Ha! I'll bet you thought I was out of the autobiography business. Not quite yet.
My father was a gifted and highly intelligent man, but, sadly, he threw away his life and his talents, and he made life miserable for us, his family. He was an artist, a witty raconteur, and a brilliant ironist. Having left school at 17, he was self-taught, and he could converse knowledgeably on nearly any subject. He loved books, music, and art, and all of those were present in our home, even as my mother was sometimes left to seek help from her family for the necessities of life, like food and clothing.
Once my father was fired from his first job, because of too many hangover absences, he only held one other decent job in his life. Even during the years when he was not drinking, any direction or criticism angered him, and when it came from his superiors at work, he'd quit. Rather late in his life he worked for the Job Corps for a couple of years, teaching art, but Richard Nixon defunded that program, and he was laid off.
He worked briefly for a movie rental company, and that summer we saw a different movie every night. The neighbors came over, and we'd set up chairs, or sometimes he'd show the movies in the back yard.
While my mother worked at low-paid clerical jobs, my father finally settled on a "home business" doing commercial art work that brought in very little money. My mother scrimped and scrounged and managed to hold us together with the help of her family. If we had not been renting our house from my grandparents, would we have been out on the street? I suspect that the rent went unpaid fairly often.
We owned a Victrola wind-up record player on which we played the old 78 rpm records - those that broke when you dropped them. Some nights, when my father had been on a bender, and came home in a mellow mood, rather than a sour mood, he'd play "By the Light of the Silvery Moon" all night into the morning. We'd fall asleep to the song and wake up to it. I've thought about the words of the song and wondered whom he was mooning about. I know that he and my mother were not well-suited to each other.
Even in the periods when he did not drink - once for eight years - he was mean. He had major psychological problems that he would not deal with, and he took his frustrations out on us. My two sisters and I were terrified of him. With his sharp wit and irony, he browbeat us and ridiculed us. If we seemed to be enjoying ourselves for a few minutes, he'd find a chore for us to do. With him around, there was little peace or rest to be had, and, since he "worked" out of our home, he was always around, except when he delivered his occasional work. The three of us breathed a heavy sigh of relief when we heard the door close behind him, because we'd enjoy an hour or two of respite.
One day, when I'd had enough from him, I told him that he acted like Hitler. He took off after me, but I was faster than he was, and I was out the door. I figured whatever he planned to do if he caught me, I was going to be outside, and he might have to do it in front of someone. He backed off, once I was outside. I never did that again. I think I touched a nerve. I'd like to say that I pricked his conscience with those words, and that our lives improved afterwards, but no, nothing changed.
He was merciless about table manners. No elbows out from the side while eating. Hold the knife and fork just so. No food in the mouth in sight. No noise while chewing. My middle sister had a habit of clinking the fork against her teeth, on occasion, and that was not to be. He was on her case constantly about that. We all grew up with impeccable table manners, but they came at a great cost.
Looking back, my sisters and I were grateful for the art, the music, the books, and the magazines which added a richness to our lives that mitigated, to a degree, the otherwise unfortunate situation we were in. That my father did not make the necessities of life a priority, drove my mother wild. It was a hell of a life, but thank God for the books and the music and the art.
So. There you have it. Alcoholism, family life in tatters, no money, depending on the kindness of family (not strangers), but music, art, books, magazines and impeccable table manners all in place. How Tennessee Williams is that?
Mimi--I'm often the first to post on your entries...please don't think I'm stalking you! I just get minor writer's block frequently (occupational hazard), and reading blogs for a few minutes helps me get back on track, for some reason...
ReplyDeleteMy father was the Absent Dad. He disappeared for the better part of my childhood after my parents divorced. My mother never tried to block access, and never, EVER said a bad word about him--but his entire life has been about "having fun" and taking the easiest road possible.
When he did show up, he was Peter Pan--the boy who never grew up. That's better than an abusive dad--but it still leaves scars.
To this day, my father has never met the only two grandchildren he will ever have. He was too busy running away from responsibility to realize that he was also leaving behind love and relationships that might sustain him throughout his life.
This is why I am so determined to ensure that my children retain a good relationship with their father, even though I cannot live with him anymore. I am 43 years old, and the pain of having a dad who didn't love me enough to be a part of my life will never fully heal.
I have made many mistakes in my life, but I chose the right father for my children. My children will know their own pain because of the divorce, but they will never know the pains of having a father who doesn't care---or parents who treat them as pawns in a war game.
Doxy, many is the time I would have wanted my father absent, but had he been out of my life, we would have missed the rich cultural heritage that he gave us, because my mother would not have provided that. As bad as our lives were, I have come to appreciate the gifts he handed on to us. Had he not been in our lives, we would have been the poorer for it.
