really long post
I saw my dad yesterday...it was probably the first time we actually hung out since I was little. I remember when I was little we used to go everywhere together, and now we rarely even speak to each other. It was kinda awkward, and I can honestly say I think he is disappointed with me...or at least, with my wardrobe haha, ok that isn't funny, it's sad. MY father, who I haven't seen in years, is telling me I should dress more like a woman, and I am retorting with, "why, it's stupid, it doesn't matter, blah blah blah..." Eh, whatever.
So I visited my grandparents, I saw my grandfather and he looked so weak and in so much pain. I sat next to him the whole time and every time I did I felt like his life was slipping away with every breath. I hugged him and I thought about how when I was little I was practically raised by this man and his wife, how I used to run into his arms every time I saw him coming. And I thought about how now I barely call them, ask them a simple, "how are you." I felt so disgusting and sad. My dad is so mean to them too, it's like their presence irritates him. They do everything for him. They pay for his apartment with their old pension money, because he can't get a job. And he treats them like this...well, at least he drives them to the hospital and gets them food, but still.
My dad and I argued then. We argued about stuff that happened in the past, about Eva, the woman my dad left my mother for. We argued about who's judging who, and we argued about my sister, who I haven't seen in over 5 years. He exploded on almost everything I'd tell him, how everything my mother told me over the years wasn't true, how it was all a lie. I didn't have a right to judge him because I didn't know his point of view. I guess I don't have a right to judge him...only god does (if he even exists), but I was just really angry for some reason.
So we went downstairs, into the lobby, and I found this really old and out of tune piano and I played some crappy songs, then my dad said, "no, no you're not doing that right it's like this..." and he sat down and played, and played and played. Like he was getting all of his frustration out on the piano, he sat there and played one song after another. Jazz mostly, and some rock, some Elton John, some Beatles. He remembers all the music he's ever played, and if he doesn't he just picks it out on the way. He played Rhapsody in Blue, and he played Piano Concerto No. 1 for me and he played it just like the real thing. It's crazy, how talented he is. I sang him a melody, and he immediately picked out some chords to it, and it sounded so beautiful. I couldn't believe he was my dad for a moment. I thought whoa, he can't possibly be my dad, he's too great, I can't believe it, this is my dad, sitting here, playing this piano. Then he told me talent isn't everything, it doesn't get you anywhere, it's only a painful reminder of what could have been.
Then he stopped playing, and he told me we should leave and visit my great-grandmother, who, knock on wood, recently turned 100 years old. I've always wanted to ask her stuff about her past, she was born in 1907. I wanted to ask her about the Russian Revolution, about Stalin, about Lenin, about the Holocaust even. I never did, now I see it's too late. She hardly recognized me when I visited, and she could barely hear. It was so strange seeing her. I remember when I was little she used to rock me to sleep and she was the only one who COULD put me to sleep. Now she sat there, staring at me with a confused expression on her face, her mouth was open and she was breathing hard. After about 20 minutes she finally understood it was me, it was the same 5-year-old little girl who's portraits hung on her walls.
After we left we went to the park, my father said he had things to tell me, and that he goes to that park often to get things off his mind. So I sat on a bench, he told me all about how he and my mother met, and how they both never really loved each other. How they met the first day, and he proposed marriage the second. He told me about my mother's past, but I knew most of it already. How she was in love with this man and he was in love with her, but he left her, after proposing marriage. She didn't eat or sleep for days, and she said she never wanted to fall in love again, not if it brought her so much pain. And then she met my dad, who was not offering love, but who was offering marriage. A 24-year-old unmarried woman was something unheard of in these days, of course she said yes.
I asked my dad why he proposed, and he said because he saw my mother was very different, not like most of the women he's been with. My mother told me that she really loved my father, but my dad kept telling me that isn't true, that they both didn't love each other. When he asked my mother to marry him, he told me he was kidding, and she was kidding when she said yes, But then my father later asked her, "are you serious?" and she retorted with the same question. Instead of backing out of it however, they kept going further into it. They arrived at my mother's house late at night, and he woke Grandma and Grandpa up, and asked in front of them, for their daughter's hand in marriage. There was one cigarette left on the table, and both Grandma and Grandpa reached for it at the same time. Then my father told them he will need to go on a cruise with my mother, for their honeymoon. "Well," my grandfather said, "why on earth do you need my daughter to go on a cruise for?" My father stopped telling me the story and said, "You know, your grandfather is like that, he's always been such a cynical Jew."
For some reason I remembered about this book I read, Animal Farm, by George Orwell. The author used animals to represent communists, Nazis, etc, and he used Benjamin the Donkey to represent the cynical Jews. I wondered why he represented them as such. I guess, when you suffer abuse for so many years, the only way to be is cynical. Sarcastic and nonchalant. Even Jewish jokes are cynical.
