The First Man to Betray Me

“You are just like your father.”

Those are chilling words for me to hear. I wish to be nothing like him. He wasn’t the picture perfect father. In fact, he was barely a father to me for several years.

Growing up, he was decent. He was kind; he cared for me. We did things, such as go to theme parks or the beach. He’d listen to stories I had to tell. Generally, he was an awesome father.

But then he started getting into things. Things that involved being away from my mother and I. For example, he was really into acting at the local theater. He’d audition and take roles in any play he could. He’d spend hours a night there, rehearsing, then hours on the weekends hanging out with his theater buddies.

He no longer had time for me. I was pushed out of his life as easily as throwing away a bag of trash. My mother got pushed further away because he had found “love” with a new woman. It became a huge affair and he decided he no longer wanted to be married to my mother or live in the same house as me. He moved out.

At first, things were oookay. He’d pick me up on the weekends. We would have fun at parks and beaches, just like when we lived together. It quickly stops though when his new girlfriend expressed her displeasure for being left home alone. We’d invite her along, but she’d have some excuse: it’s too hot, doesn’t like sand, just got her hair done. It was always something. So my weekends with my dad consisted of me sitting on his sofa, watching TV while he doted on her.

After a few years with having her claws dug deep into him, he became the shell of the man I once knew. My step mother always had a problem with me, mainly because I wasn’t her daughter and she didn’t like my mother. ¬†She took to lying to my dad about things I did or didn’t do, and he never once listened to my side of things.

Things all came to head when I got pregnant at the age of nineteen. She decided it made my father look like a bad parent, therefore it made her look bad. It was always about reputation about them. I was living with them at the time because I was giving my mother time with her new husband, but after I got pregnant, my step mother kicked me out of her house. Then proceeded to tell my dad I walked out on my own.

Of course, at that time, I knew it would be pointless to plead my case with my father. I did try, a bit, but in the end, he sided with her and pushed me out of his life for good. I did not see or hear from him in seven years. He did not and would not meet his grandson. His wife didn’t care therefore he did not.

I did hear from him last year, months before his passing, because he was dying of cancer. He told me his wife wanted to ask me to sign over all my grandfather’s money I was set to inherit upon my dad’s death to her. I laughed at him, but told him I would consider it because he was dying and I wasn’t going to be the one to hurt him in his final months. I didn’t really consider it. I didn’t feel the woman deserved to gain my family’s money, especially when she voiced her distaste for my grandfather to everyone, including my grandfather.

I was there when the doctors pulled the plug on my father. Not really to be there for him, but more for confirmation. I watched him die. I did cry, a bit, simply because I knew now there was no chance of fixing our relationship. I also cried because he never apologized for his treatment to me over the years. I cried because he was the first man who failed me.

After he was gone, I walked out of the hospital and out of my step mother’s life for good. I changed my email address and my phone number. I made sure she had no way of contacting me. I figured she could see what it was like for me those seven years.

Sometimes I wished he was the father he was when I was younger. Before he met my step mother. Before my step mother turned crazy and forced her craziness onto him. Sometimes I wonder if things would have been different growing up. He did a few nice things through my life — okay, more like two things — like taking me on that not-so fun vacation and buying me my first car. But… two decades of hurt doesn’t seem to change my feelings.

When I try to remember him, I do picture him as the father he was rather than the one he became. That was the man I loved. Not the “new, improved” version.


The Not-So Happy Family of Wanderers

I haven’t taken many vacations throughout my adult life. Little things would stand in my way, such as lack of money. I did manage to take one this year over my son’s spring break, but it was two days only and we barely did anything other than visit the Children’s Museum. (Which was great fun!)

The longest, probably most planned out trip I took in my “adult” life was one week after I graduated high school. My father packed myself, step sister, her son, my step mom, and himself into an RV to drive down to Texas. They had it planned out to the exact minute of every day. Which in my mind, didn’t sound to exciting because I thought schedules were for losers. I could appreciate things that needed to be scheduled, like tours they had planned, but to plan when to eat, when to leave each morning, when to go to bed, and when to pee seemed a bit extreme.

