Background Noise

A cacophony reverberates in my core, yelling, “Fuck,” whispering, “God is imaginary,” repeating yet again, “Damn that kid,” or wondering, “Holy fuck! How are we going to get out of this mess?” The noise leaves me huddled in an emotional ball of anxiety and bewilderment. As if that wasn’t enough, there was the unexpected call from an orthopedic clinic this Monday about a distal radius fracture for one of my children 500 miles away and the inability to contact anyone to discover whether my child was alright. Salt in the wound, my youngest continues to be estranged. Not even an “I checked on him” or a hearty “Fuck you!” A 4-minute walk from door to door, 2 if you’re already downstairs, but nope. I guess substances are more important.

So yeah, “disappointment” might be a major ingredient in the swirl of feelings I’ve been having. That mixed with helplessness just about sums it up. I expected better, I longed for it from the time I started raising kids to the time I released my youngest into the care of a boarding school for above-average teenagers.

In loco parentis…yeah, so that translates roughly to “What the fuck are these parents thinking?!” Never again. Not that I can redo anything. But never again in the time machine of my mind will I allow that child to run free for nearly two years without the careful input of a father or the watchful eye of their mother. Fuck that nonsense. The fuck were we thinkin’? In loco parentis

Oh, I shouldn’t be offended that I was lied to repeatedly. That I was manipulated by a teenager. That’s what they do. It’s like being upset that my spicy food is spicy. But I am. Of my kids, I thought this one was going to be closest to me. Guess I got more than I bargained for. Sure, that was a bit of the karma I was due, I suppose. Hell, my parents went through a really rough patch with me as a younger teen. From 14 to 17, yeah. And then I came groveling like the Prodigal Son, fully aware of how I damaged their mental health and stole good years from their marriage. Imagine all of the things they could have talked about other than whether their kid was high or going to finish high school or going to end up a teen father with a shitty girlfriend, gonorrhea, and a pinhole in his lung to boot.

This one hurts because its as if the apologies rendered, the countless instances of paying-it-forward, of living kindly and others-centered out loud every day, of being the person I thought my kids needed, of moments spent reprimanding and encouraging, of everything I did to ensure they were better than I was has all been shat upon. No, you cannot fuck around without consequence. No, my grace is not sufficient. Your repentance, your humility, your humanity are demanded. I guess the silence means you know that, and you don’t want to change.