My son is perfect. I have not seen him in two years, and I do not know him, but I know he is perfect. I was there the day he was born. He was perfect then. He was perfect a year after that, and all the years following it.
My two years absence are by no means his fault for my failure as a father, nor his as a son. All of it is my fault.
And he is perfect!
The only excuse – not that there really is ever a good one – was my sickness kept me from wanting to see him. I did not want my own son being around someone like me. I still don’t. And never will. Me and all the other guys in the sober house I live in may be better off now than we have been in awhile, but we are a far cry away from people I would want my boy to be associated with.
It is not an easy thing to admit to one’s self. In fact, a great many people do not come to that hard conclusion they are not a fit parents. It takes other family members, even the Court System, to punch the reality into their faces, and even then the blow sometimes does not reach the brain.
When I think about seeing my son I get a feeling of wanting to detach. I do not want to confuse him… I really do not want to be an on-again-off-again dad. Lack of continuity can be discouraging to anybody. I sure as hell do not want to be a Dead Broke Dad, which I am, but things are in motion to fix that.
Do I just pay Child Support? Not see him? Wish for the best…? Swallow the bitter pill reality that I messed up?
They say it is never too late. Whoever the hell THEY are. But I know, if I were to see him, it would be for the selfish reason of ME wanting to see HIM!
Maybe I should give you, The Readers, some more background.
First: I was never going to write about my boy. Part of it is a protection thing. Kind of like I will never put the name of my ex-wife into print. Never put my son’s name into print.
Second: I always felt I was far too selfish ever to be the type to be a good parent.
Do I love my son?
Can I take care of him the way he needs to be cared for? Hell no. He deserves the whole world caring for him, making sure he does not feel the slightest prick of pain, or the emotional let-down of defeat… I want him happy… always happy.
My son is Autistic.
I dropped out of his life at an early age. I wonder, at times, if he even remembers me.
I talked with someone that told me he may not have “memories” of me in a traditional sense, or in the way most people have recollections. But he might remember my smell, my touch, my presence… being Autistic, he will remember things like that.
I hold onto what I can. I see the pictures sent to me.
Maybe this Christmas I will see him…?
Maybe the next…