Memories of my father and stuff

A few weeks ago, there was a C-Space reunion that I attended. (C-Space was an amazing kinky education forum started in the early 90’s in Seattle.)  There were a bunch of people I hadn’t seen in years there.  It was like stepping back 25 years.  And I recently started (after much procrastination) writing my memoir.  That took me back to my childhood.  And wow, have things been coming up for me around all of this.

I am a believer that there are no accidents in life and things happen for a purpose.  I’m still not sure what the purpose is around all of this.  I’ve had the chance to visit with old friends from the 90’s.  I’ve brought back memories of my childhood (and not all of them pleasant BTW) and I keep running into and/or hearing about old acquaintances and friends over and over again.  Is it just because I’m fucking 62 years old and that’s part of aging?  Is there something I need to learn about myself and my place in this world?  I’m at a loss.

It’s been a rough couple months, so much has been going on around me that I feel breathless all the time.  Someone I love is dealing with getting sober.  A dear woman in my life has been diagnosed with breast cancer (another one…fuck!).  A former lover was in a horrible motorcycle accident and I have no idea how I can be of service to her or her partner as they deal with her brain injury.  My mother, once again, spends a couple days in the hospital and I find out after the fact.  And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.    And the odd thing is that none of this is happening to me personally and in fact, other than a little cold, I’m doing great.  It’s just that I can’t help but feel that I need to be doing something.  Fixing something.  I’m at a loss for some reason on how to deal with things right now.

Which brings me back to the recent deluge of memories.  I think the biggest memory I have is that of my father.  He would have been 87 years old September 17.  He died on  August 4, 1978,  just a month before his 50th birthday along with my brother Chris who was barely 18.  My father was a flawed imperfect man who really tried to do his best. Sadly, his best involved “sparring the rod and spoiling the child”.  His best was bringing the wrath of the almighty God he worshiped down on me (not my sister or brother, BTW).   He was quick to anger and was quick to “give you something to cry about”.  And that never stopped me from loving him.  My father and mom divorced when I was a baby and since my mother was still a minor (she was 14 when they married and 16 when I was born) my father got custody of me.  (I didn’t find my mother until I was 19.)  I remember one day when I was around 11 and my father was beating on me he said “I’ll beat the wild seed of your mother out of you if it’s the last thing I do”.  That was the day when I realized that my dad wasn’t hitting me.  I was a proxy for my mom.    I think, even at such a young age I realized that my father was beating me because of the pain he was in.  While it still hurt, it quit being so personal and something shifted in my then. It didn’t make it right and it allowed me to distance myself from the beatings.

And I have a lot of awesome amazing memories of my dad, too.  He was an avid fisherman and hunter and the whole family participated in these activities.   There was the time when I was around 14 or 15 and he and I went away for a full weekend, hiking up into the mountains fishing. What a wonderful weekend.  And the next year we went hunting and I TRIED to kill a deer (I shot over it’s head) and we were caught in a blizzard and we had an amazing exciting time.  I think that was the last time that the two of us spent that kind of quality time together. (until my brother Chris was old enough to go do this things with him, I was my dad’s favorite “son”.)  And suddenly I was “grown up” and a young woman and no longer the tomboy he liked spending time with.  And I am sure I reminded him of my mother and I know that didn’t help.  Suddenly we were more estranged than ever and it wasn’t until a couple of weeks before his death that we had even come close to mending our fences.

Wow, I read this and I’m not even sure why I wrote it.  I’m guessing that I needed the cathartic purge of writing this today.  I promise next time I’ll write something sexy and fun.

Thanks for listening.


One comment

  1. Xiaoyi · October 8, 2015


    I think sometimes we write and share because we need to keep breaking the silence we once we’re trained to keep and by sharing, even with an audience we may barely know, our loads become lighter.
    Thank you for being so open about your life both the then and now portions of it. I wish I had some advice on what you could do to help with any of the chaos that life is sending towards those you love currently. I don’t.
    Please keep loving and sharing . It does make a difference in my life as it helps give me courage to continue living and being open about my journey and path. Thank you.


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