A Few Moments of Medicated Clarity Regarding Fatherhood
Aug 10, 2023 5:21:08 GMT
Post by Ollie Maverick on Aug 10, 2023 5:21:08 GMT
The meds go down smooth with a can of whatever the fuck GFuel is. I just kind of grab whatever is sugar free and loaded with caffeine at the gas stations I stop at.
I’m not heading anywhere in particular right now but the sugar free ‘Sonic the Hedgehog’ energy drink is to make sure I drive throughout the night.
I’m not sure if I’m in the right headspace for sleep at the moment.
The pounding headache doesn’t go away so much as the sharp edges get sanded down a bit.
That’s acceptable.
My music is on shuffle and a Black Sabbath tune starts to play.
Dads favorite.
Puzzle pieces come into clearer view and I find myself gripping a piece and taking a look.
‘Paranoid’ is playing on a crappy speaker in the shitty gym owned by my adoptive father. Daniel Daemon. A wrestling legend.
My lip is split.
A black eye.
I was 15.
Johnny couldn’t fight my battles for me anymore and all the other kids knew.
“Oliver… bud are you alright?” Danny asks, he waved off the students he had been slamming around the old boxing ring. I climbed into the ring with him and just started crying. My seven foot tall adoptive father immediately pulled me into a big hug.
It’s the last time I ever remember him hugging me.
“I want to fight.”
Take it back you fucking idiot.
Sorry, was just trying to warn young me there for a second. Truth be told, I had never shown interest in this aspect of my dads life before. Even when he was training Johnny and Jimmy the possibility of it had never even come up.
I know my dad loved me, even if I wasn’t his own blood.
But he also refused to do anything by halves.
“Oliver… hey bud let’s get you cleaned up and maybe go grab-”
“No. No no no I want you to teach me. Like you did them.” I said, wiping my nose.
Dad sighed. He releases the hug and takes a step back to have a llok at me. I had the spindly physique of someone who at the time had a lot of firm opinions about ‘Dragonball Z’ and ‘Magic: The Gathering’ during a time before it was considered ‘cool and quirky’ to like those things.
Then without a word he picked me up without any sort of strain or resistance and slammed me on my back. My wind immediately left me and I briefly feared it would never return.
It hurt so bad. I’ve had so many light tubes broken on my body, I’ve been thrown off of balconies… but in my mind nothing has ever hurt as bad as it did the day my dad scoop slammed me in that old ass boxing ring.
He turned away, seemingly ashamed of his actions…but he was hoping that was all it would take to get this silly idea out of my head.
“Okay Bud… come on. It’s okay that this isn’t for everybody. Let’s go grab a pizza from that pla-” Dad said, turning back with his hand extended.
The look of shock on his face when I was already standing again is a look I’ll never forget.
But the way he looked at me from then on in general was different.
Because he wasn’t looking at his son anymore.
He was looking at a project.
And I don’t know if I have anyone but myself to blame for that.
Well there was one other time. I see another puzzle piece. It clicks together neatly with this one.
A year later, I went on the road with him and we had a day to kill so we went to Disneyland. For the past year my dad had been turning me into an animal. One week after this day at the age of sixteen I would go to Japan and I’d be booked in my very first deathmatch.
And I would win, but this isn’t about me bragging.
No… that day my dad and I rode Pirates of the Caribbean and Space Mountain and…
I was too chicken to go on this big drop ride but he convinced me.
And I’m the span of one week my father told me a sentiment twice. The only two times he’s ever said it.
Once in a theme park then a week later as I was having broken glass dug out of my skin.
“I’m proud of you.”
Oh this jigsaw puzzle is really starting to become pretty clear.
There’s this vent diagram of theme parks and violence and right smack dab in the middle is my father being proud of me.
Clarity is weird.
Fatherhood is REAL weird.
I gave it a shot and was deemed unfit for the job. Then once everyone had me convinced I was unfit for the job they all decided I was a piece of crap for not doing the job they deemed me unfit for.
I think this is what gaslighting is but they’re probably right. My kids don’t need my crazy rubbing off on them.
More than anyone I know how fucked up a bad dad can make their kids even if he has good intentions.
They deserve better than me. I’m sure they like that dickhead pretending to be a Cowboy more than they ever liked me. Good. They deserve a good dad.
I can taste that thought. It tastes like mud. Mud with slimy things crawling in it. I dry heave. Weird fact about me, I can’t stand slimy little critters like slugs or worms. If I even think about them for too long it turns my stomach.
Anyway.
I park the van. I’ve been on autopilot for a while.
Oh fuck, I drove to Trash Land.
I’ve gotten to know the workers pretty well so they let me in after close and I sit in the scrambler.
But also I’m sixteen and I’m sitting in the Disneyland teacups next to my dad.
I want to ride them over and over and over.
When everything is spinning the clarity goes away.
