Unfinished Business, or a letter to my father
So as part of Veterans Healing Veterans from the Inside Out at San Quentin Prison I wrote the following poem in response to a prompt asking up to write a letter to our father about the unfinished business in our relationship. It kind of long. [BTW, I volunteer in support of the program.]
Unfinished business
Unfinished business with papi
Opening this door memories
Drift up, odors sweet and foul.
Cellar shadows await below.
Now I sense why, so much is unfinished.
Papi, you are an unfinished business in me.
Two yous really, nurturing and punishing.
Sober and drunk contradict .
Three mes, child, teen, adult -- the
Child is the
Wounded one.
And then there is this old man here right now
Reflecting back to capture unfinished business.
You’ve passed, and sometimes it seems you’ve
Passed right out of me.
I know you are there in the blind of my mind
Papi the thinker, the critic, the joker, the lover,
Hiding in me, the echos of you
In me, in my boys, my daughter, my granddaughter
Unfinishing echos.
First memories of you are hard to
Grab or hold and they contradict. A
Foundation of love, a lap, a toss in the air,
Kites at the beach,
Anger, and absence.
Teasings the boy didn’t know how to take, and
Spankings undeserved.
The Man here and now thinks those
Contradictions were all about
Drinking. The man here and now
Thinks those contradictions are the
Unfinished business.
Seeking you and my unfinished business
I notice
I am the hunted and you hide in the
Blind. The missing place
Between that boy and this man.
Your drinking grew as I grew. And the
Betrayals, they grew too. But also the
Contradictions. They grew.
When I was a boy you were
Tall and strong, a man in
Full bloom. And then the
Sinkhole of your alcoholism
Swallowed whole our home and family.
Even now this man, opening this door,
Feels his heart cracked, feels the
Wreckage of that time of this
Unfinished
Business.
You were not a large man, but
You stood six feet
Tall. I looked up to you with
Pride and awe. Who knew I would
Grow to make that seem small! But
You lived by brain not brawn and
I would too.
Memories are strange, not at all
Complete. Only
Peaks and valleys get notice.
Here are some of mine I want to share.
Good things:
Flying kites at the Jersey Shore.
You taught me chess and to
Think, because you thought
-- rather than by some conscious plan.
Talents to build things with
Hands, those talents not
Gifted to me, but to my
Brothers. But my
Pride in that still clear.
Also clear from here is the
Love I have for you.
Where from this loving man in me?
Nevermind the contradictions in you and me.
No certain memory here, like the
Mummer of a distant stream I
Know you are somehow the
Fountain of love in me.
Nature or nurture not for me to say.
Those early days of simple
Childhood delight in a what seemed a
Mountainous six floor condo would soon be replaced.
Airplane to California, you already there. I was
Excited by the trip and to see you. I
Missed you I’m sure, but that’s the man here now saying that.
Memory holds images of that flight but
Not the
Arrival into your arms. The
Excitement of that time
Palpable, a motel with pool in
Sunny California. That first trip to
Disneyland, so many
Delights, but somehow
You, Papi, are hardly there. And
When you are there in those
Early days the boy remembers it as Grump.
Backfilled memory: before your
Accident in the LA fog in that first year
When I was six, you
Sang and your legs were strong. But
Metal rod and tracheotomy ended that. The
Man here now wonders about that accident.
Alcohol? No reason to believe that.
Just the same this seems the most
Likely moment for the turn, the
Turn into some dark alley of
Despair that brought you down. For sure the
Signs were there before we came to
California, though not to the child.
Looking in the hospital window,
Children weren’t allowed in in those days, I
Remember wanting you to be
Well, my hurting, but not much else. My
Life must have been consumed with
Play, only snapshots of you and mommy.
Papi, it wasn’t all bad.
That place we lived three miles from
Disneyland was a
Child’s dream, the same to
Knott’s Berry Farm.
Empty fields to play and dig and
Wander. Before the
Sinkhole took us, we had
Sunshine years playing to the
Rhythms of the
So. Cal. sun, bearfoot, free. But,
You were missing so much.
The man here now
Mourns the you not there. This
Man also wonders how much is
Backstory and how much is
Real story.
California was so different and those
First years were so full,
New House, pool,
Cub scouts, many trips to
Disneyland with each new visit,
Adventures into
Forbidden places as we
Wandered the neighborhoods.
