My Oldest Son

Roughly 28 years ago, on a Summer morning, I kissed my sons Dylan and Eamon good bye as they slept in their little beds in a home I shared with the woman who was my second wife. They didn’t wake and that was fine with me. I was, I knew, on my way to the county sheriff’s office, jail, and eventually prison. I also knew my wife – Cathy – would divorce me and do what she could to make sure that she and my sons would never have to be part of my life again.

I kissed the two kids goodbye and almost ran a mile or so from our house to a bar on a big highway passing through New Port Richey, a joint only a half-mile or so from the county sheriff’s office. I didn’t have a great deal of money but I did have enough to get drunk and that’s exactly what I wanted.

For the next three hours, I sat in the bar drinking vodka and grapefruit juice, my favorite early morning kicker. I smoked and joked and listened to the juke box and tried to pick up an old Cuban woman and drank and drank and drank. Finally, I ran out of money. I sat there for a moment wishing I had the guts to kill myself and then, knowing I had no real choice to do anything different, I left the bar and walked to the sheriff’s office.

I was drunk enough that I stumbled and fell in the parking area outside the office. Some officer knelt over me, thinking I might have been hurt, and then saw to it that I was immediately locked in a holding cell. From there, after three days of terrible withdrawal, I was shipped to the county jail in Dade City and, eventually, the state prison system. All because of little crimes I committed when I was drunk.

What crimes?

How about this? I forged five checks for a total of $30…all cashed at a bar where I spent a lot of time drinking. Anyway, this cost me a five-year sentence – that worked out to right at two-and-a-half behind bars.

Anyway. I figured for years, many years, that I’d never see my sons again. Cathy divorced me and I didn’t blame her. I still wasn’t much of a prize. She moved west to a place I don’t know and lived in a way I have no reason to understand. Once, though, one time after my time in prison, I was able to meet Dylan and Eamon again. It wasn’t much of a visit. Just two hours with two little boys who really had no reason to give a damn. That was a long time ago.

Then, about four years ago, things started to change. Eamon, my younger son, wanted to know me. We met and spent time together. He got married and since then I’ve grown to know his wife and, now, their little son, my grandson, the cutest kid ever born.
We see each other when we can. We love each other and we say it. I love his wife, Jennifer, and their baby boy, Ayden. But I haven’t seen Dylan, my first child, even once, for one moment, in a string of more than 20 years.

A couple of years ago we began sending rare e-mails. Eventually, he called and we spoke briefly. We grew slowly closer, not real close, but closer.

Sunday, I got to see him, his wife and his beautiful daughter, Chloe. My ex-wife Cathy was there too, along with her husband and Eamon's wife and child. This wasn't really expected. We were together for an afternoon. We talked a bit and had a couple of pictures taken. Before he left, I got to embrace him. I told him I love him and he didn’t answer but that’s okay. At least I saw him and talked with him and held him. I was with my first son. After all these years. Isn’t that something?

Father's Day

The last week was rough. Not surprising in any way since it was a post-chemo week. I spent much time in bed reading. I had no opportunity to get any new books, so I flipped through the pages of volumes I read and enjoyed earlier, but didn’t much remember. I watched parts of a couple of Cubs games on television and didn’t much care who won. Tried to eat and enjoy food and couldn’t.

A bad week, right?

Yes. Except for one thing.

On Thursday, I got a father’s day card from Dylan, my elder son. The card – also signed by his wife, Mickie, and daughter, Chloe – included the word "love."

I’ve know I’ve written a bit in this blog about my alcoholism and my background as a usually drunken loser. If you ever wondered just how bad I was, how bad I treated people in my life, consider this:

The father’s day card I got yesterday is the first, the very first, father’s day card I ever received. I never expected it.

When I left the home I shared with the two boys and their mother, Cathy, Dylan was 3 and Eamon was 1. I didn’t see either of the boys again or even speak with them or write them letters until a time about seven years after my departure when we met very briefly and very nervously. The boys, aged 10 and eight at the time, didn’t really want anything to do with me and I don’t blame them.

After that meeting, we basically had nothing to do with each other until just a few years back.

Now they’re married, each of them, and each of them is a father. Neither boy drinks, and I know each is doing a hell of a lot better than I did.

The thing that’s tough is that I loved my sons. I loved Cathy, as well. I had a problem, though, because I couldn’t live the love I felt. I drank instead. Oh, I’d stay sober for a time, sober enough to temporarily save the marriage or a job. But I always ended up in some gin mill or low life hillbilly bar, drinking. And when I drank, I got drunk damn near every day I can remember.

Think about that for a moment. It makes it hard to be a father or a husband.

I got lucky with Eamon a few years back. He and I met and had a chance to talk. We started using the telephone to stay in touch. After a bit of time, we spoke about our love for each other. I was invited to his wedding and though I couldn’t go because of my illness, he understood. Since then, I’ve met his wife, Jennifer, and cuddled my grandson, Aidyn. Wow.

I wasn’t so lucky with Dylan. We sent each other e-mails and spoke briefly on the phone, but he was distant. So was his wife and my granddaughter. They live in Colorado and there was no way for us to meet each other so we stayed apart. A couple of times, on the phone, I told him I loved him but he didn’t respond. Not at all.

That’s why the Father’s day card is a big deal. He also said he and his wife would come to Florida as soon as they could. If so, I’ll get to see my beautiful granddaughter and maybe, just maybe, get to hug her at least for a moment.

I talked to my younger brother, Pat, after I got the father’s day card. Like me, he said it was really great that I’d have caring contact with my two boys. The were, he said, truly good young men. He’d know better than I would because when they were young, he had more contact with them than I ever did.

I’m glad Pat helped them when he could. I’m glad their mother, Cathy, was as good a woman as she was and is. I’m glad their stepfather was the stand-up man he was. And I’m really glad my sons and I have at least a little contact, for however long it lasts.