It can stay away as far as I’m concerned.
That’s not what Trash Land is for.
You know what?
I think maybe if I win that belt here…
I might just be proud of me too, dad.
I’m not heading anywhere in particular right now but the sugar free ‘Sonic the Hedgehog’ energy drink is to make sure I drive throughout the night.
I’m not sure if I’m in the right headspace for sleep at the moment.
The pounding headache doesn’t go away so much as the sharp edges get sanded down a bit.
That’s acceptable.
My music is on shuffle and a Black Sabbath tune starts to play.
Dads favorite.
Puzzle pieces come into clearer view and I find myself gripping a piece and taking a look.
‘Paranoid’ is playing on a crappy speaker in the shitty gym owned by my adoptive father. Daniel Daemon. A wrestling legend.
My lip is split.
A black eye.
I was 15.
Johnny couldn’t fight my battles for me anymore and all the other kids knew.
“Oliver… bud are you alright?” Danny asks, he waved off the students he had been slamming around the old boxing ring. I climbed into the ring with him and just started crying. My seven foot tall adoptive father immediately pulled me into a big hug.
It’s the last time I ever remember him hugging me.
“I want to fight.”
Take it back you fucking idiot.
Sorry, was just trying to warn young me there for a second. Truth be told, I had never shown interest in this aspect of my dads life before. Even when he was training Johnny and Jimmy the possibility of it had never even come up.
I know my dad loved me, even if I wasn’t his own blood.
But he also refused to do anything by halves.
“Oliver… hey bud let’s get you cleaned up and maybe go grab-”
“No. No no no I want you to teach me. Like you did them.” I said, wiping my nose.
Dad sighed. He releases the hug and takes a step back to have a llok at me. I had the spindly physique of someone who at the time had a lot of firm opinions about ‘Dragonball Z’ and ‘Magic: The Gathering’ during a time before it was considered ‘cool and quirky’ to like those things.
Then without a word he picked me up without any sort of strain or resistance and slammed me on my back. My wind immediately left me and I briefly feared it would never return.
It hurt so bad. I’ve had so many light tubes broken on my body, I’ve been thrown off of balconies… but in my mind nothing has ever hurt as bad as it did the day my dad scoop slammed me in that old ass boxing ring.
He turned away, seemingly ashamed of his actions…but he was hoping that was all it would take to get this silly idea out of my head.
“Okay Bud… come on. It’s okay that this isn’t for everybody. Let’s go grab a pizza from that pla-” Dad said, turning back with his hand extended.
The look of shock on his face when I was already standing again is a look I’ll never forget.
But the way he looked at me from then on in general was different.
Because he wasn’t looking at his son anymore.
He was looking at a project.
And I don’t know if I have anyone but myself to blame for that.
Well there was one other time. I see another puzzle piece. It clicks together neatly with this one.
A year later, I went on the road with him and we had a day to kill so we went to Disneyland. For the past year my dad had been turning me into an animal. One week after this day at the age of sixteen I would go to Japan and I’d be booked in my very first deathmatch.
And I would win, but this isn’t about me bragging.
No… that day my dad and I rode Pirates of the Caribbean and Space Mountain and…
I was too chicken to go on this big drop ride but he convinced me.
And I’m the span of one week my father told me a sentiment twice. The only two times he’s ever said it.
Once in a theme park then a week later as I was having broken glass dug out of my skin.
“I’m proud of you.”
Oh this jigsaw puzzle is really starting to become pretty clear.
There’s this vent diagram of theme parks and violence and right smack dab in the middle is my father being proud of me.
Clarity is weird.
Fatherhood is REAL weird.
I gave it a shot and was deemed unfit for the job. Then once everyone had me convinced I was unfit for the job they all decided I was a piece of crap for not doing the job they deemed me unfit for.
I think this is what gaslighting is but they’re probably right. My kids don’t need my crazy rubbing off on them.
More than anyone I know how fucked up a bad dad can make their kids even if he has good intentions.
They deserve better than me. I’m sure they like that dickhead pretending to be a Cowboy more than they ever liked me. Good. They deserve a good dad.
I can taste that thought. It tastes like mud. Mud with slimy things crawling in it. I dry heave. Weird fact about me, I can’t stand slimy little critters like slugs or worms. If I even think about them for too long it turns my stomach.
Anyway.
I park the van. I’ve been on autopilot for a while.
Oh fuck, I drove to Trash Land.
I’ve gotten to know the workers pretty well so they let me in after close and I sit in the scrambler.
But also I’m sixteen and I’m sitting in the Disneyland teacups next to my dad.
I want to ride them over and over and over.
When everything is spinning the clarity goes away.
It can stay away as far as I’m concerned.
That’s not what Trash Land is for.
You know what?
I think maybe if I win that belt here…
I might just be proud of me too, dad.