E-Dribble

Sometimes cause us to have to get new and unlisted phone numbers.

My father is a dirtbag.  He knows it.  I know it.  Further, I accept it.  I’ve not gone so far as to embrace it yet, but I think I’ve made great strides as it is.

I can remember from my childhood times in which the realization pushed against the fabric of the belief that my parents were not only omniscient, but also had souls as white as the newfallen snow.

Take my hand.  Come, walk with me down the path of the past.

I was 12 and owned a 14′ johnboat, that had never touched the water while in my posession.  In pristine condition, it sat unused for years.  I traded someone while we lived in FL so I could use it on the lake at our new home in GA.  Unfortunately, gainful employment is a tough prospect for a child of 12 when you live out in the woods, so the boat never received a method of propulsion.

The day came when dad was tired of seeing it in the yard and insisted that I put a sign on it in hopes of selling it.  I did and it did.  A few weeks after putting it up for sale, I came home from school to find a brown outline of my boat in the front yard and the sign in the trash around the side of the house.

I waited days.  I knew that to ask about the sale of the boat would invoke the wrath of my father.  Finally, the desire for the money overcame my common sense and I asked my father about the boat:

Me: Dad, did the boat sell?
Dad: (In between shovelful’s of yellow rice) Yep.

I waited.  The next sentence was going to be a tough one to pull off without losing my teeth. Finally;

Me:  Do I get the money?
Dad: Did you like eating tonight?

Now, I knew where it was heading, but like a car crash, once you’ve set something like this in motion, there’s two things you can’t do.  You can’t stop it and you can’t change the path it’s begun to take.

Me: Yes.
Dad: There you go.

At first, I thought “You know what?  That is pretty good payment!”  After a while though, I started to think “Hey, wait a minute!  He’s dad!  It’s his freaking job!”

I never got paid for the boat.  Or my bikes.  Not a penny for my pinball machine.  Dad sold pretty much everything my brother and I owned of value and he kept the money.

I feel that in fairness, I must note that I enjoyed eating during this period of my life.

I know what you’re thinking.  He must have been working hard during this period, right?

He was gold dredging during this period.  He would refinish a piece of furniture when it got so tight that mom would threaten to cut off important parts while he slept if money didn’t somehow appear.

This waxing nostalgic is just to paint a sufficient mental picture for the reader.  My dad has long thought himself above the standard workforce and it was tough for him to lower himself to the common working man’s level.  He invented things. He was a furniture refinisher to the stars.  He made grand plans that always almost came to fruition.

As I said though, I’ve long ago accepted that my father operates outside the boundaries of society. I know this and have done what I can to part company with the man .The reason for my extended consideration is the simple fact that in spite of the acceptance and subsequent distance,   I get phone calls, mail and visits daily that keeps thoughts of him close to the surface.  They’re not pretty thoughts.

My father purchased the lot beside my house.  He then moved into my basement and took out a building loan at the bank.  He also applied for every credit card known to the American man.   He spent the building loan, having done nothing but cut down some trees in the lot next door to show for it. He took a break to work for KBR in the middle east for a few months, then came back.  He still didn’t do anything over at the lot, but he did fall in love(twice) and eventually married.

After marrying, he decided that the pirate’s life be for him, so he decided to buy a houseboat and move back to FL, specifically the Keys.  During this period, he maxed out his credit and the property was foreclosed upon.

Fastforward to the here & now:

We get calls from collectors.  We get calls from attorneys.  We get visits from the local law enforcement to deliver legal papers.  We get people on the answering machine that actually scream at us, I guess in the hope that the resulting ringing in our ears will mask the sound of the local mounties breaking our door down to search for my father.

Someone bought the lot next door at the foreclosure auction and now part of our driveway is on their lot(this was supposed to be resolved while under my father’s ownership). We’ll lose pretty much all of our parking if the new owners decide to reclaim what is theirs.

During this, I can at least rest easy knowing that my father is as miserable as I…..

Living on a houseboat and kayaking for a living, with little life breaks to go gold dredging in CA.

Thanks, dad.