My father and me have never been close, in fact, we've never even liked each other. I know these are difficult things to understand, I know. Alas, in time I came to know people who've estranged themselves from their parents, and who've long cut their filial bonds.
To me it's not so strange, not really.
I'm trying really hard here, and I can't remember a single moment when I felt loved by this man, and conversely, I can't remember a single moment I felt love for him. What I felt the most was fear; my father was prone to violence, and my family felt it deeply. I recall a number of times, we were in the car going somewhere, and out of nowhere he'd say stuff like 'one of these days I'll kill us all' or 'next bridge we cross I'm going to crash the car and we'll plummet to our deaths'. It could all have been a joke, of course. But I do not remember my mother laughing at this.
With time, our family disintegrated, and for a little while he was out of the picture. The loss of this family we had translated itself in something that has since been with me - the feeling that I do not have a home. Now, let me say that I am extremely grateful for the house where I live. In some way or the other, I've lived here for decades. All my life is here.
But there is that hole deep inside my core that screams for home. And I never really knew what home felt like, not even when I lived with Ian's mom. Not with anyone, really.
I take two positive things from my father's existence : a) he taught me what not to be as a dad - and though I am far, FAR, from perfect in that field, I fortunately knew where I could improve on him and b) the ripples his presence made in the waters of my life were not unlike a stepping stone from which I would go to where and who I am. And I may haven't always been the boyfriend, I may not always have been the best guy, but if I had to measure the good against the bad? Maybe I did far more good.
This takes me to - again - circa '93/94. I've never been one to have many friends - I explained in an earlier post why - but I've always been blessed with great, true friends. And one of the things I didn't know about friendship back then is how cyclical it sometimes can be. How someone can opt out of that friendship. How you can spend a bunch of time without hearing word one from a friend, and out the blue, there you are, like no time has passed at all.
Around that time, I had two pretty good friends, and I was happy with that arrangement. One of them - Valter - was someone whose house I was always welcomed to, and by then, he was certainly the person who knew me the best, and in whom I would confide the bitter pangs of life at home. In a sense, being at his place was sort of like feeling at home, though I quite envied the stability he had - granted, mostly of the financial kind. You know how the grass is always greener on the other side? Well, I eventually came to learn that the grass wasn't always greener for him. It would be a rare thing, but on occasion he and his father would get into massive rows, sometimes getting physical as well.
If, by the time that '94 drew to a close, anyone had told me than in a half year's time we'd not be friends anymore, I wouldn't have believed it. Again, friendships and their cycles.
As one ends, another blossoms.
S and me met each other in '93, and he knows full well this story. I've written to him sometime last year and I put into words how that time was so important for me, how his house was more of a home to me than my own. Some stories needn't be shared. We know.
I am here, and to my left and to my right I see myself surrounded by those who matter the most to me. In front, I see nothing but a shining light heralding white shores, and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise.
Thank you.
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