So my father continued telling me the story of his life, how on the third day they got married, and they had me soon afterwards. Once we moved to America, he said he felt absolutely no love from my mother. He said that's when he met Eva, who offered him what my mother couldn’t. I couldn't believe he was telling me this stuff, though. I don't know what defines love for him. If patience doesn't define love, I don't know what does. Love isn't a busty woman strutting around you and cooing at you, love isn't a woman who is fully aware you are married, love isn’t a woman who takes advantage of your situation at home and leads you away from your daughter. Love is what my mother gave him, she let him into the house and she was fully aware he was sleeping with another woman. She continued cooking for him and continued smiling at him when she knew at night he would run off to lay in another woman's bed. But how much can love take? Ho much can my mother take? How much can friends take? "They weren't real friends!" my father spat at me when I told him it as his own fault for not having any left. "They should have stood by me, and supported me, instead they left me to deal with the monster alone!" But papa, you know, your friends can only do so much. Your friends can only guide you, they can't tell you how to live your life, you're a grown man, and your choice was to go with another woman. That was your doing, and only your doing. He said himself, when Eva put him into jail once that the person to bail him out was not Eva, but his friend, Regina. But papa, she can only bail you out so much. She has her own family, her own problems.
He told me about how he married a beast. When I was little, and I visited his home, I knew and felt I was staring at a monster, but I too, like my mother, smiled at her. She stared at me with her black eyes and I knew from a young age that if it wasn’t for this woman, my parents would still be together, they would still be in love. Of course today, I know that isn’t true. It was bound to happen, sooner or later, this divorce. Eva showed up at exactly the right time, the little bitch.
"So," my father continued, "this slut stabbed me in my arms," and he rolled up his sleeves and showed me two stab wounds. "Today I still can't feel anything on my right arm." I said, "why?" "I came home one day, she was drunk as usual, swaying to and fro. And she thought I was cheating on her, so she grabbed a kitchen knife and stabbed me." "You stayed with her after that?" I asked him and stared at him and at that moment I couldn’t understand anything at all about him anymore. He wouldn't stay with my mother, who gave up everything for him, but he's stayed with this monster. And he said, "love, love makes you crazy." He told me the reason he left mother was because he didn't want me to see all the fights they had. Well, for one thing, my mother kicked him out, and for another, why in the hell did he stay with Eva then, and why did my sister have to see such things? Nothing he said made sense, but I sat there and listened to him go on.
About how she couldn’t go two days without drinking, and about how she recorded him when he was drunk so she can later use that as evidence that he was abusing her. Though, according to him, she was the one who would make him drunk. His stepson Josh gave him the tape later.
Once, he came home and she was angry with him, because she couldn't find a job. He went to sleep, because he didn't want to deal with her, and woke up a few hours later and there was a light in his face, and three policemen standing around his bed. They arrested him for harassing his wife. He walked through the living room, and all the chairs were overturned, and glass was spread across the floor and a shattered lamp lay on the ground. She prepared well. And so he sat in jail, and was later bailed out by his friend. And he told me after that he could never find a normal job, because he had a felony on his record. But he stayed with her.
They had a daughter, Angie, my half sister. I'm not allowed to see her, my dad believes if I do Eva will find him and track him down and destroy him. He told me about how Eva and her father stole all of his money from him, and his house, and his car. He did finally leave her, maybe 2 or 3 years ago. He didn’t do anything about Angie, he didn't take her away from that situation. He left her there, with her crazy mother. He's so weak, it makes me sick sometimes. And he did nothing to save Josh, Eva’s son. She beat him almost everyday. He hates her now, he hates her and my dad and his real dad, who stopped calling him and it was almost as if he didn't exist anymore.
Papa told me about how once he came home to find Angie sitting on the floor, naked, crying. Eggshells were splattered all around the kitchen, she ran to him screaming, "papa, there's no food, I'm so hungry, please give me something to eat." And he gave her a bath and fed her and then he left. He fucking left her there, with her mother. I can't find Angie no matter how hard I try. They are unlisted, Eva made sure of that. And even if I do find Angie, what good would that do?
"She asks about you, " my father told me. "She remembers?" I looked up at him and he said, "of course, she's a very smart girl, Angie."
So we sat on that bench and we talked for hours and hours, and when it was finally over, the only thing I wanted to do more that anything is to find my sister. He showed me the street she lives on, but the entire time he was so angry with me for asking. And I told him nothing is stronger than blood, and he said, "really, how far can you feel your blood?" I looked up at him, and I said "papa, do you think I’m stupid. I know I have a brother, you told me about him when I was really little, I still remember. You were drunk and you told me. " His eyes grew wide and his face grew pale. I asked for my brother's name. He gave it to me. Aloysha (Alan in English, I think).
