My grandfather — my dad’s father — was, by all accounts, a complete d-bag. He was violent toward all his kids, seemingly incapable of feeling empathy for their pain. He idolized Hitler, and all six of the brothers were traumatized by his reign of terror. My dad told me he used to hide inside a hole in the wall when his dad got home drunk at night.
Most of the brothers, including my father, also became alcoholics. Several of them have already died of alcoholism. Including my father, about 10 years ago.
My dad was in and out of my life while I was growing up, in a very unpredictable way. He left when I was two, and my first memories of him are from when I was five or so. I would fly from Calgary to Victoria where he lived, all on my own! It was pretty terrifying. I loved visiting him in Victoria though. I loved being out at the beach with him, collecting crabs. I loved going to Chinatown with him and browsing toys I’d never seen before. He was a master carpenter, and his place was full of intricate woodwork. It was completely different from being at home with my mom.
It was also very challenging for me to visit with my dad. I was keenly observing his drug use — even as a little kid I sort of had a feeling that’s what it was. I remember being in his apartment, full of people, and I’d go room to room and find people drinking and doing drugs everywhere. In retrospect, pretty inappropriate for a little kid.
My father had a temper, and occasionally I’d see it as a kid. I’d be asking him questions about video games or something, and suddenly he’d snap at me in annoyance and frustration. I was always startled by how he turned on a dime like that. And once he got angry, he could rant about it with great passion. This was his alcoholic persona.
He was an extremely passionate man. His passion was being an actor on stage, and aspiring to be in film. He acted and directed in local community theatre, and even wrote a script for a production near the end of his life. He was always talking about some new idea that was fascinating him, often in regards to health. After he passed, a manuscript he wrote passed to me. It was about a particular kind of diet that … doesn’t produce mucus in the body?? It reads like nothing I’ve ever read before. Completely the product of his own mind.
When I was around eight years old, my dad dropped off the map. I didn’t hear from him for several years if I recall correctly. Then when I was 13, he got in touch again.
I remember that time very vividly, getting a call from my dad after years of wondering where he was. He just acted like it was no biggie, carrying on from before in a way. I was totally disoriented.
I remember very clearly what I told my dad on that call. I told him I was really struggling, and didn’t feel I could talk to anyone in my life. I was depressed, and was starting to contemplate suicide. He suggested I go see my aunt and uncle, who lived in my area, because he knew they would be able to talk to me.
“You find me here, and I’m a mess.” — Pearl Jam, Corduroy
Over the next few years, I visited with my dad occasionally. When I was 14 he smoked weed with me at my place, and told me not to tell my aunt and uncle about it. Interesting how he flipped the script from them being people I could talk to, to them being people I should keep secrets from.
Interesting how he flipped the script from them being people I could talk to, to them being people I should keep secrets from.
When I was 16, I took a bus to see my dad in Grand Prairie, way up in northern Alberta. It felt like the end of the fucking world up there. I found him living in … a garage. He’d converted this garage space to a loft apartment, completely customizing the space for himself. I was pretty freaked out by it. He was living in this garage, smoking weed, and not doing a whole let else.
I confronted him about his lifestyle. I was freaked out by his drug use, and he took major offence. I’ll never forget watching him rise to his full height standing over me, booming at me with his huge stage voice. I thought he was going to kick my ass.
The next morning, I hopped on the bus back home. I was a complete wreck.
That was the last time I saw my dad. I heard he felt extremely judged by me, and chose not to follow up with me. We became estranged, and when I heard he’d passed, I actually had very little emotional reaction at the time.
At the time.
When I became a dad, I was hit by what I can only describe as a monolithic wall of trauma. It came fast and furious. I started having this whole spectrum of emotions around my son, and not just affectionate ones! I felt genuine anger inside when he wouldn’t stop crying. Here was this little bundle of raw human, who I was responsible for, who was in my care, and completely outside of my control. When he was born, my wife’s breast milk just didn’t come in, and he had to be rushed to the ER to put him in an incubator for be treated for starvation.
Not only was my son out of my control, my wife’s postpartum illness was too. She had to be admitted to a treatment center for life-threatening postpartum insomnia. I was totally overwhelmed by the duality of being responsible and yet completely helpless.
I was totally overwhelmed by the duality of being responsible and yet completely helpless.
I now understand that being PDA means I react instinctively to losing control, and that on some level I’m always trying to control my experiences. Losing control over the health of my family was triggering a vigilance response in me. It just sort of stayed there, that vigilance. When I found out I was PDA, that vigilance suddenly made sense.
Now, I reflect on what my dad must have been experiencing when I was born. Suddenly, much like me I’m sure, he was charged with taking care of a new human, when he didn’t know how to take care of himself. His relationship with my mom became acrimonious. I remember him saying he always felt “under the microscope” with my mom. He felt judged, as he did eventually again with me.
I now see that all men have challenges of this nature, where they are called to some great responsibility, and must rise to the occasion. And the people in our lives, our wives and our kids, bear witness to our level of integrity. And they’ll be repeatedly drawn to focus on the areas where they feel a discrepancy between what you say and what you do. You sign up for the microscope when you sign up to be a father.
You sign up for the microscope when you sign up to be a father.
My therapist once told me that it’s always our responsibility to protect the ones we love from the worst parts of ourselves. I think about that a lot. Is that what my dad was doing when he left? Was he protecting me from a monster awakening in him?
Is that what my dad was doing when he left? Was he protecting me from a monster awakening in him?
After hearing about Richfresh’s relationship with his deceased father, I decided to try an experiment. I’ve been thinking a lot about my father lately, and I wondered if I could start some kind of dialog with him. I just sort of closed my eyes and spoke to him aloud. I asked him to send me a Starling, since our last name means Starling in the Old French.
Guess what happened the next morning? A Starling flew right up to the window and sat there for a while, for no apparent reason. Usually Starlings show up in little flocks, and this one was all on his own. The only time I’ve ever seen a Starling out my window.
Huh. Well Dad, if you’re still with us, I love you and I miss you. I hope we can heal our estrangement, so I can welcome you again into my heart.
Grateful you have shared this about a most vunerable part of your journey. Our relationship with parents, and our own children. So wonderful to see how you are finding ways to mend relationship with your estranged father, even in spirit. The Starling coming to your window resonated deeply. Loving how the Universe responds as demonstrated in your story shared here. Thank you PJ Starling.
This is really beautiful and heartbreaking PJ. I am so happy that you are able to find connection with your father. I responded to another of your posts and I didn't share that my father and I have a very difficult relationship as well. We began to "heal" right before he passed from Pancreatic Cancer. I think that fact that we are changing destructive generational patterns first within ourselves and then with our children is amazing. I also believe that our fathers long for this healing and are so pleased that this type of harm ended with us. It can be so difficult to parent well when we did not have a good example but I have also found that because of the difficulty I experienced as a child I was ready to create a different life for my son. It was the best type of motivation to heal and to stop passing this type of life forward. A fresh start for our lineage and especially for the children we love. I wonder...have you heard of the Body Code / Emotion Code? I have found it to be very healing in regard to releasing held trauma- even generational trauma.