Bah, Humbug

So, last night was my company holiday party. It was held at the Reitz Union Ballroom at UF, and was kind of nice. The food wasn't as good as in years past, but it is a different venue. We outgrew the old one.

The highlight of the evening is always the "bonus drawing". Instead of a small bonus to everyone, the pool the money and give it out in larger chunks. The "raffle" away four gifts of $2500, four of $5000, two of $10,000 and the biggie of $50G. There are rules involved, such as the fact that you have to have been there six months to be eligible (though not for the two biggest); part-timers not eligible for the 50k; every year you work you get another ticket in; etc.

Well, needless to say, I won nothing. Third year in a row, too. Dammit. Sheeps blames herself, as I am (supposedly) the lucky one, and she never wins anything. My luck doesn't work that way. I win lots of things, but always small. I suppose I should be happy with that.

It was a long shot, but it was nice to dream about, for a little while, anyway. The grand prize would have very nice. We could have paid off some bills and eased those monthly payments. A new couch would have been good. The van has its problems and needs to be replaced in the near future, and I've been thinking about getting another pickup truck. And Christmas is almost here, so the extra cash would have been handy.

Such is life. The bills are being paid, slowly. The futon is functional. The van still runs and does get me to work and back, though functional wiper blades would be a good thing... Christmas will be fine, if not a little cheaper.

Yeah, it was a bit depressing, but heck, I'm not any poorer, and got free dinner out of it. And a $27 gift card to Carrabas! (Why $27? Apparently, it's a tax thing...)

Life moves on, and there is always next year.

A Catharsis

Hello Father,

It has been an extremely long time since we've actually spoken, though technically we are not speaking now. Odds are very good that you will never read these words, which is just as well, as I am writing them not for you, but myself.

Wednesday nights are typically our "Chinese Night", wherein we take in our favorite local Asian restaurant. I especially like it, as they have a "Mongolian Barbecue" and I can control what goes into my meal, but I digress.

I had just given my plate to the chef to cook when my phone rang. The call ID told me that it was Mom, which was unusual, as I'd just spoken to her just a few days ago, so I figured she had news of some kind, probably bad.

"Don't shoot the messenger," was her immediate response, so I knew that my first instinct was correct.

I took a deep breath and braced myself for the worst and told her, "Go ahead. What's wrong?"

She informed me that my sister Arlene had phoned her today, and told her that my step-mother had passed away. I paused for a moment, and realized that I was basically indifferent to this news. I thanked my mother, hung up the phone and went on with dinner.

Now, Dad, you and I have been pretty much estranged for the last 10 years, and have little to no relationship for the 25 years previous to those. I never really held any ill will toward you for divorcing my mother and abandoning me to the fates. You did the best you could, and the occasional weekend was all you had in you. That's all right. You were 40 when I was born and had already raised children to maturity in a previous marriage. You did what you could, and I do appreciate the effort.

I never hated you. I could not abide your latest wife, though. She was the reason why I didn't call as often as I probably should have (but, in all fairness, the phones DO work both ways, you know). She was the reason why I rarely visited, and never have in the last 10 years. She was the reason why I live my life on a daily basis with nary a thought toward you.

Why? Surely you know the answer to that, and I know that you do, as we've discussed it before, but as I've said previously, this isn't for you, it's for me, so I will explain.

She had a way about her that made me feel like less of a person in all that I did. Every word out of her mouth was a criticism, often veiled, but a criticism nonetheless. I was incapable of doing anything sufficiently in her eyes. I could never match the glory that were her children and was always a reminder to her of a life that you lived prior to meeting her - one which she did not like, for whatever reason.

She made me feel small, inconsequential. I was not worthy of being your son, though was barely tolerated in that role. She made me hate myself for being something that I didn't ask to be, but was born into - your son.

She was civil, I suppose, in her own way, but her "own way" was very condescending, and not very healthy to a budding adolescent, and not to be tolerated by a full grown adult. One can only take so much patronization and disdain, and I'd eaten my fill long before.

I called her my "Step-Monster" when speaking about her to my friends, on those rare occasions when I actually spoke of her. I would tell tales of her degradations, and while I elicited a humorous response from my listeners, I could tell that they thought I exaggerated a bit, for the sake of the telling, I suppose. Those few that actually had the displeasure to meet her quickly learned that I was not bluffing nor embellishing the tale. She was quite contemptuous toward me and barely concealed her disdain.

I do not need to tell you my feelings toward her. I shouldn't have to speak of the embarrassment and shame I've felt over the years because of her. I shouldn't have to tell you pain she caused, the sleepless nights she induced, the tears she invoked. I shouldn't have to tell you how empty I have felt because of her.

I shouldn't have to, but I will. I hated that woman with a passion. I despised her for all the things that she did to me. But more than anything else, I loathed her for taking away all those years with my father. For that, and that alone, I abhor her.

I said earlier that I was indifferent upon hearing of her passing, but that is not quite true, as the fact that I am still awake at 2 in the morning can attest. I have many emotions running through my head right now.

I feel elated. I do not glory in her death, but revel in the fact that I shall no longer bear the brunt of her detestation any longer. I am happy. Happy in the knowledge that I might actually get to reconnect with my father after all these years; that I get a chance to do so before it is too late.

I feel guilt. My conscience has taken notice that I feel so little over her death, and is a disturbed that the little amounts to joy. I take no joy in her suffering, but rejoice in a freedom I have never known - and for that I feel shame.

More than anything else, Dad, I feel sorrow. I am sad for the pain that you must be feeling. A very, very wise man told me earlier this evening (after he suggested that I get out these feelings) that we do not mourn for the dead, but for the grieving. Those words are so incredibly true. I mourn for you, Father, and wish that I could take away the pain and grief that you feel right now.

I know that contacting you this soon would be an error, and would only cause you more pain, but I feel for you, and hope that we can make amends in the near future.

With Love,

Your Son.