beled_el_djinn: (Eye1)
A little less than 28 years ago, my father took me to see The Dark Crystal in the theater. I'm fairly certain this is the only time I ever went to a movie with just him, and it is one of my happiest memories of him - the wonder and magic which the film inspires in me seems inextricably tied to the memory of him.

Over the years since I've gotten into the habit of watching The Dark Crystal once a year or so, to revisit the memories and enjoy one of my favorite films. This year, it would seem that Cambridge's own, The Brattle Theater, decided to smile upon my little tradition as they put it up on the big screen. So last night, I and my co-conspirator wended our way to Harvard Square and caught the double header of The Dark Crystal and Labyrinth. There, amid the sea of people who giggled every time the Chamberlain whimpered, for 93 minutes I was transported to another world, another time, when I was a little boy sitting in a darkened room and seeing for the first time the most wondrous puppet show ever conceived of.
beled_el_djinn: (Mindscape)
Friday marked 13 years. Funny that I remembered on Thursday and then again on Monday, but between then it seems that I couldn't spare him a thought.

Yesterday, however, I found myself wondering what dad would say if he met the baby and also what the baby would think of him. I couldn't imagine how dad could have held my brother in his arms and not felt the same love I feel for my child, and yet I have 23 years worth of memories that tell me it was highly unlikely that he ever did. And where do I fit in all of that? Did he ever hold me in his arms and just lose himself in the love I'd like to think poured out of me? I'd like to think he did, but I'm perhaps a bit too cynical/realistic to blindly accept that he did.

I'm still struggling with what I'll tell my child about dad - I don't really want to pad the reality of life under his rule, but I guess I'm still having a hard time coming to grips with why I still have love in my heart for someone who could be such a douchebag on so many levels. I suppose I could just argue Stockholm Syndrome and have done, but that would be lame and also miss the point in many, many ways.

I guess, as always, my relationship with dad is a work in progress and likely it will be one that never ends. I had thought that I was over this, that I no longer needed to keep looking at the bits of puzzle that made up our life together, but my need to do better for my child (and also not become my father) keeps urging me on.
beled_el_djinn: (shades of gray)
Apropos a conversation I had today, I was reminded of the last time I ever saw my father alive. In that hour the my mother and I spent talking to him, there was for, if not the first time ever, then for the first time since I was a very small child, a feeling that we were an actual, honest-to-goodness close-knit family. For the first time in far too long, we put down most of the baggage that we'd been carrying everywhere and spoke to each other (okay, it would be more accurate to say that mom and I spoke to each other and dad and he, for his part, dutifully listened without interrupting) and actually heard what each other had to say. There is a level of frankness that seems to only ever manifest itself in people when they truly know that they will never speak another word to someone and we both said things that never would have come out in other circumstances. To this day, mom and I have never spoken of that last visit; I don't think we can - the masks we wear for each other prevent it.
I don't know as I quite appreciated that moment in time as fully as I should have while I was living it - I think if I had, I may have kissed him and thanked my father for that last gift. But I was still too close to all the turmoil of what had been our family dynamic for most of my life and definitely still reeling from the shock of having felt him dying when I touched his hand to have done other than I did that night. I think he knows though, or at least the part of him I still carry in my heart does.
I found myself talking to dad while I was getting off the train tonight, which I don't think I've done for maybe 5 years at this point. This time, however, I spoke about what I had done with my life since he died instead of telling him to fuck off and leave my family alone. After all, we are the ones who need to leave him alone and get busy with the "keep on keeping on" thing. My fellow passengers must have wondered at the young man walking past them, talking about his hopes for the future and where he'd like to be in five years, but I guarantee that none of them found the spectacle as curious as I did. 12 years ago had you asked me how I felt about my father and I probably would have said I missed him. 10 or even just 2 years ago, if asked the same question, I would have told you how much of a manipulative and controlling douchbag he was. Now, I'm not quite sure how to answer that question. I have all these pieces of a puzzle that add up to our life together, and every time I try putting them together, the picture comes out a bit different than it did the last time.
beled_el_djinn: (Eye2)
Yesterday marked the 10th anniversary of my father's death. Not to sound like Jeremy Piven or anything, but TEN YEARS MAN!!! Where did the time go? It used to be that I'd get all sorts of reflective on that day, wondering what my life would have been like if he were still alive or musing on where my life had gone to since his death. These days, I don't really treat the day any different than the other 364 - I guess I've moved on with my life and let him die. I still do wonder what I'm going to tell my children when they ask about him. Will I tell them how controlling and manipulative he was? How much of a dick he was to my brother or how unloving his relationship with mom seemed? I hesitate to think that I'd do that, but at the same time I don't want to sugar coat his legacy for them. I want them to know the bad things, but I want them to understand that he was a man trying to do the best he could with what life dealt him. I don't know and fortunately, I don't have to answer these questions any time soon. Maybe in another few years I'll finally know what to say.

I'm out.
beled_el_djinn: (meow)
Odd dreams last night. The house was there of course, although I'd not yet ever seen these rooms and the location was different. My father was there as well, and with him were Fat Cat and Sheba. My mom and I were throwing some sort of party - I thought it was a dinner party, but it seemed to early in the day to be one - and many people were there. I knew some of them and others were completely foreign to me. I get the feeling that while I could see dad and the cats, nobody else could and this didn't seem to be that much of a problem. For the most part, the party went well although we did run out of food. I remember at one point looking over at my dad and seeing Fat Cat curled up with him. I thought to myself that that was kind of odd since he was my cat, but then I realized that he now belonged with dad. The dream then went kind of funny and involved a ride on a bed down Rt 2 and a magic oak tree that stopped us from falling off a cliff. Yeah, I'm not sure I want to get that either.

I'm not sure why dad and the cats were in my dream. Usually, when I dream of the dead, I'm doing something to help them but this time I wasn't. It still felt like a significant dream, but I don't know what the deal was. Oh well, I'm sure time will give me some perspective. In the mean time, maybe I should go visit dad this year and have a little chat with him.

I'm out.
beled_el_djinn: (Default)
Of Ghosts and Dreaming )

Dead people annoy me some times.

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August 2012

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