, he moved to Florida with his second wife Marcia. Jane and I visited one Christmas when we were in the Seminary in South Carolina and Dad and Marcia visited us once in the hovel we were living in at the time.
So, contact was existent but minimal… until Marcia died unexpectedly at 51 years of age. In retrospect, Marcia was probably, in many respects the best thing that had ever happened to Dad. She had introduced stability into his life that had never been present prior. She was both kind and fastidious and that brought order and structure into Dad’s life. They were married for roughly 10 years give or take and when she died, combined with Dad losing another pretty lucrative position in Florida, Dad hit the skids. He closed down shop in Florida and packed what few belongings he hadn’t gotten rid of into his car, along with his mangy Lhaso Apso (Pixie) and yappy Chihuahua (Guadalupe), and hit the road to “visit” his children.
Except it wasn’t just a visit. Dad had decided, at age 50, that he was going to spend the rest of his life traveling back and forth between his three children. He was done with the whole working thing. He would live with them. Now, he never announced this but that was the pattern that was evolving. All three of his children were newly married and were at a stage of life that made taking care of a parent more than difficult. Jane and I were living with our baby in a place that should have been condemned as unfit for living and in rolls Dad. Now, we had no problem with a visit but it soon became evident that this was more than a visit.
9 months later Dad is still living with us along with his two dogs. We actually got rid of our own dog (Angel) that Jane dearly loved because there was just no way that little “trailer” could navigate with three house dogs, three adults, and a baby. Keep in mind that I am still in Seminary and am only working part-time. Looking back I don’t know how we did it, especially in light of Dad seemingly working to poison the relationship between Jane and myself. Dad, just was not a mentally healthy person and that lack of mental health had a way of exhausting one.
What were we to do? No Son can tell his father to “get out of here,” when the Son knows that Dad has nowhere to go, and no skill set to gain decent employment. Dad had already stayed long intervals with my siblings and knew that an encore with them was not going to be well accepted. We were stuck.
Over the course of time, we turned the heat up little by little, and eventually Dad took the hint that he was going to have to put his own roots down. He found a job as a Manager at a stop-and-go Gas-Station/grocery Mart which paid him enough as combined with his partial disability check from the FEDS to pay for a modest apartment and a second-hand vehicle.
Finally, Dad was on his own. Jane and I saw our little bird spread his own wings to fly. We were proud parents.
There were almost three years between our Laura-Jane’s birth and our Anna’s birth. That was quite the time span between the two, especially considering that Laura was not born until Jane was almost 29. We had been trying to get pregnant for some time to no avail. Almost immediately after Dad moved out, Jane was pregnant with Anna. Our neighbor lady next door had told Jane some months prior when Jane was lamenting to her about Jane’s lack of ability to get pregnant, “When your Father-in-law moves out you will get pregnant. Just you wait and see.” The neighbor lady was correct.
This brings us to a pause point. There is one more part to be written.
I thank God for my father if only because that is the father God determined for me to have and I believe that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose. Being the son of David, if nothing else, gave me a certain resiliency and worked in me a certain compassion for people who in life were dealt a difficult hand. It also worked in me the realization that there are certain people one just can’t help and the insistence on trying to help them will only mean that their illness splashes on you and yours. Sometimes the best thing you can do for people you love but are beyond reach is nothing.
End Part II