Bags full of candy on Halloween.
Wandering my boyhood memories
Searching for you feels empty. I
Want to find you in the shadows, somehow I
Think I will know you there.
You must have been
Occupied with other things. Perhaps
Contemplating our despair.
Fondest memory: sitting on your
Lap as you told me about your
Work on the Apollo capsule which
Sat high on top of the Saturn V.
On a Sunday morning
Crawling up on the bed between
You and mommy, both
Naked under the covers
Welcoming and snuggling me.
The old man sitting here now knows you went to
Night school to reach your dreams.
Dreams interrupted by alcohol.
Dreams this old man understands, and the
Despair that can rise from unmet dreams. But the
Boy in this old man still
Cries for the Papi that went away.
Big brother, Alan, may be one reason my
Memories are not filled with you. He
Mediated much of our interaction, or perhaps your
Focus was most likely on him.
Looking back this old man sees the boy in me
Followed Alan wherever he would let me, and
He let me a lot.
I miss him.
Best Kite. We came to you with hope for a better
Kite. As in all things Alan in the lead. Something
Grabbed you about this quest, echos from your
Boyhood -- makes me wonder about the adventures you never shared.
Peering back I seem the bump on the log
Watching the play of you and Alan.
A quick trip to the hardware store,
Balsa Wood, and strong paper, for a
Six Sided kite. I watched in
Awe at your skill in
Creating this simple thing. But the
Miracle about to happen is why it
Sticks in my mind. Two boys
Trained in the art of flying
Ordinary kites
Cross to the far side of the school
Yard eager to pull our kite into the
Air with our fierce run. We let our
Papi’s master piece loose and
She flies, no run required, like no other kite we have
Known. My Papi built the
Best
Kite!
Papi, I don’t think you know how
Free we roamed. Maybe parents never know how
Far their children explore.
Memories in no particular order in time:
Pomegranate tree near the corner of
Beach Blvd and Cerritos peeling and eating up in the tree.
Tunnels in the sand inspired by the “Great Escape,”
Lucky to have survived.
Treks to Knotts Berry Farm for the capture of
Frogs -- only to be eaten by cats.
Adventures to Disneyland to
Watch the monorail and seek secret entry.
Exploration of the drainage ditches for the
Capture of pollywogs and entry to the
Turkey slaughter house just to see.
So much never shared with you, but this
Old man believes you approved.
Right here, there is a
Gap in my heart because we never shared
Our stories. I’m left
Wondering why you told us so few of your
Stories.
Sinkhole:
Moving on to the
Bad times. We never really
Spoke about your drinking, at least we came to the
Point where it was acknowledged. But that was
The man, not the boy. The boys
Pain was never acknowledged.
Disconnect: between this man and that
Boy. The boy had no tools, no
Comprehension of alcoholic drinking. Not
Picking on you, though it may seem so. I felt like the
Nexus between you and mommy. The
Drama of the alcoholic family system
Played out breaking my little loving heart.
Little me trying to fix it all. On a
Mission from mommy.
Hiding bottles of vodka,
Intervening in your fights.
Trips with you to the store to get your
Vodka to keep you on the road and from
Running into police cars.
Pleading with you to stop drinking for me.
Oh yeah! I was set up! Mommy asks,
“Ask Papi to stop drinking for the love of you.”
At least that is the best this old man can
Remember of it. The boy goes into the
Bedroom and lies on the bed with the
Stinky drunk Bopi and
Begs him to stop. And the
Drunk after some regret says “Yes, I love you and I will
Stop” You didn’t. Of course you didn’t.
This old man knows mommy was as
Sick as you, and her betrayal as
Deep.
Compassion: I realize in
Reflection I don’t really get it. I can’t
Imagine doing
That. I can’t imagine it even though I have
Fallen short in self-righteousness with
My own children. How do you loose
Complete sight of your children?
How do you? … And yet, this
Old man still loves you, the
Broken hearted boy never stopped
Loving you. And this
Old man loves the boy for it.
Papi, there is more, but this is the
Core hiding in the blind. The
Boy lay on that bed and he
Believed.
All things would be set
Right.
Papi would stop drinking and
Mommy would stop crying. The
Boy would return to
Play.
Instead a part of me hid in that blind.
Papi how do I finish this business? I
See your smile, and the
Jokester in you, whom I’ve
Denied and loved; telling me to
Enjoy. Have fun, and not to be so damn
Serious. That blind was never real.
