Tuesday, February 06, 2007
I think I've come to terms with my father's mental illness. It's the rest of him that has me baffled.
Don't get me wrong, my father is a good guy. He's kind and generous, funny, warm, and extroverted. Yet I feel like he wasted his life. He spends his days doing whatever he wants - trolling the streets of San Francisco, going swimming, playing kazoo with his band. His wife - with her stable job and stable Catholicism - supports him. While he was here he told all kinds of stories, the adventures and near-misses of his crazy life. Yet all I could think was; you skipped out on fatherhood. You were never, ever responsible.
At one point I told Yaakov, "My father is a clown. His whole life, he's been a clown!" This revelation startled me. Yaakov replied, "He's an overgrown child with a drug-addled brain."
I love my father, but I'm not sure if I accept him.