To Infinity and Beyond: A Story of Incredibly Bad Parenting

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When Dravin was a toddler all he wanted to do was play with his action figures.

I indulged him.

As a first time father, who was so poor as a child that I didn’t even have toys, I OVERindulged him.

I didn’t really have a childhood so I wanted to make sure his was amazing.

We didn’t have much money, but every spare penny went to buy him the little plastic beings he loved so much.

Once out of their boxes, they would find themselves in a world they could never have imagined.

They would have to adapt to insane circumstances or be blasted to imaginary smithereens.

Gene Simmons may have looked cool in his box, but his bass was no match for the laser power of Buzz Lightyear.

The T9 from Terminator was pretty powerful with his grenade launcher, but was no match for an entire village of vintage Smurfs, who would devastate Arnold due to sheer strength in numbers.

Lego people were created on the fly to do battle with viking ships sailing the beige carpet sea of his bedroom.

The adventure never ended…

But my patience did.

As much as I loved my son, my attention span for colliding tiny men into each other was about 15 minutes.

I would try to lure him with the promise of video games and fast food, but his dejected expression would cause me to plop back down on the carpet and pick up one of his Buzz Lightyears and say for the trillionth time, “To Infinity and Beyond” and then the wild rumpus would start again.

His beautiful smile would give me fuel for another 5 minutes of these childish antics, but my attention span quickly departed as my feet fell to sleep and my back began to ache.

I would stare off into space and imagine how fun it would be play my guitar or to read a book without pictures, then I would chastise myself for missing out on these precious moments.

“Be here now.” I would remind myself and then would have his over-sized Jessie the cowgirl doll lasso a My Lil Pony to the ground and yell “Ima tame that critter!!”

The adventure continued…

I used to hang out on my porch a lot in those days.

I would just go out there to take a break and play a few chords to get myself centered before going back inside to be Dad again.

My neighbor would always be sitting on his porch and we would do the whole “Hey..how you been?” routine while he sat there and smoked pot.

He would always offer me a hit.

I would always decline and play my guitar.

My father was a junkie, so being a dad, made me even more determined to keep clean.

I needed a clear head to be a parent.

Nothing was more important than that.

I mean I can’t be stoned when I have important daily activities like Action Figure Theater, Scooby Doo Marathon and staying up all night playing The Legend of Zelda – Ocarina of Time w/my 4 year old.

All of these activities required…”HOLY COW!!” I realized. “ALL OF THESE ACTIVITIES WOULD BE SO MUCH BETTER IF I WERE HIGH!!!”

So the next time I became bored with the action figure game I stepped out on the porch, said “Hey..how you been?” and waited for my neighbor’s offer.

After toking for a few minutes I returned back to the bedroom floor with renewed vigor and all new story-lines.

No longer was I dreading The Neverending Story being written in my son’s bedroom, but I was actually looking forward to it!!!

How had I been so preoccupied before?

There were countless stories waiting to be told here.

Murder, romance, espionage, deception.

I began to compose complex Shakespearian plots where no toy was safe and at any moment good could triumph or everyone could just as easily die.

For all of 10 seconds Dravin stared at me wondering “Where is my dad and why has he been replaced by a giant toddler who looks like my dad?” but then he just dove in and playtime would last for hours and wouldn’t stop until we were both doing the pee-pee dance on the floor.

No longer was I fantasizing about my next break.

Instead it would be Dravin who would be worn out and yawning.

“Can we eat ice cream and watch Scooby Doo?”

My reply was always the same “Sure thing little buddy!”

Scooby Doo made so much more sense now!!

We would pause frequently to have in depth discussions about  who the villain was and what their motivations were.

I felt the kind of true terror and fascination that only a child can experience simultaneously.

I saw through the eyes of my toddler.

Our minds melded.

We were the same.

Thanks to my neighbor’s wonderdrug I was now completely engrossed in the show, whereas previously I was only half-watching, thinking about bills I had to pay or some news story.

My little boy would fall asleep curled up in my arms and I would lie there exhausted but sober and think about what a horrible father I was and how I was no better than my own father, the junkie who stole my birthday money to score; the man who snorted our rent money and made us have to sleep in the car, homeless, on so many nights.

I lie there with tears in my eyes thinking about how I was a horrible person because I had to smoke pot to be a more attentive father.

I failed to see how I was any different than my own dad who would be so intoxicated that he would take a strap to me for something as trivial as breaking a saucer or dropping a fork.

