being my teenage son if probably less easy

middle-age American living in New Jersey near the Lincoln Tunnel «« When I met Hana she used the phrase, “drunk dialing” to describe times she would call people when drunk – well this is drunk blogging.  Con Budweiser venti cuatro y some wine I and Candy Crunch Saga heard in the background, I embark on modestly meaningful text.  This post was written and posted by me today with no emotion and with some Budweiser and wine and a second reading it is deeply emotional.  At this moment it seems to bring clarity about why people who love us seem like they don’t.  “Read between the lines” is a common phrase meaning, “the spirit of the text”.  On this occasion, “reading between the lines” has multiple spirits.  ONE: It is me as a father trying to be sure my teenage son understands he has purpose, and with purpose comes expectations, and with expectation comes pressure.  TWO: It is me a father trying to be sure my teenage son understands he is a member of a large family, and I want him to know there are highly-capable men who are highly-motivated to help, and these men are available to him by request.  As with most rereads of my text, I realize I am writing to myself.  I need to be reminded that abundant help is available by request.  A defining moment was me talking to all the people who gathered on the occasion of my late son’s, David’s, funeral.  After he was laid to rest we gathered at St. Patrick’s multi-purpose room in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, and I spoke to those who gathered.  With emotion at a life-to-date high, and a crowd who seemed to wish I never started, and seemed to be begging me to terminate with every word I pressed on.  I asked for water delivered by my brother with the message to, “wrap it up”, yet there was Kevin sitting without visual evidence of support listening to every word allowing me to continue in comfort as if he were not eager for the end to come.  Kevin was born in 1950 and my late son, David, was born in 1988, so it is imaginable that Kevin would have preceded David in death, and it is imaginable I would have needed Kevin for crisis after his death.  Someone would have been the surrogate.  Someone would have been there for me only if I could get passed my own restrictions – only if I could get passed the reason I was hesitant to request help.  Kevin made it easy; made the moment glorious.  It was more than I needed.  I only needed to heal and move on.  Being a father is not easy; being my teenage son now is probably less easy. »» about me 201-490-9659 Hana Miyajima contact us

About Tom Doody

middle-age American living in New Jersey near the Lincoln Tunnel
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1 Response to being my teenage son if probably less easy

  1. texastoest says:

    I guess it’s the childless mother in me who keeps raising her head when you write about this topic. This just breaks my heart, because you have such a deep need to father this young man. Past tragedies in your life, of course, color your dealings with this latest issue. You seem to be reaching some peace with it (surrender?), and I do hope that continues. Parents with any conscious at all would feel the same way, and would let the events affect their own lives. It would seem the “mother” in me just wants to reassure you, once again, that you have friends, and people you can talk to. You’re doing the right thing, never give up. MY mother proved that with me, her eldest, and MOST troublesome offspring. She told me once from her bed in the Alzheimer’s facility where we were forced to commit her, that she worked hard all her motherhood to not show favorites for any of the three of us, but that I was always her favorite. She always loved a challenge. Ring a bell?


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