Spring is upon us
Flowers bursting with color
Even the fake ones
Spring is upon us
Flowers bursting with color
Even the fake ones
the tattoo-faced kitty-kat
a sad expression
Whoever writes “dinar.” is up all over the city of Denver.
“who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,” -Allen Ginsberg, Howl and Other Poems
I walked around the city for a few hours today. The sun was bright and high in the sky, which alters the colors of everything I see. I donated some clothing and food to the Denver Rescue Mission, but my attempts at gaining access to photograph the inside of the mission were rebuked. “Pictures are Taboo,” he said. “Get permission from admin,” he said. Frustrated, I asked him why. He just kep repeating the words admin and taboo.
So I walked away and turned my attention to the grafitti that the area is seemingly covered in. The River North District is bursting with color. I return here frequently to browse Denver’s street art scene. the landscape stays the same, but the colors are constantly changing and found in abundance. In these alleyways, among all the spray painted walls, and chemical smells, and original creations from the brains of amazing human beings, I find solitude. I find peace. I find a quiet moment to contemplate life. I could roam these alleys for days, but the responsibility of parent hood tugs at me to get back to the car, to cut this trip short so I can make it on time to preschool for the pick-up. I don’t have ten bucks to pay the late fee if you don’t pick up your kid on time.
2:08 ante meridiem
Sound input through ear
Chosen not incidental
The white noise kills me
Not sleeping at all
Mesmerized by crazy world
Eyeballs behind dust
And droopy eye-lids
All the indecisiveness
I paralyze me
One more song to hear
Block out the reality
For a moment more
I’m not ready yet
Let me stay a little while
Just a moment more
I will live and die
“Little minds are tamed and subdued by misfortune; but great minds rise above them.”-Washington Irving
I am emotional. I have all the same problems as the rest of the world does. I am constantly confused about which path to take, which side to choose, and why we are the way we are. I have mood swings, one minute I am super optimistic, the next I’m banging my head against the wall wondering what’s it all for?
Tonight I shared some time with my 19 year old. The older he gets the more guilty I feel. It tears me up every time I am around him. They say to blog like nobody is watching, whoever they are, and for whatever reason I care what “they” think. I contemplated not sharing my feelings, not getting too personal, to save it for the therapist someday. The problem is the thoughts and the feelings are gobbling up my brain, and I have to let them out.
I have three main problems. I don’t talk to my parents, my sisters, or really any of my immediate family. Those ties were severed almost 4 years ago now.
I wasn’t a good father to my sons. I can give you all the excuses you want. I was young, I was selfish, I had no idea how it would affect my life. The problem is, these are all bullshit. There is no excuse for being a mostly absent parent. It haunts me every single day of my life. I cringe when I think of how many times there feelings were hurt because of me. Once I lost that connection with them, something else went away too. I don’t know what it is. I have a hard time communicating with them, I can’t look either one of them in the eye, I always get easily annoyed when they are around. This is through no fault of their own. I can’t explain it. I lost the fatherhood bond with those boys. You can’t be a father to kid every other weekend, it doesn’t work that way. I know that now. My daughter gets my undivided attention, I know that bond now, and it makes me feel even worse for the boys.
I still see them, but the visits are becoming more and more sporadic as they are growing up and becoming more independent. I was 19 when Brendan was born, he is 19 now. He just got his first job working in a retirement community as a dishwasher. Tonight he was telling me how hard it was, how it bothered him that there wasn’t more time for training, and that it was taking him a little longer to learn how to do everything then what they liked. I could relate to this plight, and I wanted to tell him to just get used to it, because that’s how it goes in the world of odd jobs. I wanted to tell him that jobs like this are one of the prime reasons you should get a college degree so you don’t have to end up being the lowest guy on the totem pole all the time. Instead I just agreed with him and showed him some empathy because I didn’t want him to feel like I was preaching to him. There isn’t enough time in between visits for me to try and make up for all the parenting I failed to give him in the first place. Brendan & Riley have heard me apologize for this over and over. I try to be so blunt about it that I think it might actually be one of the things they don’t like about me, the fact that I am always so apologetic, always projecting my guilt onto them. That can’t be fun for them.
I don’t know how many of you out there know this feeling of guilt, but I know I can’t be the only one. I still see my sons as much as I can, I try to make myself accessible to them, and I feel like they try to do the same, but I also feel that very empty void, that missing piece, the disconnect between father and son. There is something unresolved that I can’t quite put my finger on, and may never be able to.
Guilt makes it hard to enjoy life, I always feel like I don’t deserve it when something good happens to me. I dwell on it, stew in it, and let it just completely consume me at times. It kills me a little bit each day. So I wrote this, and now I am going through the second guessing stage. I’ve come to far to delete it now.
I just wanted to let it out, and I feel better for it. I should be doing some homework right now. I can’t though, not with the weight of this guilt that has taken over my brain. I can’t even explain why I don’t talk to my parents. It’s beyond my comprehension. All I can do is keep taking one step at a time. My mom used to always say that, so even though we aren’t speaking to each other, I still hold onto the little pieces of advice that she gave me throughout the years.
To everyone: I’m sorry.
I can’t think of anything journalistic at the moment, or any clever way to twist my words to make my writing seem better. I feel empty inside, there are too many things holding me back from my full potential. I guess that means I need to come to some sort of resolution or acceptance.
CRITICAL THINKING FOLLOWED BY ACTION.
That is the only solution.
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