Just Get Over IT! Ch.2
My Dad, My IT!
Well, as I shared in Chapter one, and I know you all will now agree, that each one of us has our own unique it or its. Obviously, I would not be writing this book if I did not have an it or two of my own. To begin speaking of my own personal struggles, and ultimately my victories over them, I will have to go back to my childhood. I’ll discuss the “challenged,” sometimes nonexistent relationship between Don (my dad) and myself. I will use my dad’s first name throughout this chapter because “Dad” was not who he was to me!
My personal struggles were in the emotional arena rather than the physical. I was, by my given nature, a painfully shy and bashful little boy. With this as my base line, I needed a great deal of encouragement and attention from those around me, especially from Don. I have read many statistics of men who are incarcerated, and 100% of them had little to no relationship with their fathers. I have tried to think back in time to understand why I never bonded with Don or to recall the exact point of calling him Don. I cannot pinpoint that moment in time or the reasons for it. I found through my life experiences with Don, as I aged, that he just seemed to not want a relationship with me. Or maybe he did. Quite possibly, Don was likely so messed up himself that he did not know how to have a relationship with me. Suffice it to say, a father/son bond was never there for us.
I can remember his actions toward me even in the simplest situations were always frustrated. My lack of self-esteem was only exacerbated by how worthless he continually made me feel. I was shy and insecure but not stupid. It didn’t take me long to figure out how to avoid his constant belittling. DISTANCE! Harsh words are difficult to shake and will impact a life significantly especially from someone who has an influential role in our lives.
Remember when we were on the playground and a battle of words went back and forth between two children? One of the children would make that infamous and profound statement, “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me!” How many of us have said that or have believed that this statement is somehow true? Many times when you hear a something over and over again you begin to think it has some legitimacy; however, through time I have experienced that this statement has severe holes in it! Think about it. A bruise fades, a broken bone can be cast, apply some ointment on the cut… you get the point. Eventually your body will heal. Not so with hurtful, angry words! The sad reality is that they echo in your heart. They go on and on… In God’s Word, we are told that there is “life and death in the power of the tongue.” And if words spoke with malice are just left unhealed, like any physical injury, “infection” sets in and spreads. The truth is that a word spoken, whether a good one or bad one, has the power to cut down to the soul and be with you forever. The power of the word is exponentially stronger if the person speaking it is someone who carries a great deal of influence in your life such as a parent or guardian!
“There is life and death in the tongue” (Proverbs 18:21).
What this is truly saying in the original language of scripture is that we have within our ability power to create and to destroy! The Lord has given us the privilege and the awesome responsibility similar to that which He employed in creating the world; however, on a smaller and more individual basis. Imagine a child whose parents constantly affirm their unconditional love for him, support him in the choices he makes, build him up with encouraging words by telling him that they believe in him, and he can do anything if he sets his mind to it. Do you believe the chances of this child growing up to be a successful human being will be increased? Of course it will! There is creative power in the tongue!
Now on the other hand, a parent who is condescending, and degrading might say, “You will never amount to anything. I tried, failed, and you will too.” What are the chances that this child will make anything out of their lives? The percentages are very slim for this person. All you need to do is visit a local prison, homeless shelter, or a crisis center in any town, and you will see and speak to many men and women who had this kind of parent who spewed anger and hatred. Just as destructive is the parent who was nowhere to be found.
Now, I realize that individuals have a will, and can change the direction of their lives. I believe I am one of these individuals. I could have very easily made decisions to head down the same road Don chose to go down in life. My kids and wife could be suffering the same challenges as my mom, sister, and I endured. There are many reading this book today that have made a willful decision to make it over some pretty high obstacles in this life to get to where you are. I commend you for your perseverance! I will speak more about how our will plays into the outcome of our its in chapter 3. Suffice it to say, we need to be very careful and thoughtful with this awesome power and responsibility of the words that we wield on a daily basis with our tongue. We each carry a great amount of influence to those around us whether in our families, work, school, and recreation. There are many people watching and listening to us as we speak, and the effects of our words can be life or death, creative or destructive!