Then we drove home, and warned me that if I contacted Eva I would destroy him. And he let me out of the car, and drove off.
So I visited my grandparents, I saw my grandfather and he looked so weak and in so much pain. I sat next to him the whole time and every time I did I felt like his life was slipping away with every breath. I hugged him and I thought about how when I was little I was practically raised by this man and his wife, how I used to run into his arms every time I saw him coming. And I thought about how now I barely call them, ask them a simple, "how are you." I felt so disgusting and sad. My dad is so mean to them too, it's like their presence irritates him. They do everything for him. They pay for his apartment with their old pension money, because he can't get a job. And he treats them like this...well, at least he drives them to the hospital and gets them food, but still.
My dad and I argued then. We argued about stuff that happened in the past, about Eva, the woman my dad left my mother for. We argued about who's judging who, and we argued about my sister, who I haven't seen in over 5 years. He exploded on almost everything I'd tell him, how everything my mother told me over the years wasn't true, how it was all a lie. I didn't have a right to judge him because I didn't know his point of view. I guess I don't have a right to judge him...only god does (if he even exists), but I was just really angry for some reason.
So we went downstairs, into the lobby, and I found this really old and out of tune piano and I played some crappy songs, then my dad said, "no, no you're not doing that right it's like this..." and he sat down and played, and played and played. Like he was getting all of his frustration out on the piano, he sat there and played one song after another. Jazz mostly, and some rock, some Elton John, some Beatles. He remembers all the music he's ever played, and if he doesn't he just picks it out on the way. He played Rhapsody in Blue, and he played Piano Concerto No. 1 for me and he played it just like the real thing. It's crazy, how talented he is. I sang him a melody, and he immediately picked out some chords to it, and it sounded so beautiful. I couldn't believe he was my dad for a moment. I thought whoa, he can't possibly be my dad, he's too great, I can't believe it, this is my dad, sitting here, playing this piano. Then he told me talent isn't everything, it doesn't get you anywhere, it's only a painful reminder of what could have been.
Then he stopped playing, and he told me we should leave and visit my great-grandmother, who, knock on wood, recently turned 100 years old. I've always wanted to ask her stuff about her past, she was born in 1907. I wanted to ask her about the Russian Revolution, about Stalin, about Lenin, about the Holocaust even. I never did, now I see it's too late. She hardly recognized me when I visited, and she could barely hear. It was so strange seeing her. I remember when I was little she used to rock me to sleep and she was the only one who COULD put me to sleep. Now she sat there, staring at me with a confused expression on her face, her mouth was open and she was breathing hard. After about 20 minutes she finally understood it was me, it was the same 5-year-old little girl who's portraits hung on her walls.
After we left we went to the park, my father said he had things to tell me, and that he goes to that park often to get things off his mind. So I sat on a bench, he told me all about how he and my mother met, and how they both never really loved each other. How they met the first day, and he proposed marriage the second. He told me about my mother's past, but I knew most of it already. How she was in love with this man and he was in love with her, but he left her, after proposing marriage. She didn't eat or sleep for days, and she said she never wanted to fall in love again, not if it brought her so much pain. And then she met my dad, who was not offering love, but who was offering marriage. A 24-year-old unmarried woman was something unheard of in these days, of course she said yes.
I asked my dad why he proposed, and he said because he saw my mother was very different, not like most of the women he's been with. My mother told me that she really loved my father, but my dad kept telling me that isn't true, that they both didn't love each other. When he asked my mother to marry him, he told me he was kidding, and she was kidding when she said yes, But then my father later asked her, "are you serious?" and she retorted with the same question. Instead of backing out of it however, they kept going further into it. They arrived at my mother's house late at night, and he woke Grandma and Grandpa up, and asked in front of them, for their daughter's hand in marriage. There was one cigarette left on the table, and both Grandma and Grandpa reached for it at the same time. Then my father told them he will need to go on a cruise with my mother, for their honeymoon. "Well," my grandfather said, "why on earth do you need my daughter to go on a cruise for?" My father stopped telling me the story and said, "You know, your grandfather is like that, he's always been such a cynical Jew."
For some reason I remembered about this book I read, Animal Farm, by George Orwell. The author used animals to represent communists, Nazis, etc, and he used Benjamin the Donkey to represent the cynical Jews. I wondered why he represented them as such. I guess, when you suffer abuse for so many years, the only way to be is cynical. Sarcastic and nonchalant. Even Jewish jokes are cynical.
