Father’s Day

My father’s name is Carroll, and he laughed during Johnny Carson’s monologue. He sat in the recliner and me on the couch. When lighting a cigarette, he’d say, “Don’t tell your mother.” I didn’t have to because the smoke went up the stairwell. That was the weekday evening routine, nodding off to jokes I didn’t get.

At this moment, I imagine it is I who sits in the recliner. I look at my son, sitting on the couch nodding in and out of sleep. At that moment, I decide not to light the cigarette; instead, I shall make an appointment with the doctor because I suspect he has dyslexia. I noticed this when I ask him a math question, and he tells me the right answer, but, when given a written test, he has them all wrong. While I am at it, I’ll mention his uncontrollable stuttering; it must be hard for him. Why have I allowed him to stay up this late?

The reality was nothing like my fantasy. I was the scapegoat in the neighborhood, and my father was unaware or incapable of addressing the issue. The lesson I learned is that physical abuse diminishes self-worth and annihilates self-esteem. How could any parent wish that upon their child?

My fantasy continues, I am there for my son because I recognized that during baseball season, he’s striking out every single time at bat and I sense something weighs upon him heavily. The parents and teammates ridicule and taunt him as he steps in the batter’s box. Instead of being a coward and silent witness to my son’s humiliation, I get off the bench and stand between the insensitive fools and him. That was the final game, and although his team suffered a loss, I will not look over at him and say, “I can see why all the kids think you’re stupid.”

The night he comes home drunk will not be the night I demand that he show me respect by rolling up my sleeves and doubling up my fist. I will listen to my wife who is standing between us, reminding me of what will happen if I lay a hand on him.

My father understood that the physical abuse my mother and he suffered at the hands of their parents would not be tolerated toward us. Years after he died, she shared their understanding with me; she threatened to hit him with a cast iron pan on the head while he slept if he harmed us.

Father’s Day is an unexpected challenge this year; I didn’t know the past was going to visit.

Jeff Bailey © 2018 (Originally published in Cowbird titled “ Here’s Johnny March 2014.)