"Sitting With My Father" by A. Craig Newman
Writer's Notes:
This is probably one of the most intensely personal pieces I've written. It's about the evolution of my relationship with my father. He was actually the very first person to encourage me to write. He did it by accident. I was about 10 and I was telling him some idea I had dreamt up. I was so into my story, I didn't realize I was keeping him from napping (he worked a night job at the time, so naptime was a precious and sacred event). He finally got fed up and yelled "Craig! Write it down!"
I've been writing ever since.
-ACN
This is probably one of the most intensely personal pieces I've written. It's about the evolution of my relationship with my father. He was actually the very first person to encourage me to write. He did it by accident. I was about 10 and I was telling him some idea I had dreamt up. I was so into my story, I didn't realize I was keeping him from napping (he worked a night job at the time, so naptime was a precious and sacred event). He finally got fed up and yelled "Craig! Write it down!"
I've been writing ever since.
-ACN
There ain't anyone larger than Daddy. There are people who are fatter than he is, but I don’t see them everyday. Daddy is as large as it gets, next to God. When I try to picture God, I can only think of a bigger version of Daddy. Daddy should be a superhero. He is so strong that he can pick me up. I’ve seen him push a broken-down car all on his own. He can push wheelbarrows around that I can’t even get to move. Whenever he fixes a flat, I've seen him jack the car up all on his own! After he replaces the tire, I watch him punch the hubcap back on. I tried to do it one time when he had stepped away from the car and the hubcap wasn’t on all the way. I hit it once and the cap fell right off. It clattered around on the ground, laughing at my attempt to do something that only Daddies can do. Simply put, when he takes off his shirt, I see nothing but muscles.
He is smart, too. Whenever he works on the car, Mommy sends me outside to help. She wants me to learn what Daddy knows about cars and engines. It doesn’t work. But, I do learn that Daddy knows a lot about cars. No matter what is wrong with it, he can fix it or figure out what the fix for it should be. If he comes across something he doesn’t know, he knows what book has the answer. There are books all over the house on engine repair, plumbing, electrician’s guides and home wiring, home remodeling, bike repair, and more. A problem with the heater? Engine sounds funny? Leaky pipes? Circuit breaker tripping? TV picture fuzzy? It doesn’t matter what is wrong. Daddy knows how to fix it or has a book that tells him what to do. I’m certain we have saved millions over the years in home repairs by Daddy working around the house.
My brother has a 50-in-1 set. It is a box full of circuit pieces that are wired to a board, but not to each other. We are supposed to use wires to connect the pieces in just the right way to form one of fifty different electrical gadgets. These things can be anything from the complicated (we never did get that “radio” to work…) to the simple (…but we did get a tone out of the speaker- no music or voices, just a tone). When my brother first opens it and Daddy sees what it is, he says that getting the light bulb on the board to light up should be easy. He looks at the mess of springs and wires, and then tells us what wires to connect to what to get it to work. And guess what? IT WORKS! No instructions or help or anything! He just looked at it and knew. He is brilliant – Daddy Smart!
He has this trick that he seems to be able to pull off at will. I am never quite sure how he does it, but he doesn’t seem to miss. Daddy walks into the living room, sits down, and he says, “Let’s see if there are any fights on,” or “Let’s see if there’s a game on.” “Fights” means that he is looking for a boxing match; "game" means football. Then, he starts flipping through the channels. And wouldn't you know he almost always finds what he is looking for. When he isn't around, I try the same trick - same magic words and channel flipping. Nothing. Never a game, never a match, never a thing to show for my attempt at magic.
As the game or match plays itself out, I sit next to him and learn what he knows about what we're watching. Sometimes, I don't watch the TV at all. I just sit to be near Daddy. I lay my head on his chest and listen to his heart beat or feel the rise and fall of his breaths. I never understand why my breathing is always so much faster than his. I try to slow my breathing down to match his. Each rise, I breathe in. Each fall, I breathe out. Rise - in; fall - out. Over and over until I fall asleep, resting against a man who seems like more than any letters can capture in one word. He is Daddy.
I have always known about the weakness. It has always just been there. I might find a bottle and wonder why it is sitting behind the living room sofa. He might go to the garage for hours and work on projects that never get finished. The bottles on the workbench never tell me the reason why. I might look up to him in the car and see him pull a something from under the driver's seat and take a quick sip. But it is ok. He is Daddy. That's what Daddies do.