To continue on the emotional challenges that I experienced, I will have to share with you that what I endured was much more challenging than hurtful words spoken or physical pain. Believe it or not there is something even worse than the spoken word. The most hurtful words are those that are never spoken! These were the words from Don that I longed for, begged for, and my soul ached to attain but was never able to apprehend. I try so hard as a dad to now end each day with long talks with my girls. We catch up on the day. We pray and I always, always reassure them of my love and tell them how proud I am of them. Oh, to have heard those two statements from Don – even one time. “I love you.” For a boy, especially this insecure, little boy, even more importantly, “I am proud of you.” PRICELESS! I recall being torn between wanting to be close to him and guarding myself by pushing him away.
I can remember only once, while sitting with my mom watching TV that my father came and sat down beside me and stroked my hair. I will never forget it as long as I live. I froze. I didn’t want to move for fear that that “magical moment” would end. I just held my breath and prayed this feeling would never go away. I was so deeply moved by this moment that I allowed my wall of protection that I had built around my heart to instantly crumble. But, you see Don only did one thing in his life consistently, abandon us. And yes, he did it to us again. I can’t remember how many weeks went by this time before he left. It didn’t matter. All that matters was that he left.
When I turned ten years old things worsened exponentially. Don was now drinking off and on. More on than off! He was there in the flesh but his mind never was. Don had a lot of depression in his life. Everyone knew when it came upon him. It was like a cloud of heaviness and sadness that hung over our home. More obvious was the presence of beer in the refrigerator. He would not speak with us and would often remove himself to a dark corner of the house and just stare off into a distant place. He would then begin his slow demise into depression and alcohol. This was just a few of his it’s. And the “its just kept on coming”. Don’s its seemed larger than he was most of the time.
I knew without being told I should not bother him when he was in this condition. We constantly walked on the proverbial egg shells around him. He would have moments of rage and literally tear the doors off the hinges, and smash his hand through coffee tables. Once the anger would show we knew then that it was just a matter of time before he would pack up his tools, painting equipment, Coleman stove and leave us again. We thought he was crazy, but maybe on some level he cared enough to leave before he hurt us. (physically, I mean.)
When this started happening frequently, I can remember being scared for my mom and sister because I did not know what he was capable of. I remember in the beginning, after one of these episodes of anger happened, I went to school the next day and as I sat in the cafeteria at my Elementary School, I began to cry. I was afraid that Don would kill my mom and sister, and when I came home they would be gone and I would be on my own or even worse – with Don. Now, whether this was a legitimate fear or not it was a real concern for me because I saw the anger and destruction that was manifested from Don. I had real fear, real worry, and real concern for Mom, and my sister.
These worries and fears gripped my little heart and mind to the point that my grades in school began to decline. I could not pay attention in class. In addition to feeling insecure, painfully shy, afraid of possible rejection, and failure, I also felt inferior to everyone so I kept myself out of situations where someone could say or do something to make me feel worse about myself. My inability to keep up with my peers in the classroom moved me into a new setting. After a long period of struggling to keep up, I was taken out of the regular Elementary classes and placed in a “Special” class. It turned out to be for those kids that had mental disorders. I knew I wasn’t “challenged” in the same way as the kids in this new class. These kids were born with mental disorders. My “disorders” were just from life’s obstacles. It did not take long before I began to say to myself, “Yeah, that is why Don never liked you in the first place. It’s because you are stupid!” Well, what did I do? I embraced the situation as it looked like I was in it for a while. Hey, I actually got to run in the Special Olympics! I might add with a little humor, that I finished pretty good in the running and jumping events! Soon, I think the teacher realized my misplacement in her class. She even asked me to forfeit my 1st place trophy. With a little sadness, I conceded. Why not? Dad didn’t notice anyway. I wondered to myself – Special Olympics or a gold medal in the World Olympics, would I ever get Don to notice?
