This is my dad in his army uniform in 1971.
I don’t really talk about him much, here or in my “real” life. Mostly because I’m confused by him.
He shot himself when I was 14, I believe he was 47. He kind of left me to chance by doing that, being that my mother died when I was 10. From what I understand, he never was the same after Viet Nam. The person that I knew, was puzzling.
He could be the most charismatic, charming, and fun person ever. And 10 minutes later be the scariest fucking thing you’ve ever seen in your life. Sometimes you’d see the same twinkle in his eye if he’d told a funny joke and you were laughing as when he was doing something crazy and you were terrorized. I say that I never really knew him, but honestly, I’m not sure who really did. He had this iciness about him. Nothing got past it. So aloof. It always seemed very important to him to be the coolest guy in the room. And he always was.
He was handsome and smart, but so misguided in his decisions. Sometimes I have a lot of anger when I think about him, and sometimes it’s just sadness. Not sad in a “my dad was so great and I miss him” way, but sad that someone could spend their life hanging on by a thread. Sad at the fact that I know he was a great contributor to the downward spiral that was my mother. These are the the impressions I have of him. A bully, comedian, underachiever, alcoholic/addict, terrorist, teddy bear. I like to think that for all his batshit crazy actions and awful words, he meant well.
I got my blue eyes and temper from him, although neither burn as brightly as his did. And his way of wooing people, I’m told.
That’s all I really know to say about this right now.
OK OK DISPERSE. Sharing time is over, fuckers.