You never passed out of me. This
Business is finished.
Love you.
Unfinished business
Unfinished business with papi
Opening this door memories
Drift up, odors sweet and foul.
Cellar shadows await below.
Now I sense why, so much is unfinished.
Papi, you are an unfinished business in me.
Two yous really, nurturing and punishing.
Sober and drunk contradict .
Three mes, child, teen, adult -- the
Child is the
Wounded one.
And then there is this old man here right now
Reflecting back to capture unfinished business.
You’ve passed, and sometimes it seems you’ve
Passed right out of me.
I know you are there in the blind of my mind
Papi the thinker, the critic, the joker, the lover,
Hiding in me, the echos of you
In me, in my boys, my daughter, my granddaughter
Unfinishing echos.
First memories of you are hard to
Grab or hold and they contradict. A
Foundation of love, a lap, a toss in the air,
Kites at the beach,
Anger, and absence.
Teasings the boy didn’t know how to take, and
Spankings undeserved.
The Man here and now thinks those
Contradictions were all about
Drinking. The man here and now
Thinks those contradictions are the
Unfinished business.
Seeking you and my unfinished business
I notice
I am the hunted and you hide in the
Blind. The missing place
Between that boy and this man.
Your drinking grew as I grew. And the
Betrayals, they grew too. But also the
Contradictions. They grew.
When I was a boy you were
Tall and strong, a man in
Full bloom. And then the
Sinkhole of your alcoholism
Swallowed whole our home and family.
Even now this man, opening this door,
Feels his heart cracked, feels the
Wreckage of that time of this
Unfinished
Business.
You were not a large man, but
You stood six feet
Tall. I looked up to you with
Pride and awe. Who knew I would
Grow to make that seem small! But
You lived by brain not brawn and
I would too.
Memories are strange, not at all
Complete. Only
Peaks and valleys get notice.
Here are some of mine I want to share.
Good things:
Flying kites at the Jersey Shore.
You taught me chess and to
Think, because you thought
-- rather than by some conscious plan.
Talents to build things with
Hands, those talents not
Gifted to me, but to my
Brothers. But my
Pride in that still clear.
Also clear from here is the
Love I have for you.
Where from this loving man in me?
Nevermind the contradictions in you and me.
No certain memory here, like the
Mummer of a distant stream I
Know you are somehow the
Fountain of love in me.
Nature or nurture not for me to say.
Those early days of simple
Childhood delight in a what seemed a
Mountainous six floor condo would soon be replaced.
Airplane to California, you already there. I was
Excited by the trip and to see you. I
Missed you I’m sure, but that’s the man here now saying that.
Memory holds images of that flight but
Not the
Arrival into your arms. The
Excitement of that time
Palpable, a motel with pool in
Sunny California. That first trip to
Disneyland, so many
Delights, but somehow
You, Papi, are hardly there. And
When you are there in those
Early days the boy remembers it as Grump.
Backfilled memory: before your
Accident in the LA fog in that first year
When I was six, you
Sang and your legs were strong. But
Metal rod and tracheotomy ended that. The
Man here now wonders about that accident.
Alcohol? No reason to believe that.
Just the same this seems the most
Likely moment for the turn, the
Turn into some dark alley of
Despair that brought you down. For sure the
Signs were there before we came to
California, though not to the child.
Looking in the hospital window,
Children weren’t allowed in in those days, I
Remember wanting you to be
Well, my hurting, but not much else. My
Life must have been consumed with
Play, only snapshots of you and mommy.
Papi, it wasn’t all bad.
That place we lived three miles from
Disneyland was a
Child’s dream, the same to
Knott’s Berry Farm.
Empty fields to play and dig and
Wander. Before the
Sinkhole took us, we had
Sunshine years playing to the
Rhythms of the
So. Cal. sun, bearfoot, free. But,
You were missing so much.
The man here now
Mourns the you not there. This
Man also wonders how much is
Backstory and how much is
Real story.
California was so different and those
First years were so full,
New House, pool,
Cub scouts, many trips to
Disneyland with each new visit,
Adventures into
Forbidden places as we
Wandered the neighborhoods.
Bags full of candy on Halloween.
Wandering my boyhood memories
Searching for you feels empty. I
Want to find you in the shadows, somehow I
Think I will know you there.
