Cheating

The process of my father's second divorce was distant to me. Off in college at the time, the everyday factors of the split didn't influence me. My stepmother had been having an affair with another music school teacher at her workplace. My father was oblivious, trusting in her. He tried to work things out with her on a number of occassions during the period in which they were breaking up. They had spent five or six years building a life together. They had a nice house, a yard, and us kids were out of the nest.

My stepmother said that she needed some space and got a separate apartment. One evening her coworker's girlfriend beat the shit out of her for cheating with the coworker. I remember my older brother getting some cathartic joy out of it. My father has always been a stoic man who is generally honorable and fair to the people he's around. When my stepmother got beat up for her infidelity it seemed like poetic jusitice to my older brother. I couldn't help but think it was like an episode out of Jerry Springer.

The whole thing was hard on my father. Like many working class men he's never had many emotional outlets other than those provided to him via romantic relationships with women. During the fallout period my father continued with his normal routine and then added more work to busy himself. He's one of those people who has to be doing something. He helped the old lady down the street with her house. He'd refurbish things for coworkers (he has experience in carpentry). When my sister's car would break down he would fix it. Still to get to sleep at night he drank a couple cans of milawaukee best and swallowed another anti-depressant. When he first began taking anti-depressants he told me that depression ran in the family. Most people who worked their entire lives and routinely have that life shattered will be depressed.

My poignant memories from that period of my father are of car rides. He would pick me up from college during breaks where I couldn't be on campus. Sometimes we would chit chat about my siblings, or how school was going. But mainly it was silence. It was nice spending time with him but those times made it clear to me that I didn't want to live his life. I didn't want to break my back for nothing, I didn't want to always take the higher road when people fucked me over. Now I wonder if I'm not a little more like my father than I thought. I wonder what good it did him, because working more and being the bigger man doesn't make me feel all that great.

Jack Attack

The street was empty except for the small bits of garbage blanketed that the curb sides like dead leaves in the fall. My bike leaned against the gym wall while I stared into space waiting for Jon to arrive. Jack and Paul opened up their car doors and started walking down the sidewalk towards me. Jack ran in front of his father with the robust energy of his 6 year old body.
"We got here before you did," Jack said excitedly.
"Hurray. Have you been here for a while," I asked.
"No. Not that long."
My mind wandered back to the events of the recent week. My mind has been looping over and over. Like a scratched cd, the song lingers on one beat, the same sentences repeat, the same questions still linger, the same feelings of disappointment, insecurity, and grief.
"Jack, why don't you put on your coat? You're going to get cold," Paul said.
"Okay, hold onto my backpack. Look at this telephone wire, I bet if we cut it down it will electrocute everyone." Jack gave the telephone support wire a firm shake. He paused and looked around.
"Why is Oakland so disgusting?"
I laughed, wanting to reply with some sort of anarchist aphorism about wealth distribution in society but let the moment slip. Why be didactic all the time? Why be didactic at all?
"They really speak their mind don't they," Paul commented.
There were no other kids in the muay thai class today so I spent my hour with Jack doing pad work, and shadow boxing. He was rather excited about it all. It was nice for me to have just one high energy pupil rather than five or six to keep an eye on. Usually I assist Nelson in with the kids' class but he was at the doctor's for the day. Volunteering to teach the class is fun for me, I get to spend time with kids in a way that doesn't involve parenthood, nor a ton of responsibility.

I've been spending more time alone. The solitude is a nice break. Most people don't seem to spend any time alone. Their individualism is more about accessorizing through various banal activities. Strong people should be able to stand alone, but maybe I'm just saying that to make myself feel better.