Raised White Letter Liars
My dad has a little problem with the truth. Always has. Not exactly sure why or what caused this colossal break in basic human interaction, but of all his flaws, I think I’d put this one at the very top…above wearing polyester coaches shorts over the top of sweatpants…above him wearing a “Vietnam Veteran And Proud Of It” hat when during the war he sat his ass behind a desk at Grissom Air Force Base in the middle of Godforsaken Indiana…no, those pale in comparison to the string of lies he has trailing behind him.
At the risk of sounding bitter, allow me to catalog some of them for you;
For the past, oh I don’t know, 20 years maybe, the man has perpetually called up on the day of important events…mostly birthdays…and claimed to have sent appropriate cards. I swear, the mail service from Aiken SC must still be using some 175 year old dude and his half dead fucking horse, because them lazy bastards have been losing birthday and other holiday greetings (no doubt stuffed with the treasures of Solomon’s mines) like clockwork. Invariably, I’d get a phone call on my birthday or my son’s birthday asking the same question, “Did you get my card?” knowing full well that he hadn’t sent one. Rather than start any shit, I’d say “No dad, not yet.”. At this stage in our little game, he usually replies that he sent one and that the mail is so slow. Yeah. It’s slow.
Then there were the whoppers about his work schedule long ago when he was still married to my mom. It took me actually getting a job at the same facility before I realized that he only worked about 14 days a month. As a shift worker, he had an entire week off every month…allow that fact to soak in for a second as I offer up another…when growing up, I never recall seeing the man except for the rare occasions when he’d be getting ready to go to work…or as I now call it “work”…which is to say, hooking up with his girlfriend and spending the week at her house with her 2 kids. Yeah, that’s my dad…he’s got so much love in his body, he has to share it with an entirely different family! What a guy! If that’s not giving, I’m not sure how you can properly define the word. I wonder if they get birthday cards on time?
Oh, then there’s the one that is the subject of the title of this post. We had many different cars when I was growing up. One that stands out for me was an 1976 Ford LTD. It was a two door (always a good option when you have 3 pre-teen boys piled up in the back), it was stark white with a burgundy landau top and burgundy interior. More or less, standard suburban fare for the time. But it didn’t stay that way long. My dad fancied himself a hot rodder at heart, I suppose…he longed for the straightaways of Talladega or those massive high-banking turns at Daytona. As a result of his unfulfilled career in NASCAR, dad decided that the LTD would be his Walter Mitty escape-mobile. Ever heard an LTD with glasspacks? I have. So did our neighbors. The sound was likened to a garbage truck with rusted out exhaust. The LTD came with a relatively mild 351 Windsor V-8 engine, but the window rattling Cherry Bomb mufflers were pure custom. Then, to further confuse the masses, the hub caps suddenly came off and the rims were painted a high gloss black. Hmm. White trash mag wheels? Oh, but it gets better…I recall one afternoon, dad comes rolling in from work. My brothers and I were playing outside when we hear the dulcet tones of pure Ford power wafting up from Washington Road. We figured we had another 10 minutes before he actually arrived, so we continued on. Moments later, dad pulls up to the car port in the LTD, but there’s something different about the car. Shod on the shiny black rims were a set of raised white letter tires. I forget the actual brand, that part is unimportant, but there they were in all their series 60 glory. At some point, my mother exited the house and noticed the totally bitchin’ tires, asking my dad where he got them. In a display of lying not seen since the Grinch vs. Cindy Lou Who, this is what my dad told her, “I painted the letters on. They’ve always been there, I just used some paint and then shined them with tire dressing…what’s for supper?” Did my mom buy it? Yup. It wasn’t until later, when the money came up short to pay the bills, and the power was off when my brothers and I came home from school, that the truth finally came out on that one. Good times.
The chances of my dad actually reading this are pretty slim, so to those of you who are aghast that I’d throw something of this nature out on a public blog can relax. Do I hate my dad? Hardly. Do I hate what my dad does? With a passion. And if you do read this dad, your grandson would have appreciated a phone call on his birthday
Category: Pointless blather
You turned out a better man than he was. That can be hard when you don’t have a good role model in your father.
And you turned out to be a pretty decent writer, too. I’d say your son is a pretty lucky kid!
