8. 20 Year Sentence

I was cleaning my trailer and came across some writing two decades old.  I'd forgotten what it was like to be that way, to feel the things I was feeling.  I guess I've changed a bit more than I thought.  I like that.  The words that follow were in a box for twenty years.  Today they are set free.

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 I'm sitting in my car waiting for Aaron to finish gymnastics when Ethan (who's on the roof) says, "Hey Dad! It's a bird circus!" I put down the newspaper I'm reading and step outside to see.  He points to two birds perched on top of the Cyclone Fence that separates parking lots.  

One is on top of the other. Its got its claws dug into the back of the bottom one and they're flapping their wings with fury. The one on the bottom has a relentless grip on the fence to insure they don't fall off.  It's obviously two birds bird fucking, but to Ethan it's a circus.  To him it's a daredevil balancing act, one bird on top of the other, like the acrobats he's seen on TV. And they're performing just for him. 

When they're done they fly off in different directions.  All I saw was what I've seen before.  It's two birds having sex.  To be candid it wasn't even good sex.  The one on the bottom didn't really seem into it.  It's a reminder of my own love life. 

I dig the difference in the way Ethan and I see things. He was oblivious to the desperation and violence in the act.  Not me.  I saw one bird use the other for a moment of selfish satisfaction. Or maybe I projected that from my unsatisfactory life. Who knows?   Maybe they just had dinner together and couldn't wait to get back to the nest so they stopped here for a quickie. Anyhow, it was just sex to me.  Sex is never a circus when I do it.  Sometimes it isn't even sex, just the habitual motion.

Once again one of my sons is playing Father to me.  Ethan reminded me to wake up to the world. He's demanding that I be present.  He invites me to see the simplicity of things.  He and his brothers see a circus or a carnival or a parade in something or someone every day.  He sees the world the way he wants it to be.  Lately, I see the world as everything it will never be or hasn't been for me, ever.  What the fuck is that about?  I need to look harder than I have been.  I need to remind myself to pay attention.  I need to find the circus Ethan sees.

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I took the boys to look at the waves today.  Aaron is the only one who surfs.  The waves were bigger than any wave he had surfed before. We stood there on the cliff and watched them stack up, one after another, before crashing against the seawall below. 

He asked if he could paddle out. I told him 'no' because I had to watch his brothers and couldn't go with him. We watched a few more sets roll in before Aaron pleads with me to get in the water.  Again, I told him 'no'.  

He walked away and sat in the car for a while.  This boy is 11.  Eventually he returns to my side but this time he didn't ask.  "Dad", he said, "I need to do this."  The word 'need' catches my attention so I ask why and he gives me an honest answer.  He told me he didn't know. I studied the waves a minute longer then asked if he was sure.  He nodded.  I told him to get his wetsuit on. 

He grabbed his board then disappeared on the path worn into the side of the cliff and paddled out between sets.  When he passed the breaking surf he turned around and positioned himself in the lineup.  Then without hesitation he caught a wave. 

He descended down the face and was knocked off his board. When he surfaced he was in the impact zone.  He grabbed his board and paddled out again where he rested before trying to catch another.  On the next attempt he made the drop and slid across the face of the wave with his arms outstretched like a bird.  He rode it in to shore then walked up the beach where he stood still before taking his leash off. He gathers himself before walking back to the car.

He'd done what he wanted to do.  Whatever he needed to know about himself he'd learned.  I was glad I gave into his persistence.  I was aware that it was my fear that nearly negated his education.  

This child isn't mine.  

My job is to pay attention to where he is on his journey so when he tells me he's ready for what's next I believe him.  I don't know what's right for him or his brothers but Aaron shedded a part of himself in the ocean that day, something he no longer needed or had outgrown.  I was almost in the way of that. 

As he walked past me I asked how it was and he said it was great.  It was great, dad.  He got out of his wetsuit and climbed into the seat behind me.  We were both a little different than when we'd arrived.  As I start to back up I look in the rearview mirror where Aaron's eyes are waiting for me.  All he says is thank you. 

Thanks Dad for trusting me when I told you I was ready.  Thanks Dad. . . thanks.   

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The first time I saw my sons after being arrested for cocaine possession and entering my ex-wife's home and writing "Why all the lies?" and "Was it a good fuck?" on her bedroom wall after discovering she'd been sleeping with Scott Braymer the entire time we'd been dating in preparation for her to move back home and try being a married couple again was under the supervision of a court appointed liaison.  

 

My ex made an appointment to see a judge when I was unable to represent myself while in rehab and convinced him I was dangerous.  My kids were taken from me and a one year restraining order was granted based exclusively on my ex-wife's depiction of me as deranged drug addict.  Nevermind me telling her I was going to go away for a weekend and her move in date was not going to happen now that I knew the truth.

If I were to call or write my sons I'd be arrested and put in jail so I didn't.  I followed the rules I was given and registered for supervised visits when I left rehab.  My ex waited as long as the law allowed to file her papers which made it three full months before I saw them again.  I reached out to my sister and brothers for help and was ignored.

On the day of our first meeting I arrived early and was told by the liason I couldn't mention the restraining order.  She also told me not to be too emotional and that I shouldn't have any expectations.  The boys have been through a lot she said and may not be ready to let me back in.

Three things happened in that initial meeting that I'll carry with me to my death.  First, all three of my sons said they'd been told no one knew what happened to me and I'd "just left".  Second, when the meeting was over the liaison told me she'd never seen such a quick re-engagement as the one she had just witnessed.  And third, I could see that Aidan was broken.  If I have a major regret in my life it's the part I played in contributing to that.

When he entered the room he was subdued.  He came over to where I was sitting and sat down next to me.  His feet dangled above the floor and he clasped his hands in his lap beneath his bowed head.  After a moment of silence he looked up at me and softly said, "I miss you."  My heart shattered and was lost beneath a surge of rage.  I couldn't do a thing to change what others were saying.  I couldn't participate in his life despite pleading that I be allowed to.  All I could do was say I missed him too, and that I was sorry.  I'm sorry that I failed to protect the innocence that had been taken from his life.  When it's gone you can't get it back.  Son, I'm so so sorry for what I've done.  I'm so sorry for letting you down.  It hurts so fucking much.

It's not all on me, I know that.  But my behavior set this nightmare in motion.  I created a scenario that provided the opportunity to be deemed irrelevant and that's tragic because I was the only one who would have said no to the agenda that was being enforced.  I'm not the only person to have had an issue with drugs.  Hell, every member of my family has.  But for whatever reason the people I had always stood by decided they wouldn't stand by me.  I was told I was on my own with this one.  I was told I was expected to fail.

I try not to think about how different things could and should have gone.  I try not to be resentful for the deliberate choice that was made to withhold support.  I try to forgive those who so effortlessly denied the truth.  But I can't.  I will never be able to see Aidan without seeing him as that little boy sitting next to me, missing me, even after what I had broken.  He is, and always has been, angelic in his decency.  The deepest pain I've ever felt is the pain of feeling I've failed him.