You must have been
Occupied with other things. Perhaps
Contemplating our despair.
Fondest memory: sitting on your
Lap as you told me about your
Work on the Apollo capsule which
Sat high on top of the Saturn V.
On a Sunday morning
Crawling up on the bed between
You and mommy, both
Naked under the covers
Welcoming and snuggling me.
The old man sitting here now knows you went to
Night school to reach your dreams.
Dreams interrupted by alcohol.
Dreams this old man understands, and the
Despair that can rise from unmet dreams. But the
Boy in this old man still
Cries for the Papi that went away.
Big brother, Alan, may be one reason my
Memories are not filled with you. He
Mediated much of our interaction, or perhaps your
Focus was most likely on him.
Looking back this old man sees the boy in me
Followed Alan wherever he would let me, and
He let me a lot.
I miss him.
Best Kite. We came to you with hope for a better
Kite. As in all things Alan in the lead. Something
Grabbed you about this quest, echos from your
Boyhood -- makes me wonder about the adventures you never shared.
Peering back I seem the bump on the log
Watching the play of you and Alan.
A quick trip to the hardware store,
Balsa Wood, and strong paper, for a
Six Sided kite. I watched in
Awe at your skill in
Creating this simple thing. But the
Miracle about to happen is why it
Sticks in my mind. Two boys
Trained in the art of flying
Ordinary kites
Cross to the far side of the school
Yard eager to pull our kite into the
Air with our fierce run. We let our
Papi’s master piece loose and
She flies, no run required, like no other kite we have
Known. My Papi built the
Best
Kite!
Papi, I don’t think you know how
Free we roamed. Maybe parents never know how
Far their children explore.
Memories in no particular order in time:
Pomegranate tree near the corner of
Beach Blvd and Cerritos peeling and eating up in the tree.
Tunnels in the sand inspired by the “Great Escape,”
Lucky to have survived.
Treks to Knotts Berry Farm for the capture of
Frogs -- only to be eaten by cats.
Adventures to Disneyland to
Watch the monorail and seek secret entry.
Exploration of the drainage ditches for the
Capture of pollywogs and entry to the
Turkey slaughter house just to see.
So much never shared with you, but this
Old man believes you approved.
Right here, there is a
Gap in my heart because we never shared
Our stories. I’m left
Wondering why you told us so few of your
Stories.
Sinkhole:
Moving on to the
Bad times. We never really
Spoke about your drinking, at least we came to the
Point where it was acknowledged. But that was
The man, not the boy. The boys
Pain was never acknowledged.
Disconnect: between this man and that
Boy. The boy had no tools, no
Comprehension of alcoholic drinking. Not
Picking on you, though it may seem so. I felt like the
Nexus between you and mommy. The
Drama of the alcoholic family system
Played out breaking my little loving heart.
Little me trying to fix it all. On a
Mission from mommy.
Hiding bottles of vodka,
Intervening in your fights.
Trips with you to the store to get your
Vodka to keep you on the road and from
Running into police cars.
Pleading with you to stop drinking for me.
Oh yeah! I was set up! Mommy asks,
“Ask Papi to stop drinking for the love of you.”
At least that is the best this old man can
Remember of it. The boy goes into the
Bedroom and lies on the bed with the
Stinky drunk Bopi and
Begs him to stop. And the
Drunk after some regret says “Yes, I love you and I will
Stop” You didn’t. Of course you didn’t.
This old man knows mommy was as
Sick as you, and her betrayal as
Deep.
Compassion: I realize in
Reflection I don’t really get it. I can’t
Imagine doing
That. I can’t imagine it even though I have
Fallen short in self-righteousness with
My own children. How do you loose
Complete sight of your children?
How do you? … And yet, this
Old man still loves you, the
Broken hearted boy never stopped
Loving you. And this
Old man loves the boy for it.
Papi, there is more, but this is the
Core hiding in the blind. The
Boy lay on that bed and he
Believed.
All things would be set
Right.
Papi would stop drinking and
Mommy would stop crying. The
Boy would return to
Play.
Instead a part of me hid in that blind.
Papi how do I finish this business? I
See your smile, and the
Jokester in you, whom I’ve
Denied and loved; telling me to
Enjoy. Have fun, and not to be so damn
Serious. That blind was never real.
You never passed out of me. This
Business is finished.
Love you.