My Father
I found photos of my father I never remembered seeing the other day. Weird this happened later on the same day that I had cracked open this little box. We are wearing cowboy hats, bandanas around our necks. I showed them to Dan today. My feelings about my father were mixed throughout the period he and I were both on this planet together.
I remember my father early on. Smoking Kent cigarettes and drinking Oly beer. This was my idea of male adulthood and what I aspired to. I remember he was my best and favorite playmate early on. I remember how hard he worked on our house. Remember him learning to cook when my mom died. The whole time he always was working, every single day. My father never missed a day of work. I remember him training our dogs. Remember learning to fire a rifle and a bow and arrow. My father was a part of every aspect of my life as a child. Most definitely a role model. A hero. A best friend.
This changed. Right around the time I turned 10 years old. My mom had been dead for a couple of years. My father remarried and things changed. We left our house in Riddle, Oregon, and I was drug along to Colombia, rather unwillingly. This is when I decided I know longer wanted to be part of my family. It happened early. I was in the 5th grade and felt like a complete outsider, much how I have been feeling of late. This feeling grew as I got older.
In 9th grade, I returned stateside, minus my family, well, to stay with my older sister Gaby. A newlywed at the time. I made all sorts of friends. This was Cottage Grove, OR. I was happy. The following year, my father came back to Oregon, with my stepmom, stepsister, and little brother and they forced me to move back in with them. Another betrayal. Yanked out of another lovely situation.
The remainder of my time in high school was hell. I grew more rebellious. I spent all the time my family was awake locked away in my room. Writing letters to penpals all over the country. Listening to my music. The very music I am listening to at the moment. Growing deeper and deeper within myself. I knew there must be a better world out there somewhere. Christ, I was living in Myrtle Creek, Oregon, there pretty much had to.
I forged the best, strongest, and longest lasting friend of my life at this point. Dan and I have been friends since, well, at this point, about as far back as when I became myself. My innocence at this time was gone. I had locked it away deep inside. It would return to me later, in my 20s, but for now, I was wholly cynical. Bitter. Sarcastic. I knew the world was a giant fucked up place and we were all going to suffer until it was over. I refused to let myself be content and full myself into thinking that life was worth living. It was a lot more than angst. This is probably the height of my intellectual awakening. The unfortunated truth is that I really did not know that much, well, I did, but not nearly as much as I believed to know. But, this is where I was born.
My father was away much of high school and I was left home with my stepmother, stepsister and brother. Loved my brother to death. The one glimmer of hope in the world at this time. When my father would come home, I think I was a bit of his worst nightmare. Mohawk. Eventual pierced ear. In 1985, Southern Oregon, this was not something close to acceptable. I think I touched on his homophobia, and we grew further and further apart. When I graduated from that god awful place, I was ready to go soak up the world. I was accepted to Stanford, Tulane, Loyola of New Orleans. Alas, it was not in our budget for me to go to any of these prestigious schools (what was important was the distance from home for me) and I ended up at Oregon State University. Betrayed again....
I remember my father early on. Smoking Kent cigarettes and drinking Oly beer. This was my idea of male adulthood and what I aspired to. I remember he was my best and favorite playmate early on. I remember how hard he worked on our house. Remember him learning to cook when my mom died. The whole time he always was working, every single day. My father never missed a day of work. I remember him training our dogs. Remember learning to fire a rifle and a bow and arrow. My father was a part of every aspect of my life as a child. Most definitely a role model. A hero. A best friend.
This changed. Right around the time I turned 10 years old. My mom had been dead for a couple of years. My father remarried and things changed. We left our house in Riddle, Oregon, and I was drug along to Colombia, rather unwillingly. This is when I decided I know longer wanted to be part of my family. It happened early. I was in the 5th grade and felt like a complete outsider, much how I have been feeling of late. This feeling grew as I got older.
In 9th grade, I returned stateside, minus my family, well, to stay with my older sister Gaby. A newlywed at the time. I made all sorts of friends. This was Cottage Grove, OR. I was happy. The following year, my father came back to Oregon, with my stepmom, stepsister, and little brother and they forced me to move back in with them. Another betrayal. Yanked out of another lovely situation.
The remainder of my time in high school was hell. I grew more rebellious. I spent all the time my family was awake locked away in my room. Writing letters to penpals all over the country. Listening to my music. The very music I am listening to at the moment. Growing deeper and deeper within myself. I knew there must be a better world out there somewhere. Christ, I was living in Myrtle Creek, Oregon, there pretty much had to.
I forged the best, strongest, and longest lasting friend of my life at this point. Dan and I have been friends since, well, at this point, about as far back as when I became myself. My innocence at this time was gone. I had locked it away deep inside. It would return to me later, in my 20s, but for now, I was wholly cynical. Bitter. Sarcastic. I knew the world was a giant fucked up place and we were all going to suffer until it was over. I refused to let myself be content and full myself into thinking that life was worth living. It was a lot more than angst. This is probably the height of my intellectual awakening. The unfortunated truth is that I really did not know that much, well, I did, but not nearly as much as I believed to know. But, this is where I was born.
My father was away much of high school and I was left home with my stepmother, stepsister and brother. Loved my brother to death. The one glimmer of hope in the world at this time. When my father would come home, I think I was a bit of his worst nightmare. Mohawk. Eventual pierced ear. In 1985, Southern Oregon, this was not something close to acceptable. I think I touched on his homophobia, and we grew further and further apart. When I graduated from that god awful place, I was ready to go soak up the world. I was accepted to Stanford, Tulane, Loyola of New Orleans. Alas, it was not in our budget for me to go to any of these prestigious schools (what was important was the distance from home for me) and I ended up at Oregon State University. Betrayed again....