Bills don't get paid. Lights are turned out. But it is ok. That's what happens in all houses. We light candles for the night. Why is mom so upset? She smiles and shrugs and asks us about our homework. Is it done? Having no lights is no excuse for not getting the homework done. But I know. I can always tell. She is upset. And that isn't alright.
Daddy's crying. He's sitting alone in the bedroom. The lights are off. I cannot see him. He is a shadow in a room full of shadows. He's confessing to me. The weakness is getting worse. It is stronger than he is and it is beating him. I hear the hitch in his voice and the ragged breaths. I want to sit with him and tell him it is all ok. But, I can't. I stand in the doorway and listen. He sits on the bed. And he cries.
He gets help. He comes home and things are great. For a long time, the weakness is a part of the past. Dad used to be an alcoholic, but he's better now. He is as strong as ever and smart as always. He tries to teach us what he knows about electricity. Some of those lessons stick and I'm able to impress my high school science teachers. He makes me smarter. My Dad – Man among men.
The lights go out again. It's ok because there had just been a storm recently. One of the transformers had been hit by lightning and it goes out every now and then. I come home from school to a dark house, light candles and wait for the lights to come back on. Mom comes home to a house lit by candles. She asks me why the house is dark. I explain that the transformer blew out again. But why are the other houses on the street lit?
It's back. He's smarter and smoother about it now. I don't find the bottles behind the sofa and he's learned not to drink and drive. Still the occasional bottle in the garage, though, hidden among the tools. But that's not the worst of it. The worst is what I see in Mom's face when the lights go out. Or when the water is turned off. Or when the mortgage is late. She tries to hide it from me. Maybe she fools everyone else. But I know. I can see it on her. I can feel it in her. It's not ok. This shit has got to stop.
It's stronger this time. It's got a terrible hold on him. I see him when he drinks and it's my Dad I see. This strong Man is reduced to sitting at a table. This smart Man stares off into space. Why won't he stop? Why can't it leave us alone?
Mom has had enough. They call all the kids together. My Dad sits in the big chair in the living room, the same one I used to find bottles behind not too long ago. I sit on the stairs and stare into my hands. Dad talks; Mom says nothing. They may be splitting up. He's going to move out of the bedroom and into a room in the garage. My mother is no longer interested in him. His voice catches. This is the first time I actually see my father cry.
Sitting there with my father, I wish it were possible to see it. I want to wrap my hands around this weakness and choke it to death for what it's doing to my family. I would hate it if there were something there to hate. But there is nothing. So, I hate him instead. I hate him every moment he drinks. I hate him every moment his quick mind stares into space at nothing. I hate him for letting this monster wreck our lives. I hate him.
He gets help again. How many times is this for him in detox and going through AA? I've lost count and I don't give a shit any more. I just want him to show me something different this time. Show me it had some effect. Show me this time is different. Show me the weakness is gone. It's so hard to hate, but I don't know what else to do when he let it win. I want Dad to be Daddy again, not just that man my mom has decided to give another chance. I want Daddy back.
I go off to college. I have not been at college long, but there is one thing I learn quickly and well: the smell of beer. It is impossible to live on a college campus and not become familiar with that scent that seems to swamp the campus every weekend. I can smell it on my friends and smell it on my roommates. It is in the halls. I trust my nose.
Home from college for the weekend, I am helping my father run some errands. At first, I try to ignore it, but I can't. My nose tells me it is in the truck with my father and me. I know that smell. I can't deny it. I have to say something.
Have you been drinking?
Long pause. Yeah.
Why?
Another long pause. I guess I just had a taste for it, I guess.
I don't say anything else about it. The conversation is over. Unbidden, the anger returns. Questions come rushing to mind. But I won't ask him. I can't ask him.
I wait until I'm back at school and I ask my best friend. Don't be mad, she says. You know that won't help anything.
But how could he?
He's sick.
The family goes to visit relatives down south. I go with them, doing some of the driving for the first time in my adult life. So many times, we've taken this trip and I was another passenger with my head plugged in to a walkman or nose in a book. But, this time, I get to do a Mommy or a Daddy thing. I help with the driving.
As always, there's a warm hug and a hot meal and plenty of good conversation waiting for us when we get to my aunt's house. My father and I sit outside while we eat. I watch him and for the first time, I begin to see him. He's not a smaller version of God and was never a superhero. He is a man with both feet on the ground and his head six feet above, not in the skies. He is a man – flesh and blood, not steel and ice – and he's sick.
I'm worried, I tell him. I'm worried about your drinking.
Long pause.