All I wanted to do was be a good father and yet I was so much like my own.

But the next day I would get bored of playing action figures and I would visit my neighbor again.

A vicious cycle of marijuana, lassos and laser beams.

And it went on like this for a while, until I realized that I could create the same excitement without the pot, just by being completely attentive.

But I cannot fully dismiss the experiment.

This is the part where some would like me to say that I learned a valuable lesson about sobriety and that smoking pot and spending 12 hours a day playing with my toddler, while stoned much of the time was a horrible thing to do.

But I can’t really say that.

It opened me up to the idea that I could be a better dad if I just forgot all the adult stuff I carried around on my shoulders and just let myself be completely absorbed in what I was doing.

And because of that I am at peace with my decision.

Dravin recently asked me, almost as if he couldn’t believe it had really happened, “Do you remember how you used to just sit and play with my action figures with me all day?”

He looked befuddled.

I told him that I remembered.

“Didn’t you get bored?” he said.

I told him that because my parents never spent any time with me that I knew it was important to soak up all the time I could with he and his sister while they were still young enough to actually still want to hang around with me.

I told him that I always knew that those toddler years were fleeting and that even though it was hard to sit and play like that for hours that I knew it wouldn’t last very long and if I didn’t take advantage of it while I could that one day I would regret it and wish I had that time back.

I also told him about smoking pot with the neighbor and how that allowed me to be so into playing with the figures and forget about being an adult.

He laughed so hard he nearly cried.

Buckled over at the waist, he managed to say “Oh my god, I had the BEST childhood!!”

“Yeah, I did too.” I thought. “I finally had mine at the same time you were having yours.”

…….

Hey readers, I just want to thank you SO much for taking the time to read about these crazy adventures and I want to say that you can feel free to comment anything that you want here.

If you think that is horrible parenting go right ahead and speak your mind.

I certainly have battled with a lot of self-judgment because of it, so I totally understand anyone else who would judge me.

The point is that your comments are always welcome.

They help me to do this better.

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Walking Away

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I remember watching him walk down the walk to kindergarten.

As cliche as it is it seems like yesterday.

I kept my face together in case he turned around and when the door closed behind him I drove up and around the corner, pulled the car over and cried like I hadn’t cried in years.

What was this feeling?

Why was it so strong?

What do I do with myself now that my little buddy was off in the big bad world and I was alone?

Truthfully I wasn’t alone.

Chloe was six months old and she was strapped in the car seat crying too.

She probably just wanted a bottle but I pretended that she missed her brother like I did.

How did this happen?

How did I end up sitting on the side of the road in a old beat up Dodge Neon crying in symphony with my baby?

How did I end up being a single parent?

And how did I end up loving someone so much that being away from them for just a few hours made me feel like my soul had been torn out?

You are probably wondering that too.

Well let me tell you.

To accomplish the greatest achievement of my life, being a father, required me to make a series of terrible decisions.

We will cover that at a later time.

Back to the walking away…

So this morning I drop Dravin off at school and he walks up the path to the high-school and I feel overwhelmed with emotion.

All I see is my little Toy Story buddy walking up to kindergarten.

I keep my face strong yet again.

Not that I think he will turn back, but what if his classmates or their parents see me sitting in the car crying.

When you are a single dad in a conservative state you learn quickly not to draw attention to yourself.

So I drive up and around the corner and head home.

I do not burst into tears.

I talk to god.

I don’t know what I believe about god, but I talk to god a lot.

Pretty much all the time.
I tell god that I know that I have done my job and I know I should be happy that he has made it this far.
I tell god how grateful I am that he is still alive, because he doesn’t have to be you know.
People die everyday and somehow through some miracle, my little boy…my not so little boy…who ate a pot brownie at a party recently and told me about it…who still comes out of his room and hugs me once a day…who likes girls now…who has gotten so angry with me I am pretty sure he wanted to punch me…my little boy who has watched me make every mistake a first time parent could ever make and still loves me…somehow he is still alive.

So I tell god how grateful I am that he has made it this far and I thank god for that, because even though I am not sure that there even is a god, I AM sure that Dravin being alive is some sort of blessing that I cannot take full credit for.

I am still talking to god when I pull in the driveway and as I yell at the dogs to stop barking.

I put god on hold to look at Facebook and when I do I see my friend’s 19 year old son, who has been battling cancer with courage that is unimaginable to me, has passed away this morning.

And then I cry…

Like the first day of kindergarten all over again.