Of course, their carefully laid out schedule was shot directly in the heart the first day. Our RV broke down. Not only broke down, it started on fire. In some teeny tiny little no-man lands of a town. I think the population there were 50 people… and about 45 people showed up to put out the fire.

So we never made it to the first camping site. Instead, we were holed up in the town’s only hotel that probably never saw tourists before. I’m fairly certain it was the hotel men brought their mistresses too or kids came to drink and get high. I mean, the town wasn’t even on the map!

It took two days to fix the RV. Two days of my father’s schedule down the drain. Once we had the RV back and set out again, my stepmother poured over it, in hopes of recovering some of the things we were missing. In the end, she threw up her hands and said forget it and stuck to whatever was left on the schedule.

We managed to arrive in Texas without another hitch. However, the first day there, the schedule was again stomped on because both my father and his wife overslept. Right through breakfast hour and the first activity they had planned.

After that day, things went rather smoothly. They decided to use the schedule as a guideline, rather than something set in stone. We were finally able to relax and have some fun.

On the way back home, they had other things scheduled in other states. That schedule was burned too when the RV caught on fire for a second time, in the country area of Tennessee. No towns nearby. No cars passing by. Nada!

My stepsister and I were forced to walk miles down the road, hoping to find a town… a person… some form of life. We did manage to find one, and the town even had a towing company who we sent back down the road to rescue our family. We decided to take naps on the small town’s benches.

We didn’t get to do any of the planned activities for the ride back home. It took 2 days for them to fix the RV because, being a small town, they didn’t have the correct part for us and had to send someone 100 miles away to get it.

We never had a scheduled-filled vacation again after that. It was all about winging it. Which was a lot easier, in my mind!

This post was in response to the Daily Prompt: The Happy Wanderer.

The Past is Haunting Me!

In the past, I wasn’t always so… responsible. I was young. I was dumb. Typical bullshit. However, it seems to be coming back to haunt me now.

I’m not talking about thugs hunting me down to torture the poop out of me or anything. I’m now being judged because of the events of my past. Let me explain:

I was very much in love in the year 2008. I moved in with this guy. Things were perfect for several months. Until they weren’t. I lost my job, making money tight. This guy tells me he will provide for me, and for about two months he did. I actively looked for a job, but it was put to a screeching halt when I was in the hospital for a week. Weeks after were a hard recovery for me, making job searching a bit hard.

My ex was paying the rent, like I said, for two months. However, after being sick for a week and going through a recovery, I wasn’t really in the mood for those sexy times. He decided to spend our rent money on girls who would have sex with his, so… basically hookers.

Naturally, we got evicted. I couldn’t afford to pay the back rent. I couldn’t for several years. It sat on my record. I was able to find an apartment with a landlord willing to take me, with a cosigner. I have been here for five years now.

I came into money last year. With two kids, I know I need a bigger place than this one bedroom. I set out to find at least two bedrooms (my daughter can bunk with me.) I have another cosigner. But these possible landlord hears the word eviction and starts to panic. It’s nearly seven years old; I have five years of solid rent paying, but they don’t like that little word. Understandable.

You’re probably asking: Why not pay it off then? And my answer is: I’ve tried!

I spoke to the lawyer of the old landlord, but she seemed stumped about it because the old landlord has since passed away. Everytime I call her, it’s “let me do the research!” or “let me see if his wife is still alive!” Or something to that effect. And she never calls me back, even after promising me she will.

I have been trying to pay this since December! It’s like they don’t want my money!!

I have paid Lexington Law to help fix my credit, and one of the things they are challenging is this eviction, but it’s like, “I could have this paid off already if this landlord’s lawyer would stop dicking around!”

I’m hoping something comes up for me. I had a massive panic attack about it last night, even though I knew there was nothing I could do at that moment. I’m tempted to call this lawyer again later today and raise hell and basically say “take my fucking money or get a judge to remove the fucking eviction!”

I just want to find a nice place for my kids to live rather than this shit hole that has drug dealers two doors now. Is that so hard to ask?