Andes Mints, Pepsi, and Bob Barker

December 29th, 2009 - A part of me died when my dad attempted to commit suicide.  I know, it's pretty hard to read, let alone live the experience.  Today marked the two week mark since I had last talked face-to-face with him, and let me just say, it was difficult to talk to my dad.

My day started off well enough.  I got up, scrambled to get take my morning shower, pack lunch, and make it to my new job at UT on time.  Upon arriving at the University's computer support office, I clocked in and ate my breakfast of "digestive health" blueberry acai yogurt with some granola.  All in all, my day was going well as I helped students troubleshoot various issues with their computers--namely viruses acquired over the Christmas break.  The day took a turn for the strange and dark when I had lunch with my mom who also works at the University.

I had already had my lunchtime meal of pizza and salad when I walked down to her office.  It was there that we discussed life as it pertained to the incident of my dad's suicide attempt.  It was there that I confessed to her that I felt as if I never really knew my dad, seeing as how fidelity had been a major issue in their marriage since it began.  I also confided in my mom that I felt that even though I had a biological father, I do not feel as if I know what a real father is, or how a real father behaves.  It was then that she relayed this story to me.

"When I was little, about three or four," she said, "we lived in some apartments that grandma and grandpa owned.  There was a storm one night--do you remember the storms in Phoenix?"

"The dust storms?"

"No, the thunder storms."

"Yeah, I remember them."

"Well, there was one night where there was a real bad thunderstorm.  There was a huge crack of lightning that made the power go out.  I screamed because I was so scared.  As I screamed, I turned around and there was grandpa, on his knees with his arms open.  I ran into them and he wrapped me up in his arms.  That's who God  is to me and what a father is to me."

I then told my mom, that at least she had that.  I don't feel that I have any model for what a father looks like in the sense of how a father nurtures his children and cares for their wellbeing.  As I told that to my mom, I broke down, sobbing in her office.

"Can I pray for you?  Can I pray that God will bring a man in your life who will guide you through manhood and fatherhood?

"Yes," I sobbed, my face covered in tears.

Fast forward to later this afternoon--I get a call from my dad stating that he needed me to give him a ride, as he had no other way of making it back to the place where he was staying.  Knowing that the car ride would be awkward after not having seen him in two weeks, I begrudgingly agreed to take him to the house where he was staying.

After closing shop at work, I went to my dad's workplace, where I waited for what seemed an eternity for what would end up being a frustrating ride back to the east side of Knoxville.  Dad came out, hopped in the car, apologizing for causing such an inconvenience to me.  We shot the breeze at first, avoiding the inevitable question of "why."  After talking about my new job and enduring a rather uncomfortable couple of silent minutes, dad said, "I'm sorry I didn't call you on Tuesday. I was just trying to reach out to anybody and when I couldn't get a hold of Ryan, I called Megan."

As we road through downtown Knoxville, nearing our destination, I then saw the marks on his wrist where he tried to slit them with a dulled box cutter--"I just couldn't finish it," he said.  "Plus I didn't know how to do it."  He then told me about what it was like getting checked into the psych ward at Parkwest.  "I had to pee in a cup.  When they got it back to me, they said I had tested positive for marijuana and barbiturates, but they got it mixed up with somebody else's sample, so I had to pee again."  Drawing closer to the house where dad was staying, he regaled me with tales of staying the six days at Peninsula--including the 80 year old man being treated for alcoholism and tossing his feces filled Depends at other patients.

"Mike got a dog, didn't he?"

"Yes he did...you wanna come in and see him?"

I paused, not sure of whether or not to go into the house.  "Sure, I'll come in."

We walked around Mike's house, which I had not been to since I'd helped him move in over the summer.  Waylon, Mike's dog named after Waylon Jennings, greeted me by bringing a stuffed hedgehog with half the head gnawed off.  Dad put Waylon outside to relieve himself and walked back through the kitchen.

"I can understand if you're mad.  What I did was the most selfish thing that I could have done."

"Do you believe that, or is that something you just believe because of what mom or somebody else has said?"

"I believe it...and I have a lot of regrets."

After growing accustomed to hearing my dad offer excuses for past actions, I didn't know how to react to him not having any.  If anything, I think that I may have been more frustrated at him for not putting up some sort of defense.   After ending the conversation with a long hug, I left.

"We'll catch up sometime later this week."

"Alright son.  I love you."

"I love you, too."

I returned to my apartment in silence, no bluegrass blaring through my speakers, no NPR recounting the day's events.  I slowly rode up the hill to my building, running over speedbumps, each one thumping like a hammer putting nails in a coffin.  The part of my dad that I had internalized was dead--he was more of a peer now than a father.

After grabbing a brief bite to eat, joining a few friends for some coffee then beer, I received a call from my mom.  It was during this call that I told her much of what I've written.  However, she mentioned GiGi--my great-grandfather.  She had no real reason to mention him or to even bring him up. As soon as she said his name, I began to cry, my mind being flooded with some of my earliest childhood memories.

"Think of GiGi, Aaron.  Think of him."

My mind jumped back to walking up the stairs covered in astroturf, seeing the soda can airplane lazily swinging back and forth from the tin porch ceiling.  I remembered the Andes mints and Pepsis that I got every time I went over to his house.  I remembered the Star Wars and Transformers figures, the first ones ever made, that I would play with as GiGi would fondly watched me.  I remembered watching him rock back and forth in his recliner as he would invite me into his lap to watch Bob Barker on "The Price is Right."

"See Aaron," mom said, "You do have that.  You have an example for the heart of God in your own life."

I fell onto my bed, sobbing and weeping harder than I have in ages--I know the Father, through Andes mints, Pepsi, and sitting in GiGi's lap as Bob Barker would call, "Come on down!"  I know my Father.