Turning the page

In the past eight months I have seen the closing of an era in my family. Both my Grandmother and my Father died within two months of each other, and relatives I have not seen nor spoken to for almost 20 years have popped up out of the woodwork. This has caused me to take things more introspectively, and examine my own life much closer than I usually do. Maybe I’m getting old.

My brother and I lost our mother when we were 6 and 4, respectively. Our father was sent to prison shortly afterward (that’s another story) and we were sent to live with several of our relatives first, before we were dumped on the state youth system. But before that happened, our Grandmother by and large took care of us. Now, I’m not going to try and sell you something like “pity the poor orphans” or something like that. Kevin & I were nothing short of HELLIONS, and we took every opportunity to get into trouble when we were kids. Our relatives, various Aunts and Uncles, probably felt more trapped by our presence than blessed by it. But before we went to the first of what would be over a hundred different youth homes before I reached adulthood, our Grandmother was always there with us, trying to instill the values and morals that she herself was raised with.

My Grandmother died in early 2006

If somebody said, “In 88 years and two weeks, you will die. In between that time and now, you will suffer the life of a woman trapped by her religion & era. Your husband will enter the throes of alcoholism and dementia until he dies of it, decades before you follow him. You will outlive your youngest daughter, (who will be the first of your children to die) and the failures of your family will weigh heavily on you. You will spend the majority of your time alone and endure much more heartache than joy.” Would you have the strength to go on, knowing all that? Could you brace up and say “So be it” and continue with your life anyway?

This frail woman was an emotional giant, and kept going through every major turmoil and disaster in her family, no matter what it was or how much it cost her. I have to admit, I have seen a distinct scarcity of such behavior from modern parentage. Certainly none of it rubbed off on her kids. At least, none of the ones that are still alive.

I hadn’t seen my father for 30 years on the day he reappeared into my life. He went to prison for the murder of my mother, and never wrote or anything. Here was a bitter man who had spent the majority of his teenage throughout his adult life in some prison or another, mostly in the southeast states. My father was 73 when he was released, and just showed up at my door without any warning whatsoever. After deciding that he needed taking care of on a full time basis (he had suffered two debilitating strokes in prison) we found a place and he spent a few years living in an assisted living home a few miles from my house, before he passed. Gotta hand it to the South Carolina State Corrections, they’re no Eemos, they knew when to get rid of him.

Speaking to my father was always a challenge, not because I harbored some deep resentment for what my life became because of him, but because he was trapped in a kind of mental time warp: To me, it was 2005. To him, it was still 1936, and he was incredulous that we would allow blacks to vote & hold jobs, or that my Chinese wife could speak perfect English. He would see a mixed race couple & if the girl was white & the guy was black, he would just fly into a rage. I think he gave up living because the world hurt his eyes. It must have been like falling asleep in the Stone Age & waking up in the Renaissance. He couldn’t adjust to life outside of the pen, and didn’t really have a place in this world.

My father died the day after Thanksgiving, 2005.

If somebody said “In 75 years you will die. In between that time and now, you will spend 95% of your life locked in a cell no bigger than a one-car garage. You will fall in love and destroy the life of the woman who loves you, shortly before you destroy her as well. Your children will grow to miss you, hate you, blame you, and eventually forget you. You will spend every day of your life alone and filled with hatred, sharing a room with others who are just as loathsome as you. When you die, the last thing you see will be the dull off-white colored ceiling of the institution you spent your final days in, surrounded by strangers, while your two children celebrate Thanksgiving together hundreds of miles away, and the thing they will be most thankful for is that you didn’t raise them.” Would that make a difference to you? Would you take steps to drastically alter your life, or say “So be it” and carry on exactly as if it was all scripted out anyway?

I have a thousand regrets about my life. The way I lived, the things I did, the people I both loved and hurt. If someone told me “One day, you will inevitably die. Before that happens, you will spend your entire childhood in pain, fear, and running as fast as you can while looking over your shoulder. You will pass through this time and into an era where you will grow and face the world head-on. This will become your trademark when faced with adversity. You will discover that what you thought was a mental imbalance that made you different from others is in fact, a natural talent that lets you control fear and mimic the body motions of others. This will give you advanced skills in both martial arts and training yourself to do a job that places you in a position of power amongst your peers. You will discover that there is a certain type of person you want to become, and you will gravitate towards these people and emulate them, in the hopes of adopting their thought process for yourself. This will by and large work for you, and you will gain the trust and love of close friends and a woman who will change your life.”

This isn’t how I would have written the play, but looking back, I don’t think I would change a single page of the script.