And, you’ve obviously learned the lessons, as your son is one good little dude….when he’s not humming. LOL
Good times with the little guys yesterday. Fun fun.
Not so sure I’m “better”, but it is a painful reality that my dad is deeply flawed and amazingly selfish. I thank God every day that I’ve been given the opportunity to try and be “better” to my kid.
And TSO, Lil Clay wanted to wake you up at midnight for a Strat run. 🙂
A poignant post. I’ll offer up some Sunday afternoon musings as well.
I’ve built a fantasy around my dad, see: http://ponsdorf.blogspot.com/2009/05/memorial-day.html
What might have been and all that. My story has a car in it as well. My first car was my dad’s 49 Chevy.
Point is… my mother was the liar. Or so it seemed for many decades. Even to to point of my being called into the XO’s office at Great Lakes and getting reamed out for not writing my mother. Mind you, I hadn’t seen or heard from her for about 15 years, and had no idea that she was even still alive. My last recollection of her was the day (I guess I was 6 or 7) when she abandoned me and my sister, legally, to be raised by my father’s parents.
We sorta reconciled and I spent a bit of time with her and her new family in San Diego between trips to VN.
Point is (yes, there is a point here), during a visit in Hawaii in ’91 when there was a moment that just the two of were sitting together she turned and asked me if I thought he was still over there, and alive. There’s no way I could have known just how shattered she’d been by dad’s death until that moment.
Still old wounds, and old lies, being what they are, I talk to her rarely, and I don’t hate her… I’m now as indifferent as she seemed to be all those years.
Gotta wonder if there’s a back story to your situation as well?
Claymore…
Funny, but my brother and I have the same discussions about our now deceased paternal unit. He is such a great, involved Dad and I must say that my husband is the eptiome of what a Dad should be. My grandfathers were both stand=up guys and I cannot for the life of me figure out what happened to “the old man” as my mother referred to him in later years.
I never hated my Dad once I “got” that he was who he would always be. For that much I am grateful. Not that you need consolation, but, I am sure your Dad is as lonely as he is selfish. You got it right, and that IS what matters.
Man, can I relate to this post. My Dad is the biggest p-whipped person I know. I love him, but he conducts himself like an ass to the point where I can’t stand to be near him in public or with the family. This is a Korean War Navy vet aboard a destroyer that conducted coastal artillery raids on NK rail lines (and the NK were equally proficient at shooting back) who worked 35 years with IBM after he left the Navy. When I get him alone, he changes somewhat into a man and we talk heart to heart, but when my mother is around, he is an absolute boob. In then end, my children see an idiot for a grandfather and will never have a grandfather like I had, who I still think about every day since he passed in 1977.
I have vowed I will never be like like my father and my son will never be disgraced of his dad like I am.
Geez guys, I’m proud to say that my dad was great. A true man, and I miss him every day, ever since that bleak day in 74, when the doctor told us. Never knew either of my grandfathers, but from what I’m told, they, too, were men. Each of us has a story, and they’re all different. I guess I was just lucky in the roll of those dice.
Made it my mission in life to give my sons the same break I got. Hopefully, I’ve accomplished that mission.
I appreciate the replies, and yeah, there’s a few novels worth of events that have led to this comparatively minor rant I posted. Suffice it to say that my father excels in playing the victim, and has a knack for blaming others for his short comings. In the end, perhaps it’s best that he doesn’t come around or call or whatever…at least then, he can’t hurt my son. Many thanks to everyone for allowing me this indulgence…it was truly cathartic.
I thought I would never see someone reference a Landau top ever again…I still see them on “those” cars rollin’ around “that” part of town…pimpin’ ain’t easy bro…well my pops split when I was 2 or 3, came back many years later and bought me all the toys I could ever want and was dead a few years later…left me the last male in the bloodline (which I have kept going)…never really had a grudge against him but learned alot from him on the things he did and did not do…and I’m doing my part every day to make sure my little dude has his old man to look up to for many years to come…best post ever on This Ain’t Hell…got me teared up reading this…thanks and keep it up guys!!!
