Father of the Year

This is a slightly sensitive subject, but I'm fairly certain the individual in question doesn't have internet access at the moment and, if he somehow does, definitely doesn't know about my blog and my online persona. A couple of years ago, I learned that the drummer in one of my bands had fathered a son out of wedlock. He had already broken up with the mother, and in fact they seemed to despise one another. Quite openly he severed ties, and made no secret of the fact that he was not going to acknowledge the child, especially when the mother sought financial assistance for some of the boy's medical needs.

My friend's track record with women didn't get any better. After moving from Brooklyn to Long Island with his parents, he soon met another girl and got married. They lived happily in his parents' basement for two years before he had enough, divorced her, and sent her back to live with her father, never to be spoken of again. He was happier with his next girlfriend, and in many ways she was good for him, pushing him to find steady jobs beyond drumming and encouraging his DJ business as well, even buying him a van and decorating it with a logo and phone number. He called her children his own, at times telling us how great it was because he always wanted kids. Mentioning the fact that he had a son somewhere only elicited a blank stare, so after a while I'd only stare and blink myself when he'd make comments like that.

Whether he would eventually marry this new girl and officially call her children his own, I cannot say. After a year with him, and losing custody of her children to her ex-husband, she took a fatal combination of beer and pills. Upset at first, especially when her brother and the rest of the family wouldn't allow him to collect his stuff from her apartment without watching him like a hawk, he quickly rebounded with a girl he had met on the subway while he was still with the one who committed suicide. His “stepson” and “stepdaughter” were as forgotten as the minivan sitting in his driveway, unused since he has yet to procure a driver's license. The new girl pushed him even further, and though he normally didn't last more than a month or two at any legitimate job, he seemed to finally have steady work and ambition. He moved out for the first time in his life, and into her apartment.

Things seemed to be going well. Her family liked him, and he embraced her Jewish traditions and began learning about her faith. His family didn't seem to mind that he'd abandoned his Catholic upbringing; they were just happy that he was living somewhere else with a steady girl and a steady job. One day at a procession, when he seemed down, he explained that his girlfriend just had a miscarriage. “I'm sorry to hear that; I didn't even know you two were trying,” I said with some sincerity, even though I wasn't surprised by his reply: “Yeah, we weren't.” After a night in the hospital with her, he skipped work, fought with his boss the next day, and walked off, thinking the boss wasn't serious when he told him that if he left, he shouldn't come back. He lost another job. His future inlaws were furious to discover an unwed couple living together nearly had a child. A few weeks later, his girlfriend was furious that he wasn't trying very hard to find a new job and he was furious that she was “in his face” about it.

Every week or two, I'll see this guy, and there's some new major development in his saga. At one gig, he was fighting with his girlfriend. The next time we played together, I found out that she kicked him out and he moved back home. A week later, he was with a new girl from his old neighborhood. “We're just fooling around,” he told us on the bus ride to a job out of state. A few minutes later, he was curled up with his cellphone telling her he loved her and “...all our dreams is gonna come true now, baby.” If drumming and false charm were stocks, the guy would be a billionaire.

At this point in the convoluted tale, I'll have to backtrack slightly. At some point between losing the baby and breaking up with his last girlfriend, he somehow got back in touch with the mother of his child. She and her husband brought the nine-year-old to one of our gigs, and the happy child walked beside his father, who bought his son anything he asked for, from sports jerseys to jewelry. At the end of the job, he stopped at a cash machine so his girlfriend wouldn't know he'd spent all the parade money. “Won't she see that you took money out of the account?” I asked, seeing the logical problem with his plan. “Nah, she won't check.” When I saw him a few weeks later, they had broken up. Did she find out that he had a son, and without telling her met up with the kid and spent all his money on him? Maybe she did and it was another nail in the coffin, or maybe there were enough nails already.

A few weeks ago on a job, out of earshot from his father, he told me about a surprise he had planned for his mother's birthday. Beaming, he told me that he was getting his son for a week. Somehow, I wasn't sure having another little boy to take care of was the best present, but I kept my reservations to myself. He then grumped about how his ex didn't trust him, and told him stuff like he had to watch the kid at all times. “He's 9! She's just a b****!” I told him that there probably would be some work involved and some supervising, and that it wouldn't be like having a ”My Buddy” doll for a week. “You actually do have to watch children.” He just waved it off. I might not be a parent yet, so the only thing I can draw on is my own experience as a child and think about what my parents went through. No, the story couldn't end well, could not end well at all.

Last week we were playing for a barbecue. On a break, I asked him how things went with his son. “Terrible!” he said, “He showed up on Sunday and was home by Wednesday. He told my mother to go f*** herself. I don't need to have him no more.” I'm ashamed to say I had to suppress a laugh at that inappropriate time, and pray that I had a concerned expression and not a smirk. He casually told a few of us some other details, like the kid said his stepfather “touches” him, but beyond that seemed to be washing his hands of the matter. That last bit wiped out any potential smirking I might have been doing, and I suddenly felt very, very sad for the little boy. Improperly raised, with a stepfather possibly abusing him, his biological father's interest ceased when things got too hard or too real. I think my friend takes this approach to a lot of things in life, and it's probably why he spends more time collecting unemployment than working a 9 to 5 job.

