Honor Thy Father and Mother

In my life, I’ve studied the Bible. Religion. Theology. I know my teachings, and my faith life. The bible says, “Honor thy Father and Mother.”

I disagree with the Bible.

I don’t honor either of them. And never will.

Today is Mother’s Day. Everyone I know, inside and outside the rooms, whether sober a long time, or a short time, is to repair their bridges to their parents, because you only get one shot. Once they are dead, it will be too late to do anything.

The last time I spoke to my mother, probably three years ago, she said the same litany to me. Her favorite stab me in the heart phrase is this:

YOU WERE A MISTAKE AND SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN BORN

In my life, when it counted, when I really needed guidance, they tossed me to the four corners and said, “Have at it, we are done with you.” I left home, because they would not allow their gay son, to live any longer, under their roof. My father had ample opportunity to kill me, and He did try, valiantly.

I THINK OUT LOUD TODAY, WITH THE PREVALENCE OF GUNS IN OUR SOCIETY, WE HAD A SHOTGUN AND A PISTOL IN THE HOUSE AT ALL TIMES, LOADED AND LOCKED. IT WAS A VERY GOOD THING THAT I NEVER RETALIATED FOR THE ABUSE HEAPED ON ME BECAUSE MY FATHER KNEW I WAS GAY, AND WAS GOING TO BEAT THE GAY OUT OF ME.

When I got sick, and was going to die, I called a family meeting, and begged for support and help. My Mother, My Father and my Brother, said nothing. They did nothing. They did not help me, or even deign to pick up the phone and call to see if I was ok, in all of almost thirty years since.

I survived, By The Grace of God and a key few people.

Todd was the leader of that rag tag group of men who kept me alive.

I lived because strangers to me, other than work colleagues, stepped up and decided that I would live and that they would see to it that I did live.

I LIVED

On New Years Eve Night into Day 2001 – I had worked an all night shift at the bar, doing lights, and got home around 8 am New Years Day. I got into bed to sleep, and my mother called at 9 am and told me they were in Miami, and HAD been in Miami for an entire week. Unbeknown to me. She said they were coming to visit on their way out of the city.

My father drove up, parked the car in a fire truck emergency zone, and gave my mother TWENTY minutes to visit with me. We walked around the block, we spoke, and she got in the car, and they drove away.

That was the very last time I saw both my parents alive.

My Father Died on January 7th 2018. Hating me with his last breath.

When I moved to Canada in 2002, I spent two years, every other week sending mail to Florida, trying to get my mother to respond. I mailed packages of stuff, and letters. For two years I did this every other week. My mother did NOT respond, ONCE.

Over the ensuing years, I would call my mother when I thought it was appropriate, like a death or something big, I thought would be important to tell her. She usually said the same thing to me.

YOU WERE A MISTAKE AND SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN BORN.

I do not honor my Father or my Mother. They did not honor me, nor did they support me, after they figured out I was gay. They did not help me when I was sick. They never once called, none of them called, my Father, my Mother, nor my Brother, in this lifetime, to see if I was still alive.

I think about my father now, more often. I connect him to a particular piece of music that I wrote about some time ago here. I talk to him too. I see the good that he had, and I try not to dwell on the bad that was there too.

I think my mother is still alive, she lives with my brother, and they both want nothing to do with me.

So fuck me for trying.

I spoke to my brother three days after my father died, and he said and I quote: “I don’t want to know about you nor your story. They all blame for for all of their problems.

They say that it was my choice to leave the family, like I did, but none of the take responsibility for the parts each of them played in pushing me out of my home so young, to severely crash and burn as a young alcoholic.

I made self preservation decisions, because I wanted to live, because of all the shit heaped on me for my entire life. I did not decide one day just to up and go because of only myself. I made those decisions, based on repeated mental, emotional, and physical abuse.

My parents only wish, during the years I was living alone and on the edge of death was this … They just wanted me to die, already, and could that be today, for God’s sake !

They did not care if I lived, because they were only concerned with my impending death. And I was not going to give them one single opportunity to be able to claim my corpse and do whatever they wanted with it. I would probably have ended up in some cemetery, buried alone, if even that, for all of eternity.

NO FUCKING WAY

It really is a bitch being almost 52 years old, being sober almost 18 years, and learning so much about life and people. I respect the place of humanity in my life. And it breaks my heart every year to know that the family of origin I had, will not grow up to the point, where they would deign to speak to me. You don’t abandon your children. Gay or Straight.

Happy Mother’s Day you Bitter Old Woman. I hope you choke on your words, when you take your last breath.

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