Claymore,
Sounds like the reason you are pissed is that you father is a sh!tty grandfather and forgot your son’s birthday. As a good father, that is certainly understandable. May I suggest that you simply “outsource” the grandparental duties to someone more qualified who would enjoy them? Most grandparents say that the grandkids are the only reason they had kids in the first place – and they would have skipped that intermediate step if they could have. Anyway, go the Legion Hall or the VFW or the like and pick out a substitute “grandfather” for the young ‘uns. Somebody he can lookup to and do stuff with. They will both be enriched by the experience. – just a thought.
Those are very good suggestions, Susan, and I’ll certainly take them into consideration. There’s more than a few vets who live close by. There’s an added bonus here too…he loves to talk about history, to the point that he took a significant part of his Lego collection and created an entire recreation of the Battle Of The Coral Sea on the floor of our den after watching an episode of Battle 360 on the History Channel. LOL
When my grand daughter’s dad split, her mom (my daughter) did something that I think was pretty cool. Every year for about 7 years, at birthday time, her “dad” would send her a card with $20.00 in it, and every Christmas, “he” would send her a cool toy. Sad to say that a dad can be replaced with a “dad,” but it worked for the g/d. But also, I became the male role model for her, and looking at her now at age 13, I think it went well.
Claymore,
I can understand your anger/frustration/whatever emotion fits with having a father like that. I had one who lied to us, lost houses out from under our beds playing the horses/dogs, kept girlfriends who he visited when conducting “business” out of town, beat our mother (and us too) “occasionally” to keep her in line, massively failed to send support checks after she found the courage to run away with us kids and denied that he ever did anything wrong. Hell, he was National and International President of “Parents without Partners” for years without having his kids. How’s that for living a lie? We had no contact for almost 10 years. But when his new wife called with the news that he was on his death bed I flew 1000 miles to be with him. (My wife was in Iraq at the time) I held his hand as his heart stopped and he took his last breath. It still pains me that he is gone. For all the missed birthdays, mine and his grand kids, for all the neglect, for all the lies and deceptions he still had love in his heart for his family. I gave up the bitterness of my childhood about 6 years before he died and am glad I did. We grow and learn from our own foibles and those of our parents. But that doesn’t mean they do the same. You’re a better man, but I believe you need to come to grips with what you cannot change and move on to a better state of mind. He will always be Dad. Remember the times he played ball with you or smeared peanut butter on your burn to soothe the pain. In the end, if you remain bitter it will only poison a part of your own soul. My best advice is to over come and move on, soldier.
Again, thanks for the replies everyone. I honestly didn’t post the article out of anything but pure disapointment, and intended no malice toward my father. I cannot know what is in his heart, but I do understand the concept of “deeds, not words” and frankly, his deeds are not much better than his words. That being said, I know he’s only human, and prone to human failings, just as we all are. I forgive my dad for all of his shortcomings, but I certainly don’t pretend to understand nor forget, and more importantly, I will not subject my son to them. We’re breaking camp, and as Randy advises, we’re moving out.
Geez, bro –
I am just sorry that you ( and so many others replying ehre ) had such a crappy trip! The Dad is supposed to be the protector, the male example of the warrior of honor to his sons, the model of a gentleman to his daughters…. but in spite of our ability to forgive as we grow older ( or to grow a layer or two of apathy, whatever ), still – some of those painful memories leave scars. Some of those scars even pass from one generation to another.
But on the flip side – such a childhood can turn us mean and encourage us to be selfish bastards or wife beaters or serial killers; OR the memory of our own suffering can help us to turn the other way and determine that never, by God, will we hurt others like we were hurt. Never will we lie to others or use them as we were lied to and used.
And I am proud, and honored, to know that so many of my friends here, very obviously chose the second path, and use their lives to help / defend / respect others.
All the best – to you and yours.
I regret my son knows none of this pain — only the emptiness of a father who enjoyed strippers to the point of distraction. Am I wrong to think being disappointed in a parent is better than not knowing them at all?
That depends, I guess. In the case of a missing or deceased parent, you have the luxury of nostalgia or pure fiction. If you’re asking about a parent who abandoned their family, you then have the guilt and self-esteem issues associated with the abandonment. Pick your poison; the hollow echo of unanswered questions or the reality that there was “something better” out there. Either way, it’s not exactly healthy.