Time Marches On

My son the marine came home last night.

Gosh it is always good to see him.

For all of his problems, I’m still proud of the fact that he acknowledged the fact that he had problems, and he chose to go into the Marines of all places in order to become more mature. It hasn’t been an easy ride for him because of his ADHD – the impulsivity, his hard headedness, his tendency to drink, his temper…everything.

I’m his dad.

I love him more than I can begin to describe.

It’s probably due to the bond I forged with him when he was about two years old. You see, the marine was in an abusive situation…his biological father died when my son was an infant. He was murdered in a drug deal gone wrong. His biological mom placed him for adoption because she was not able to care for him. He was adopted by a family that Lovey and I knew.

That was a bad situation for a whole host of reasons.

To make a long and painful story short, when the marine was five, we were able to adopt him.

As far as he’s concerned, with all that history, I’m his dad and Lovey is his mom.

So, we have all been on an incredible journey with him. I sense that he is growing and changing. Finally the maturity appears to be beckoning.

And in September, he’s headed for Iraq.

I don’t feel good about his deployment there. I guess though that no parent ever feels good about a military deployment of one’s offspring during war. You just tolerate it.

So here I am, savoring every minute….every second….of being with my son.

On our way home from dinner last night, the Marine noticed that Lovey’s car was parked in the driveway of his grandma’s house. He was driving and asked, “Do you mind if we drop by?” I told him that was fine.

So, we descended on the O’Lovey’s house. The usual suspects were all gathered on the deck for dinner. The dentist was at his appointed place.

The marine greeted his mother.

He hasn’t seen her in at least six months. He just doesn’t desire to spend a lot of time with her. He doesn’t like some of the things she’s done. He says that he can’t get her to help him financially when he’s in a bind. She says she has no money.

The last time he asked her was two days ago.

As he was talking to her. She showed him her brand new iPhone. It wasn’t just an iPhone, but it was the most expensive iPhone – the 8 Gigabyte iPhone – the $600 iPhone – purchased by the woman who has no money.

In reading the Marine’s body language, I could tell it was bothering him. Lovey, of course, was oblivious to it.

As she is to most things that aren’t about her.

He invited her to lunch. The set up a time for today.

Then the marine turned and said, “Dad, it’s time to go.” So, I got up and we left.

In the car, the marine was furious.

“She can buy all manner of toys, but she can’t help her child. But, she expects you to do all that,” he hissed. “I’m not buying her lunch tomorrow.”

I said nothing.

We rode in silence a little ways. I turned and said, “You know. Your mother is vindicating me in a lot of what she has been doing since we separated.”

“How?” the marine asked.

“For the longest time, your mom blamed you kids for the house being a wreck. You all left. The wreck remained. I was the only family member remaining. So I was blamed for the wreck. I was accused of spending money and buying every CD and DVD ever made. I was accused of buying every piece of electronics I could get my hands on. It was my fault that we had terrible money problems. She blamed me for all these shortcomings…and then, for added measure, throw in the gay issued. She told all this to you kids. You all believed her.

She moved out in June of 2006. She came off my bank accounts in September of 2005. My house is and remains clean. It’s not junky. No checks have bounced since I’ve been the only one on the account.

Your mother now has four computers, an iPhone, a digital video projector, a big flat panel computer monitor, a composter, more clothes than she has room for, and shoes. The woman has shoes.

And she has no money.

Do you see why I feel so vindicated?”

The marine paused.

“You know, Dad. I wish the house had always looked this good when I was younger. I used to be ashamed…so ashamed of it.”

“I know, son.”

Like time, the car sped on...