ReplyDeleteMy father was something of a Peter Pan, too. He never grew up, and he treated us like a bullying older brother, rather than a nurturing father. He met my two older children once, when they were very young, but that was it.
Your children are blessed to have two loving parents, even though you are not together.
Mimi, I'm curious, did your dad try to make living as an independent working artist? What was his medium? Waht do you think of his work that remains in the family (if any)?
ReplyDeleteI have a neighbor whose grandmother was an oil painter in New England. Her work apparently has little market value today, but my neighbor has some magnificent portraits and landscapes, some on twelve-foot canvasses. The portraits are much in the style of Whistler.
Just curious. My wife paints, and we have a number of artist friends, and it can be a hard, hard life. It has its compensations--but most of our artists friends aren't raising children.
Mimi, I think it's true there's some connection between art, genius and madness. Sounds like your father had it.
ReplyDeleteIt's so painful to feel unloved by a parent, though. Your ability to appreciate the gifts he did give you make you the amazing person you are. Bless you.
Rick, what little money he made was from commercial art. We have a few of his pen and ink drawings, some hand-colored.
ReplyDeleteLong before I joined the Episcopal Church, and to my great surprise, a cousin of mine found a pen and ink drawing, by my father, of the second Episcopal cathedral building in New Orleans - a classical Greek temple style building. That building no longer exists, and the drawing now hangs in the hallway at the present cathedral complex. The senior warden of the cathedral was kind enough to take the framing off and make a high quality copy of the picture for me and my sisters. The copy turned out very well, because the original was in pen and ink.
Since my whole family was Roman Catholic, I have no idea how he came to do the picture. It was done in 1935 and taken from an older drawing. It's quite good, as are his other pictures, but I doubt there's any monetary value there either. I have the sense that he could have done much more with his serious art, but he tended to belittle it, and did not exercise his talent.
Pat, I think it's possible that he was a kind of mad genius. It's sad that he did not use his gifts more to the good. Judging from his conversational skills, I think he could have been a writer. He had no confidence in himself, which is often true of dictators.
ReplyDeleteMy half-sister once said of her father(my stepfather) that he wasn't a father, he was a sperm donor. Lordy, Lordy.
ReplyDeleteSusan, at one period in my life, I was ashamed to have his genes. But my sister reminded me that most of what she liked about herself - if indeed it was genetic - came from our father. I would have to say the same. Thank God, I seemed to have missed out on some of the really bad genes.
ReplyDeleteIt's a shame he left so little behind.
ReplyDeleteMy father-in-law was a photographer--weddings, commercial, aerial photography. But he also did some work strictly for his own satisfaction. Unhappily, when I first asked about it, he admitted he had destroyed it all when he retired; he didn't think it was that good.
Maybe it was and maybe it wasn't. But I would have liked to have seen it.
A friend of mine likes to say, "To some God gave talent. To the rest he gave self-confidence." I'm glad some of your dad's work survived his apparent refusal to value himself.
Mimi, my father's genius was preaching. He attended a Presbyterian school for 12 years, and when he was drunk, he would sit at the kitchen table and preach. Mom would make me sit and listen so that she could do the necessary things for the family. I hated it, and at other times, as you know, my father was verbally and emotionally abusive.
ReplyDeleteHowever, when I got to seminary I realized that I knew a tremendous amount of Bible: stories, commentary, interpretations - and not always in that Calivinist attitude of his upbringing.
Share Cropper, I think I'd rather sleep through hours of "By the Light of the Silvey Moon" than be preached to for hours. But, hey, now you know all about the Bible.
ReplyDeleteGrowing up Roman Catholic, I was culturally deprived because, way back then, we were not encouraged to read the Bible on our own. I've tried to make up for it, but it's not the same as growing up with it.
Grandmère Mimi,
ReplyDeleteMy former partner of 17 years is an alcholic, and though for years i prayed he'd stop drinking, the real problems started when my prayers were answered. Whew! A dry dunk can be cold & mean; they're also much harder to avoid than when they're soused.
The oddest thing for me is that since we're no longer together as a couple, we're pretty good friends. Go figure.
Oh, Scott, I know what you mean. My stepfather is to this day a dry drunk. Because, I think, he never actually would talk to anyone about what went on in his life, not wanting to tell anyone because he would be ashamed to admit that his parents had done anything wrong, he never has confronted the reasons he behaves in such an erratic manner. Now he is 78 and has emphesima(sp?) and his kids do things only out of duty, not love, because he was so horrible to them. Very distant except when he was whipping the boys, and really afraid, I think, of the girls.
ReplyDeleteScott, Susan, many is the time folks have told me that my father was the typical dry drunk.
ReplyDeleteMy father started off with AA but thought he was strong enough to go it alone, and he never dealt with his problems, nor did he ever take responsibility for what he did.