I vowed to myself
“I will never be
Like my Dad was
Toward me.
I just won’t!”
I wanted to have
Nothing to do with him.
His path
Was not mine.
*
Then one day
I read a poem.
*
A poem I had written
When I was
Fourteen years old.
*
The poem read:
A fiery, bubbling demon
Against the sky.
The huge volcano.
Lava pouring from its lip,
Like angry words hastily spoken.
It seems to be making fun
Of someone below it.
Or trying to shame a person
For doing a wrong.”
I was astonished
At how early
I had realized
My Dad’s
Venomous tongue.
I said to my mentor,
“See, that poem
Is about my Dad.”
*
His simple response
Is tattooed on my heart.
He quietly replied:
“Is it?”
*
I was stunned
As the truth
Of his words
Clutched my soul.
I had become
Just like my Dad
*
My Dad at age 19
Me at age 19
My words had
Been harmful
To many people.
I constantly
Had to make up for
The damage I had done
With my sharp tongue.
*
It gave me a task –
To uncork
My own volcano.
Find out
What fueled
Such deep anger.
It became
My commitment.
My life’s goal.
*
It was critical
That I do so.
Imperative
That I solve this problem.
I was watching my Dad
As his health suffered:
Heart attack,
Open heart surgery,
Colostomy,
Not following doctor’s orders,
Overweight, still smoking
And just
Sitting on the anger.
I was watching my Dad
Commit slow suicide
By stuffing
His own anger.
He had sobered up
But the past was the past
And he wanted no part
Of figuring it out.
He would not deal with it
Or even admit
How angry he still was.
*
So he sat on white knuckles
And it was killing him.
My Dad at age 43
I knew my Dad
Would die early.
I knew that I
Would die early too
If I didn’t do
Something drastic.
That’s why my task
Was so necessary.
To not be like
My angry Dad.
*
It led to
A lot of hard work –
Uncovering abuse,
Healing wounds
Releasing anger –
But without hurting anyone.
First, do no harm.
I became
A completely
Different person.
Calm, alive,
Safe for other people.
The venom purged
The volcano disappeared.
*
Then years later
I had a flash of awareness.
Had my Dad
Not sobered up
He would have died
Many years
Before he did.
It was a paradox.
Even while sitting
All that anger
He helped many people.
After I delivered the eulogy
At his funeral.
One man said to me
“Your Dad
Saved my life.”
I knew from his look
He meant it literally.
*
Then I put
All the pieces together.
My Dad –
Who abused me
When he was drunk,
Illuminated my path
To healing
By his example
By his journey of recovery.
And in that way,
I want to be
Just like my Dad.
Me at age 58 at a high school reunion, after a night of dancing!
*******************
Last Saturday night I read a new poem at an open mic event. The next morning I got up and wrote three new poems. “I Just Won’t” is one of those poems. I will read it this Saturday night at the open mic event!
Photo Credits:
Don Swanson via Wikimedia. Creative Commons via Wikimedia.
Pictures of Dan and his Dad, Copyright Dan Hays. All rights reserved.
Thoughts Along The Road to Healing 