My Father's Son... Pt. 3

The final installment...

Pt. III


2 years later, I was back home, for good this time. I had broken up with my girlfriend who I had lived with for the past year. I was in a funk. A deep one. I turned to one of the few people who I could trust to give me bullshit free advice about how to deal with my break-up. I turned to my ex who had gotten the “lock-off” that time some years back. Her advice? Talk to my mom. So I did, with her (my ex) there. And that’s where it all started coming out. My mom just let me talk for about 2 hours, and said absolutely nothing. When I was finished, she took a breath, and asked me if I had anything else to say. I told her no, I think that was about it. She then turned to my ex and told her, “Like I said, he’s his father’s child. Don’t rush them, they will eventually open up when they are ready. But when they are ready, be prepared to just listen.” I was dumbfounded. Not at the fact that my mom knew me. What mother doesn’t know their child? What took me aback, was the fact that my mother just told someone, that she was able to take the blueprint for my father, and apply it to me. And not only did it match, it matched perfectly. So I started asking questions. What else did my dad and I share in common? The basic answer, almost everything. Without spending anytime with me, my dad was basically able to transfer the very essence of his personality to me. He loved jazz and soul, I love jazz and soul. He was an engineer who liked architecture. Like I said, I like the visual arts. He was introspective to a fault, I am introspective to fault. Hell, I just found out last night he liked to just pick up and go for drives around the island. What do I do when I need to think? I will pick up, regardless of the hour, and go for a long drive. I’ve reached as far as Siparia at 1 in the morning. In a nutshell, I’m practically a carbon-copy.

So why does this scare me so much? Basically, I have spent 20 out of my 30 years of existence, trying not to be like my dad. To me, as much as I am grateful to him for my life, he was a philandering asshole, who had no interest in being involved in my life. That may sound petty and childish, but it’s honestly how I felt/feel. I love my step-mom and my sisters to death. They have accepted me when they did not have to, because my existence is proof of the fact that my dad could not find complete contentment within the confines of their family unit. My step-mom told me to my face after my dad died, that her greatest regret was that she could not get him to spend more time with me. My mom and step-mom were even able to become friends (not best friends by any means, but you catch the drift). By all accounts, he was a classy, stand up guy, whose only real fault was that he did not know how to deal with family life. My sisters lived with him, and even they admit he was never really open with his emotions (another trait we have in common). Basically, he was everything I am. And basically, I am that which scared me most. I am him.

Am I still scared? I don’t think so. I think I’m coming to accept the fact that somehow I genetically picked up his traits. I think that no matter how I fight it, we will share more in common than I may ever completely be comfortable with. But I also realize that the sins of the father do not necessarily have to become the sins of the son. I realize that as much as we may share in common, I am also my own person, with my own strengths and weaknesses. I think I am coming to realize, that I am both my father’s son, and my own man.