As you might guess, things continued to worsen over the next two years in every way. That hurt little boy was growing into an angry young man. During those two years Don had abandoned us numerous times. Most of these departures were to mental hospitals for him to try and get some help. Our “family time” was a trip to visit him in the “psych wards.” Not such fun memories for a young boy as these experiences revealed a darker world than someone my age should experience.
On one particular occasion, Don was leaving to bet treated at yet another mental facility. This, I believe, was the worst emotionally charged day I have ever experienced in my life. I remember this day vividly like it happened yesterday. We all met as a family (if you could call us that) in the dining room. Don had his suitcase packed again. I was of course very angry, cold, and distant towards him. I was sitting in a chair as he sat down on the coffee table facing me, so as to speak directly to me. Mom was to his right side, and I noticed she had been crying. That made me extremely mad! He said to me, “Jeff, I know that you think that I am a (expletive), and you probably wish I would leave this time and never come back, but I want you to take care of your mom and sister because you are the man of the house now.” After he made that statement, every fiber and cell of my body, every emotion, past and present and all my hurt feelings seemed to take on a life of their own within me. I wanted to hit him as hard as I could in the face. I must have retained one smart cell that said, “Hey, Stupid he will pummel you!” Well, in an instant my second response was quick, out of character for me, and surprisingly very direct. I replied sharply, “Yes, I do believe you are as I repeated the expletive he used (which I do not condone), and I do wish you would never come back, because we would be better off, and we would make it just fine without you!” I couldn’t stop it. It flowed as a river cascading over the side of a mountain. I shocked myself as I was always very respectful to all adults even those I did not like.
I will never forget Don’s response. His head dropped like a 500- pound weight had just fallen on it. His facial expression was the saddest I have ever seen of any human being to this day. He was devastated! He slowly raised himself up off of that coffee table. I could tell it took every ounce of strength the man had in his body to do so. He picked up his suitcase, and shuffled to the door.
I did not think that it would really matter to him one bit what I thought or said. I did not know that he even recognized that I was alive much less that he cared about what I thought of him. That day solidified our personal separation as son and father. I hate to admit this because it hurts me to say now but I had so much anger inside of me from all those years of abandonment and rejection that I received a great deal of satisfaction from his response to my statement. I hoped I had dealt the knock out punch, and he would never get up and come back again! Don’s inducting me into the role of the, “man of the house,” and to, “take care of my mom and sister,” was just as devastating a blow as what I said to him. Looking back, I don’t believe he had any malice whatsoever in making that statement. Yet, it had a life altering effect on me. I did personally take on the role as the man of the house that day.
Now, I realize that at age twelve I was not able to work, and provide financially for mom, and Stacy (my sister), but I took on the mental pressure of that role. I felt guilty when the lights, water, and phone were turned off or when our extended family would have to bring us groceries, and hand-me-down clothes. I was supposed to be able to take care of this but how? Although, I never told anyone, the weight of carrying the family made me a nervous wreck and exacerbated my already fragile emotional problems. It wasn’t until years later, with Don once again MIA, my sister came to me and said, “You’ve been like a dad to me, and I want you to walk me down the aisle and give me away at my wedding.” I have tears in my eyes as I type these words because for me I felt that maybe, just maybe I did fulfill that role as man of the house in some small way. It was a proud day for me.
Over the next few years of Middle School, puberty (which in itself is enough to take you over the deep end as a young man), and then High School, there was a continual cycle of Don coming, and going. He left so frequently it just became “normal” and sort of a joke to us. No matter what I said or how I tried to laugh it away, deep down in a very small but guarded place in my heart was a flicker of hope that Don would notice me one day, and we would have a loving, respectful relationship.