You don't have any more kids at home, I say. It's just you and mom. Take care of yourself. You don't have to worry about us any more. Just take care of yourself.
He didn't say much when he answered. Mostly, he hung his head and nodded. I placed my hand on his shoulder and gave him a hug.
Somewhere in the graveyard of my heart, I buried Daddy. That titan among men was gone. Maybe he never really existed outside of my own vision. Standing by that grave with me is this man twice my age with a burden he's been trying to set down for years. I can't take the burden from him, but maybe I can make it a little lighter. Maybe if I let him know that his son forgives him for not being a superman, forgives him letting the lights go out, forgives him for almost losing his marriage – maybe if he knows he's forgiven, he'll walk a little taller, stand a little straighter, smile a little easier.
You can never be Daddy again, but you'll always be my father. I love you now more than ever. Come sit with me and let see if we can find a game.
He is smart, too. Whenever he works on the car, Mommy sends me outside to help. She wants me to learn what Daddy knows about cars and engines. It doesn’t work. But, I do learn that Daddy knows a lot about cars. No matter what is wrong with it, he can fix it or figure out what the fix for it should be. If he comes across something he doesn’t know, he knows what book has the answer. There are books all over the house on engine repair, plumbing, electrician’s guides and home wiring, home remodeling, bike repair, and more. A problem with the heater? Engine sounds funny? Leaky pipes? Circuit breaker tripping? TV picture fuzzy? It doesn’t matter what is wrong. Daddy knows how to fix it or has a book that tells him what to do. I’m certain we have saved millions over the years in home repairs by Daddy working around the house.
My brother has a 50-in-1 set. It is a box full of circuit pieces that are wired to a board, but not to each other. We are supposed to use wires to connect the pieces in just the right way to form one of fifty different electrical gadgets. These things can be anything from the complicated (we never did get that “radio” to work…) to the simple (…but we did get a tone out of the speaker- no music or voices, just a tone). When my brother first opens it and Daddy sees what it is, he says that getting the light bulb on the board to light up should be easy. He looks at the mess of springs and wires, and then tells us what wires to connect to what to get it to work. And guess what? IT WORKS! No instructions or help or anything! He just looked at it and knew. He is brilliant – Daddy Smart!
He has this trick that he seems to be able to pull off at will. I am never quite sure how he does it, but he doesn’t seem to miss. Daddy walks into the living room, sits down, and he says, “Let’s see if there are any fights on,” or “Let’s see if there’s a game on.” “Fights” means that he is looking for a boxing match; "game" means football. Then, he starts flipping through the channels. And wouldn't you know he almost always finds what he is looking for. When he isn't around, I try the same trick - same magic words and channel flipping. Nothing. Never a game, never a match, never a thing to show for my attempt at magic.
As the game or match plays itself out, I sit next to him and learn what he knows about what we're watching. Sometimes, I don't watch the TV at all. I just sit to be near Daddy. I lay my head on his chest and listen to his heart beat or feel the rise and fall of his breaths. I never understand why my breathing is always so much faster than his. I try to slow my breathing down to match his. Each rise, I breathe in. Each fall, I breathe out. Rise - in; fall - out. Over and over until I fall asleep, resting against a man who seems like more than any letters can capture in one word. He is Daddy.
I have always known about the weakness. It has always just been there. I might find a bottle and wonder why it is sitting behind the living room sofa. He might go to the garage for hours and work on projects that never get finished. The bottles on the workbench never tell me the reason why. I might look up to him in the car and see him pull a something from under the driver's seat and take a quick sip. But it is ok. He is Daddy. That's what Daddies do.
Bills don't get paid. Lights are turned out. But it is ok. That's what happens in all houses. We light candles for the night. Why is mom so upset? She smiles and shrugs and asks us about our homework. Is it done? Having no lights is no excuse for not getting the homework done. But I know. I can always tell. She is upset. And that isn't alright.
Daddy's crying. He's sitting alone in the bedroom. The lights are off. I cannot see him. He is a shadow in a room full of shadows. He's confessing to me. The weakness is getting worse. It is stronger than he is and it is beating him. I hear the hitch in his voice and the ragged breaths. I want to sit with him and tell him it is all ok. But, I can't. I stand in the doorway and listen. He sits on the bed. And he cries.
He gets help. He comes home and things are great. For a long time, the weakness is a part of the past. Dad used to be an alcoholic, but he's better now. He is as strong as ever and smart as always. He tries to teach us what he knows about electricity. Some of those lessons stick and I'm able to impress my high school science teachers. He makes me smarter. My Dad – Man among men.
