“I’m going to town. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
He put on his winter boots and coat, grabbed his keys and shut the door in his normal louder than necessary way. He starts his car and pulls out of the driveway.
My soul took a sigh of relief. I loved being left home alone. It was the only time I could fully relax and be myself and feel like a full person.
Just when I started to plan what snack I’ll have and what show I’ll watch, I hear the repeated spinning of his wheel snow.
Fuck.
Not only was my party with my self thwarted, something wasn’t going his way, which instantly pissed him off. He could not recognize the difference between what was causing his irritation and everyone else in his vicinity. And I was usually everyone.
The engine revved and the wheels spun and spun. It sounded just like his anger felt.
“Boy!”
I open the door.
“Yes dad?”
“Get out here and dig me out!”
He yelled it like I caused it.
As fast as I could, I got on my boots and hat and gloves and coat, took the snow shovel from porch and ran to his car, which he was still revving and spinning his wheels.
I always felt inadequate when I was helping him because whatever I thought would be helpful wasn’t good enough, fast enough, or pissed him off.
I started shoveling the snow around his back tire, clearing out what I hoped would be enough. I stood back and he tried but got no traction.
I went back and dug some more. I was a kid and the snow was heavy and I was doing my fucking best.
I stood back and he tried again, roaring the engine and spinning the wheels so loud, as if they were just being difficult and he would intimidate them into cooperation.
“God damn it get in there and clear it out!”
When he yelled in stressful situations like that, it felt like a two by four smacking my head. It felt physical.
As I dug more, I was praying would be enough while my anxiety built, anticipating the next blow.
He spun some more and still no traction.
“GOD DAMN IT!!”
He yelled. He really fucking yelled.
By now he didn’t even wait for me to back off, he kept revving and revving, rocking the car forward and back a little.
By now he had burrowed his tire through the snow, down to the pavement. The spinning was louder than ever. I could feel the heat and smell the burning of the tire. Right by my face. I can still smell it.
I could have easily slipped and gone right under the tire. I could have easily been killed.
I felt his yelling, the high pitch engine revving, the smell of the burning rubber on pavement, the rocking of the one ton car throughout my whole body. It felt like it was all holding my head and screaming it all right into my ear. Into my hear. Into my nervous system, where today it’s residue still twists in me when I hear loud noises.
Finally his brother came out from their mom’s house across the street. He pushed while I continued to dig and he was unstuck and drive off.
His brother went back across the street. I went inside and took off my boots, coat, hat, and gloves.
This was my fucking life.
He apologized after this one.
“I’m sorry I got so mad. Even though my brother pushed me out, your digging was most of the work.”
“That’s okay dad.”
To me, an apology is an expression of regret, but also a promise that best efforts would be taken so it wouldn’t happen again. With him, to be seduced by his apology was to be eventually sucker punched for letting my guard down.
His apologies didn’t mean shit to me because he never changed.