So my father continued telling me the story of his life, how on the third day they got married, and they had me soon afterwards. Once we moved to America, he said he felt absolutely no love from my mother. He said that's when he met Eva, who offered him what my mother couldn’t. I couldn't believe he was telling me this stuff, though. I don't know what defines love for him. If patience doesn't define love, I don't know what does. Love isn't a busty woman strutting around you and cooing at you, love isn't a woman who is fully aware you are married, love isn’t a woman who takes advantage of your situation at home and leads you away from your daughter. Love is what my mother gave him, she let him into the house and she was fully aware he was sleeping with another woman. She continued cooking for him and continued smiling at him when she knew at night he would run off to lay in another woman's bed. But how much can love take? Ho much can my mother take? How much can friends take? "They weren't real friends!" my father spat at me when I told him it as his own fault for not having any left. "They should have stood by me, and supported me, instead they left me to deal with the monster alone!" But papa, you know, your friends can only do so much. Your friends can only guide you, they can't tell you how to live your life, you're a grown man, and your choice was to go with another woman. That was your doing, and only your doing. He said himself, when Eva put him into jail once that the person to bail him out was not Eva, but his friend, Regina. But papa, she can only bail you out so much. She has her own family, her own problems.
He told me about how he married a beast. When I was little, and I visited his home, I knew and felt I was staring at a monster, but I too, like my mother, smiled at her. She stared at me with her black eyes and I knew from a young age that if it wasn’t for this woman, my parents would still be together, they would still be in love. Of course today, I know that isn’t true. It was bound to happen, sooner or later, this divorce. Eva showed up at exactly the right time, the little bitch.
"So," my father continued, "this slut stabbed me in my arms," and he rolled up his sleeves and showed me two stab wounds. "Today I still can't feel anything on my right arm." I said, "why?" "I came home one day, she was drunk as usual, swaying to and fro. And she thought I was cheating on her, so she grabbed a kitchen knife and stabbed me." "You stayed with her after that?" I asked him and stared at him and at that moment I couldn’t understand anything at all about him anymore. He wouldn't stay with my mother, who gave up everything for him, but he's stayed with this monster. And he said, "love, love makes you crazy." He told me the reason he left mother was because he didn't want me to see all the fights they had. Well, for one thing, my mother kicked him out, and for another, why in the hell did he stay with Eva then, and why did my sister have to see such things? Nothing he said made sense, but I sat there and listened to him go on.
About how she couldn’t go two days without drinking, and about how she recorded him when he was drunk so she can later use that as evidence that he was abusing her. Though, according to him, she was the one who would make him drunk. His stepson Josh gave him the tape later.
Once, he came home and she was angry with him, because she couldn't find a job. He went to sleep, because he didn't want to deal with her, and woke up a few hours later and there was a light in his face, and three policemen standing around his bed. They arrested him for harassing his wife. He walked through the living room, and all the chairs were overturned, and glass was spread across the floor and a shattered lamp lay on the ground. She prepared well. And so he sat in jail, and was later bailed out by his friend. And he told me after that he could never find a normal job, because he had a felony on his record. But he stayed with her.
They had a daughter, Angie, my half sister. I'm not allowed to see her, my dad believes if I do Eva will find him and track him down and destroy him. He told me about how Eva and her father stole all of his money from him, and his house, and his car. He did finally leave her, maybe 2 or 3 years ago. He didn’t do anything about Angie, he didn't take her away from that situation. He left her there, with her crazy mother. He's so weak, it makes me sick sometimes. And he did nothing to save Josh, Eva’s son. She beat him almost everyday. He hates her now, he hates her and my dad and his real dad, who stopped calling him and it was almost as if he didn't exist anymore.
Papa told me about how once he came home to find Angie sitting on the floor, naked, crying. Eggshells were splattered all around the kitchen, she ran to him screaming, "papa, there's no food, I'm so hungry, please give me something to eat." And he gave her a bath and fed her and then he left. He fucking left her there, with her mother. I can't find Angie no matter how hard I try. They are unlisted, Eva made sure of that. And even if I do find Angie, what good would that do?
"She asks about you, " my father told me. "She remembers?" I looked up at him and he said, "of course, she's a very smart girl, Angie."
So we sat on that bench and we talked for hours and hours, and when it was finally over, the only thing I wanted to do more that anything is to find my sister. He showed me the street she lives on, but the entire time he was so angry with me for asking. And I told him nothing is stronger than blood, and he said, "really, how far can you feel your blood?" I looked up at him, and I said "papa, do you think I’m stupid. I know I have a brother, you told me about him when I was really little, I still remember. You were drunk and you told me. " His eyes grew wide and his face grew pale. I asked for my brother's name. He gave it to me. Aloysha (Alan in English, I think).
Then we drove home, and warned me that if I contacted Eva I would destroy him. And he let me out of the car, and drove off.