The lights go out again. It's ok because there had just been a storm recently. One of the transformers had been hit by lightning and it goes out every now and then. I come home from school to a dark house, light candles and wait for the lights to come back on. Mom comes home to a house lit by candles. She asks me why the house is dark. I explain that the transformer blew out again. But why are the other houses on the street lit?
It's back. He's smarter and smoother about it now. I don't find the bottles behind the sofa and he's learned not to drink and drive. Still the occasional bottle in the garage, though, hidden among the tools. But that's not the worst of it. The worst is what I see in Mom's face when the lights go out. Or when the water is turned off. Or when the mortgage is late. She tries to hide it from me. Maybe she fools everyone else. But I know. I can see it on her. I can feel it in her. It's not ok. This shit has got to stop.
It's stronger this time. It's got a terrible hold on him. I see him when he drinks and it's my Dad I see. This strong Man is reduced to sitting at a table. This smart Man stares off into space. Why won't he stop? Why can't it leave us alone?
Mom has had enough. They call all the kids together. My Dad sits in the big chair in the living room, the same one I used to find bottles behind not too long ago. I sit on the stairs and stare into my hands. Dad talks; Mom says nothing. They may be splitting up. He's going to move out of the bedroom and into a room in the garage. My mother is no longer interested in him. His voice catches. This is the first time I actually see my father cry.
Sitting there with my father, I wish it were possible to see it. I want to wrap my hands around this weakness and choke it to death for what it's doing to my family. I would hate it if there were something there to hate. But there is nothing. So, I hate him instead. I hate him every moment he drinks. I hate him every moment his quick mind stares into space at nothing. I hate him for letting this monster wreck our lives. I hate him.
He gets help again. How many times is this for him in detox and going through AA? I've lost count and I don't give a shit any more. I just want him to show me something different this time. Show me it had some effect. Show me this time is different. Show me the weakness is gone. It's so hard to hate, but I don't know what else to do when he let it win. I want Dad to be Daddy again, not just that man my mom has decided to give another chance. I want Daddy back.
I go off to college. I have not been at college long, but there is one thing I learn quickly and well: the smell of beer. It is impossible to live on a college campus and not become familiar with that scent that seems to swamp the campus every weekend. I can smell it on my friends and smell it on my roommates. It is in the halls. I trust my nose.
Home from college for the weekend, I am helping my father run some errands. At first, I try to ignore it, but I can't. My nose tells me it is in the truck with my father and me. I know that smell. I can't deny it. I have to say something.
Have you been drinking?
Long pause. Yeah.
Why?
Another long pause. I guess I just had a taste for it, I guess.
I don't say anything else about it. The conversation is over. Unbidden, the anger returns. Questions come rushing to mind. But I won't ask him. I can't ask him.
I wait until I'm back at school and I ask my best friend. Don't be mad, she says. You know that won't help anything.
But how could he?
He's sick.
The family goes to visit relatives down south. I go with them, doing some of the driving for the first time in my adult life. So many times, we've taken this trip and I was another passenger with my head plugged in to a walkman or nose in a book. But, this time, I get to do a Mommy or a Daddy thing. I help with the driving.
As always, there's a warm hug and a hot meal and plenty of good conversation waiting for us when we get to my aunt's house. My father and I sit outside while we eat. I watch him and for the first time, I begin to see him. He's not a smaller version of God and was never a superhero. He is a man with both feet on the ground and his head six feet above, not in the skies. He is a man – flesh and blood, not steel and ice – and he's sick.
I'm worried, I tell him. I'm worried about your drinking.
Long pause.
You don't have any more kids at home, I say. It's just you and mom. Take care of yourself. You don't have to worry about us any more. Just take care of yourself.
He didn't say much when he answered. Mostly, he hung his head and nodded. I placed my hand on his shoulder and gave him a hug.
Somewhere in the graveyard of my heart, I buried Daddy. That titan among men was gone. Maybe he never really existed outside of my own vision. Standing by that grave with me is this man twice my age with a burden he's been trying to set down for years. I can't take the burden from him, but maybe I can make it a little lighter. Maybe if I let him know that his son forgives him for not being a superman, forgives him letting the lights go out, forgives him for almost losing his marriage – maybe if he knows he's forgiven, he'll walk a little taller, stand a little straighter, smile a little easier.
You can never be Daddy again, but you'll always be my father. I love you now more than ever. Come sit with me and let see if we can find a game.
