LACK OF INDEPENDENCE

Freedom seems the theme, as Juneteenth passed into Independence Day. We planned a party, or a party was planned and I was informed two days before it occurred. That was to give me sufficient time to clear things with Dave, who views even such an innocuous event as an invasion of what he views as his territory. My grandchildren, my daughters and some in-laws would be attending, during a siege of only a few hours. It went well, until it didn’t. Dave is jealous of his cousins, aunts and uncles, and while at first he was sufficiently distracted, his attitude slowly changed, until he once again earned his sobriquet as “Asshole of the Family.”

I don’t get it. No one does. One minute Dave is a sweet boy, giggling and playing — and then he turns into an angry curmudgeon, determined to burn any real or potential goodwill and turn everyone against him. Even I, his last line of defense.

Dave started shouting at everyone, demanding they get out of his house, turning off the TV the kids were watching, calling the adults vile names, as they quickly packed up and left. Leaving Kathy and me, with her sister and brother, attempting a quiet chat on the lower deck. He rained curses at us from above and I felt a bit of spit hit the back of my neck. I sat and seethed, unwilling to give the little shit the satisfaction of scoring, feeling everyone’s eyes on me, awaiting a reaction, or more likely an explosion. Before he was finished telling me to go F myself, I was out of the chair and running up the stairs. I’m not sure what I would have done had I caught him, but we didn’t get the chance to find out, as he quickly disappeared. I stood on the upper deck a while, willing myself to breathe.

Despite the relief (and the reduced noise levels), Dave professes over La’Nessa’s living with their mother, his overall attitude didn’t improve much. Episodes like this are less frequent lately and he smiles and even laughs more often, but there have been adjustments. Chief among them is the nearly complete end of his relationship with Kathy. I don’t know whether it’s a guy thing or his increasing frustration with her parenting style, but she has mostly abandoned him, while I have completely abandoned La’Nessa. It’s almost as if we are in warring camps. When I dare (though I don’t bother any longer) to question or complain about La’Nessa’s behavior and misdeeds, Kathy’s immediate response is to complain about Dave. Not that she doesn’t have reason to do so, but it’s not helping our own relationship and I don’t like finding myself defending someone whose sins are often so egregious. Then again, he sometimes acts just like the kid he is, but Kathy doesn’t distinguish between the devil and the imp.

Kathy also has a fallback position that is open to me to some degree, and that is spending time with my three grandsons, ranging in age from three to six. I like it when they come by with my daughters, which is only on occasion or for an occasion, but they are less likely now to do so, given Dave’s territorial tantrums. (I told my sister-in-law the other day that he pees along the perimeter of the house every week — she didn’t get it.) We have to go to visit them, and Kathy’s only too glad to go between visits and requested babysitting (I have been asked once in six years and only because my youngest daughter was desperate — it went fine, by the way, so there.) On average, I see Kathy four nights a week and rarely on weekends. I get to stay home with Dave, or guard the house while he abandons me for friends, more fun than I (not that I relish the role of entertainment director). The kids and I get away and I get high fives and hugs from the elder two and side-eyed glances of suspicion from the youngest.

I don’t mind the separation much. We sleep in separate bedrooms, ostensibly due to conflicting nocturnal patterns. There’s no reason to sleep together any more anyway — my libido having cratered and hers much on the wane. I still find Kathy attractive; everyone does, but there are no lustful stirrings. We barely even touch each other and I’m not sure why that is. She’s a compulsive toucher, but doesn’t like rejection, of which I suppose I’m guilty. I am human but deny it, unwilling to succumb to what I continue to see as childlike tendencies toward touch. It’s surely not healthy to feel this way, but just as surely, I don’t care and maybe that is what contributes to my typically dyspeptic demeanor. But I digress…

When in doubt, shut down. When Dave reappeared, I wouldn’t look at him, couldn’t speak to him. I was angry that he ruined what was supposed to be a nice party, amping up the enmity many felt already. My kids have already told Kathy they would no longer be spending Thanksgiving, Christmas or Easter at our home, which means that Dave gets his way, which leaves me bereft. My grandsons are at that perfect age, jumping and screaming with joy and reckless abandon and I am missing a lot of it because of Dave. I’d like to think his behavior and actions are unintentional, the product of the damage done to him at birth, due to his mother’s drug use and drinking and the psychological burden caused by her abandonment of him. That’s part of it, certainly, and then there is his age, where rebellion is always ready to rear its head, but sometimes I think he’s just a jerk, which saddens and scares me. As he gets older, that part may only get worse and I’m concerned about the choices he will make and where they will lead. Given his lineage, right up to my wife’s own history, this won’t turn out well…four generations of incarceration, alcoholism and mental illness. How will he escape that?

  I ponder these questions as I sit outside, alone, indulging my bad habit, puffing furiously on a large cigar. The silence is broken by a series of phone calls I won’t answer, made by Dave inside the house. I’m still too angry to speak to him, still afraid of what I may say and the additional damage it could inflict, damaging an already delicate relationship and possibly sinking his psyche to a point already far beyond repair. It’s always a balancing act with Dave, and my footing is failing.

As smoke swirls upward, I raise my eyes to a darkening sky and pray, wondering if anyone is really listening.