When I began attending High School, many of my classmates, who had noticed my unique jumping and running abilities, began encouraging me to go out for Track and Field. It took some effort on my part to make that first track meet after school as I was petrified of new groups and the unexpected, but it is one effort that I am so glad I forced myself to make. I believe track found me rather than me finding it. Most every event had jumping and hurdling in it. It did not take long for me to hone my God- given talents and begin winning most every jumping event I entered. However, with all the cheers for my 1st place trophies and record-breaking accomplishments, the only one that I wanted to look into the stands and see still wasn’t there.
I hated that I let him “matter,” still I had deep inside of my heart that small flicker of hope that cried, “Just maybe Don will see or hear how well I am at jumping, and he will tell me how special he thinks I am.” I would visualize myself after winning the events, setting a meet record, and as I was receiving that gold medal standing on the first place pedestal, I would here my dad say, “That’s my son right there!” It never happened. I would have gladly traded places with the kid who had barely placed, yet left with his father’s arm around him. It is a strange thing to be a winner but feel like the greatest loser of all time. All of my victories were hollow. Every race and jumping event was fueled by a deep desire to be recognized by Don. I still have those medals to this day, but I boxed them away because every time I looked at them they reminded me of how many times I was rejected rather than how many times I was victorious. I guess deep down this is why I never pursued the major southern collegiate offers to go to college on scholarships.
It was during this time frame that I became consumed with winning and being the best at high-jump events. One gift God had given me is a spirit of perseverance, self motivation, and dedication. During the summer of my freshman year, after having attempted the high-jump for the first time and equaling the school record, I made a decision I was going to break that record. I looked around the house and found some discarded tent poles to create a high-jump standard. I did not, at the time, have any mattresses to land on so I simply hurdled the bar to build up the strength in my legs. After one such hurdle, I came back under the bar to measure the height I just cleared and it was several inches higher than I stood at the time (five foot ten inches tall). I just happen to look over at the family car (which was 15 years old and had dents and dings all over it) and decided to try and hurdle it. I backed up in our neighbors yard, took off as fast as I could run, hoping that the speed would give me the momentum to clear the distance as I knew I could get over the height. That day I bounded over the family VW Beetle and cleared the roof by two feet.
I didn’t think much more than that about what I had just done, but a neighbor across the street had been watching me. She came out and said, “Good Lord, Jeff, can you do that again?” I cleared it again and again for each and every onlooker. It wasn’t Don’s attention, but it was attention.
My high school years and my track experience passed by rather fast. I was at the age now that Don saw me as a man and not a boy. Looking back I realize my accomplishments only inflamed Don’s inferiorities. I began feeling an even stronger push from him. I was a threat to his manhood.
The last discouraging event that took place before I left home came when Don either got fired or quit his job again and our lights and water was cut off again. Mom was working a full time job as was I, but Don just decided he would not let the power being off affect him. He got his Coleman stove and fired him up some coffee and beanie weenies (a Southern Delicacy) and just camped out there. Oh, I failed to tell you that he did not need to work as he began to charge me $200.00 (this was in 1982) for my old room at home. Needless to say, that did not last long as mom encouraged me to look for a place of my own. Our family was ultimately dissolving and after I left home, my parents officially divorced.
After I moved out, there were years where I did not know if Don was alive or not. There were those brief times where we would cross paths on our small town streets, but not even a wave. I went on with my life and business and attempted to let the past be the past. There would be only one last proverbial straw for me. The day came as I was working, and a call came from a stranger. On the other end of the line was a distraught woman telling me that my dad was drunk, having fallen face first into a mud hole in her front yard, and her daughter was terrified. She had found my business card in his wallet, I assume. When I heard her words it shredded my heart, and I filled up with anger and embarrassment. I told her that I was certain if she told this man she was going to call the police he would sober up pretty quickly and go home. I went on to tell her (or tell myself, I’m not sure) that I wasn’t sure how this man got my card, but it couldn’t possibly be my dad. “My dad,” I said, “had been dead for years.” It was that day that my dad died in my heart and mind. I was so tired of the hurt and the embarrassment. I hung that phone up that day and went on with my life. My IT was dead, and dealt with! So I thought.
Jeff Clay/aka Jumpin Jeff
