The Life and Times of

Story on life and its ironies.

 

My earliest memory of my father was during the Christmas when I was five.  I remember that year specifically because Santa had brought me the He-Man action figured that I had begged for all year.  My dad, being a Sailor, wasn't always able to spend holidays with us, so this was special to me.  It was the first and only one that he was there for.  We had a good time and I cherished every moment.  Not like I would cherish such a moment now, but I did it in my very own five year old way.

  The next memory of my father was at his funeral.  His ship had just pulled in from a long tour overseas and he was on his way home.  Unfortunately, so was a drunk driver.  My father was just two blocks from home when this drunk driver crossed the center line and hit my fathers Buick head on.  The police said he had died instantly, but I always wondered if my father knew that he was going to die as the other car came hurtling towards him.  It was an open casket; my father had on an awful suit (one he would never had been caught dead in, pun intended) and looked very much like a cancer patient, gaunt and pale.  All my memories of my father were of him as a vibrant man, which mad it all the more difficult to see him like that.  Everyone there tried consoling me.  Telling me things like, "Time heals all wounds", and "He is in a better place."  None of this mattered to me.  I just wanted my father back.

  The trial wasn't attended by many.  I begged my mom for days to let me go, and finally, she relented.  Every minute of that trial, I stared at my father's killer.  He was a small man of slight stature.  Not a killer type, more like the man next door.  My hope was that he would look at my face and see the hatred in them!  Finally, towards the end, I got my wish and he turned my way.  I gave him the fiercest stare that I could muster and you know what he did, he smiled at me!  Rage overtook me and my mother had to carry me out.  The filth that spilled from my mouth day surprised even myself.

  Hatred consume my life after that.  Hatred for the man that killed my father; hatred towards God for allowing him to die and even hatred towards my father for leaving me.  As a result of all this hatred, I became what you would call a "juvenile delinquent".  Stealing, smoking, fighting; I did them all with gusto.  Out of all my vices at that age, ironically alcohol became my number one.  At first it helped to deal with the pain and rage, but eventually it just became part of the problem.  When I did finally bottom out, I went before a judge who game me an ultimatum; jail or join the military.  So I decided to join the Navy, probably in some vain attempt to honor my father.

  Most of my time in the service was spent in an alcohol induced haze.  There were many ports that I had been to where I couldn't tell you what happened.  Alcohol became a daily routine, until we landed in Hawaii and I found my Lucy.

  From the moment we met, I knew we would never part.  After a short period of wooing, I made her my wife.  Nine months later, my beautiful son Sam was born.  He quickly became my whole universe.  Even drinking became a secondary thought when I was around him.  All of my time was spent making sure Sam's every need was attended to.  Lucy always said I spoiled him, but I always told her he deserved it.  It was my mission to give him the father that was denied to me.

  Being a sailor meant that I had to leave my family often.  These were the moments I dreaded.  Every minute away from my wife and son were filled with drunken binges.  Then, finally, my last tour of duty was over and I was eager to see them again.  Unfortunately, alcohol had creeped its way back into my life.  As I headed to my car to drive home, some buddies from the ship convinced my to throw back a few at the Enlisted Club.  Of course, a few turned into way too many.  I can't remember what I was thinking exactly when I got into my car that night.  It didn't take long for me to get drowsy.  Try as I might, I just couldn't keep my eyes open.  But I was so close to home!  The last thing I remember is opening my eyes and staring into oncoming headlights.  It was then that I realized  what was going through my dad's mind right before his accident because it was going through mine.

  I was about to die.

 

Author's Note

This is my first shot at something printed.