Over this past weekend, we were playing with another band out of state. He was catching up with some of the guys we hadn't seen in a while, and more of the story came out. His current girlfriend and her son were with them most of the time, and he referred to the other child as his “stepson” and encouraged the boys to call each other brothers. Again, I'm not a parent, and I'm certainly not a child psychologist. After nine years, the boy was finally going to spend time with his dad, only to find he was sharing him. It probably would have been better to introduce the girlfriend and the other child at a later point, after they spent quality time bonding. In that situation, I would expect there to be some jealousy, but what do I know?

So this champ went on to complain about how much money the kid cost him at a ball game asking for souvenirs and food, while his girlfriend's four-year-old asked for nothing. I wouldn't be surprised if he pointed that out directly to the kid, because if this tale hasn't conveyed it enough, he's oblivious. Later, when they were back home, he heard a commotion from the other room. His girlfriend had scolded his son for taking the remote control out of her son's hand. The boy denied it, called her a liar, and in a moment of brutal honesty screamed, “I don't like these f***ing people!!” He was subsequently dragged to the kitchen by his father who washed the kid's mouth out with soap for cursing again. I thought it was interesting that the first time I heard the story, the boy had only cursed at his grandmother, and that cursing a second time against my friend's lady is what actually got him kicked out.

One of the trombone players offered advice, suggesting he teach the child manners, to always use the magic word, “please”. If the kid swears, rather than a beating he suggested flicking him in the lip with one finger. In time, the boy would associate a little pain with bad words, but it would be harmless. “I washed his mouth out wit' soap!” shouted the father of the year, exasperated. His tone suggested that he believed you could literally wash away bad language with the right detergent. I didn't think I could be more appalled until he brought up the cops.

First, he called his ex-girlfriend and told her to come get the kid. Next, he called the cops on his 9-year-old, who was sitting on the lawn sulking. “Why don't you wait on the steps?” gently asked an officer. “I don't wanna sit on their property,” grumped the poor little lost soul. I felt sad, and a bit angry. I think the worst part of the day for me was near the end of the job, when a grandmother bounced a little girl on her shoulders, who clapped along to the music. Afterwards, our drummer complimented her on the cute child. “Do you have any children she asked?” Classy replied, “Nah, not yet. But I wanna have a son and a daughter some day.” I really wanted to speak up at that point and embarrass him in front of the lady, pointing out that he has a son. I held my tongue, not because I feared conflict, but because I knew it would do no good. He wasn't lying to the woman so much as declaring his definition of truth. He had already denied the child as an infant because it was too difficult, and he was disowning him once again. He decided he didn't have a son anymore, and embraced that as reality.

This guy is only about year older than me, and has experienced so much more life. That's not a good thing. At 33, he's already had a child, been divorced, and had a girlfriend commit suicide. When I think of role models, and measure where I should be at this point in my life, I usually look to someone like Rey who, at my age, has a wife and kids, and genuinely seems to like them, taking on the challenges as well as the fun stuff. At the end of the day, it's not about chronological age but emotional maturity; where one friend was fit to be a parent in his 20s, another isn't ready in his 30s, and yet continues to behave irresponsibly, shrugging off any responsibility or consequence. He lives a carefree life, forgetting in weeks if not hours the mess he leaves behind. If he pretends it's not there, someone else will clean it up. Or not.

I can't understand how he misses certain obvious truths, or chooses to miss them. I don't think it's a matter of education, of a college graduate seeing things a high school dropout misses. He's not a moron, though in my indignation I may have painted him as such. Understanding children, and people in general isn't a skill you can learn from books. His parents are good people, and I've played in his dad's band for years, but I think maybe they've turned a blind eye to a few things as well. If I ever lost a job due to attitude or negligence, or got some random girl pregnant, I knew my mom would kick my ass, and though he never hit me my dad would probably be next in line. I remember vividly the first and last time I swore in front of my mom. She's half my size now and I still respect her.

Tough love is important, and I imagine I'll have trouble with that if I'm ever a parent. I'm going to want my kids to like me, to be my pals, and if I marry a pretty girl so they don't look like me and are actually cute, I might not be able to punish them. Yet, I know it's something I'll have to do because my parents did it. Maybe this guy's parents went easy on him, so he took the same approach with his son. He thought buying a few souvenirs and playing was all there was to parenting, and as soon as the child misbehaved, admittedly using language a disciplined 9-year-old shouldn't even know, the child was dismissed. It's very stupid, and very tragic.

I doubt this rant will accomplish more than allow me to vent, but if even one person reads this and realizes “Oh, that's what not to do”, then it will serve some purpose.