The Coward of the County

“The Coward of the County” came on the radio today. Kenny Rogers was a staple on my parent’s tape deck when I was growing up, and I just so happened to be wearing my best KayRog shirt, so I smiled as I listened. It’s about a spineless kid who’s never stood up for himself. His dad died in prison when he was 10 years old. He lived by his dad’s final words, “Promise me, son, not to do the things I’ve done. Walk away from trouble if you can. It won’t mean you’re weak if you turn the other cheek. I hope you’re old enough to understand. Son, you don’t have to fight to be a man.”

Something about the song really got to me so I tried writing about it a bit to see if I could get to what got me emotional. Part of it was Tommy’s dad dying in prison when Tommy was still a boy. That fucked up life. I thought, “I can relate to that.” The story goes on and sees Tommy’s best girl get raped by the Gatlin boys, which turned out to be Tommy’s life changing moment.

“My dad told me to live one way, but right now I’ve got to do the opposite,” Tommy realized as he set out to take care of the Gatlin boys. When he fought his girlfriend’s tormentors, he let out “20 years of crawling” that was bottled up inside him. The Coward became a man by going against his father’s advice.

The whole story made me think of my own life. Growing up, the advice of my father was ever present in my mind. His religion was the way you should do life. But, like with Tommy, that way of life confined me. I was a coward. I didn’t speak for myself. Instead I repeated the words the church taught me. My voice is strong and meaningful, but I never really got a change to exercise it growing up.

And why was that? In part, because my dad, like Tommy’s, was in prison. He grew up helpless. His home life was shit, creating a prison for him in terms of what he could feel and what was possible. His mom confined him to the same depression and bullshit that she experienced. And like with Tommy’s dad, it’s pretty fucking hard to parent from prison.

But, I think that’s a common story. Fucked up people trying to parent, but not having the tools to be effective. Instead of standing up and taking on the Gatlin boys, many stay in prison, assuming they don’t have a choice.

I talked with my therapist about depression this week. It used to cripple me. I felt helpless and worthless. And I’m sure that’s how my grandma and dad felt. And I think the beauty of what my therapist has done for me is made me see that I’m fantastic. I don’t have to parent my kids from the same prison of depression that had been tradition in my family. I can speak up and take on the shit that has fucked me up. Like Tommy I don’t have to listen to my dad’s advice or the version of Christianity that I grew up with.

I love the line in the song that says, “Something always told me they were reading Tommy wrong.” That’s essentially what my therapist has given me. She believes in me in a way that no one ever has. I think to a certain extent, I’ve been typecast because of the way my dad or my ex wife told my story to other people. There’s just this surge of pride I just felt, knowing that I’m getting the chance to speak up for myself now.

Like Tommy, I’ve felt so helpless. I have to do things this way. That’s what my dad said. My therapist showed me a different way. One of the things she talked about this week was a kid’s need for unconditional love. My parents love always felt conditional to me. And I can see why. When you battle depression like my dad did or try to live out perfectionism like my mom did, you really can’t win. And when you’re the product of those people it’s easy to just accept defeat.

I didn’t feel loveable. I didn’t feel like I should be proud of myself. Which I’m pretty sure is how my mom and dad felt growing up. They could feel good if they did good, but all the real shit, the deepest pain, was avoided. That’s not it.

My Tommy moment came when my therapist gave me grace when my parent’s religion conditioned me to believe that I should be punished. There’s a better life for me now. I’m not in prison. I don’t have to accept a life where I only use part of my heart and have to compartmentalize the scary shit. I can take it all on. It’s fucking hard, but I want to give my kids something good.

Tonight, my daughter told me that she missed me last night, because her mom hurt her feelings. She said she got out of bed when she wasn’t supposed to and she got yelled at. I asked her if she was able to tell her mom that she got her feelings hurt. She said she did and her mom said she was sorry. I made sure Riley knew that she could tell me anything. When I hurt her feelings, I want her to know she can let me know, so that we can talk about it.

It’s the opposite of the helpless feeling I grew up with. You didn’t take on my dad. You didn’t express frustration about things you thought were unfair. It took until well into adulthood for me to realize that I can stand up for myself. I’m glad my kids are aware that it’s okay to get their emotions out. I hope they find their voices a lot sooner than I did.

The Coward of the County father tells his son, “Son, my life is over, but yours has just begun.” But, telling Tommy to do things a certain way in order to stay out of prison turned out to be bad advice. Tommy needed to find his own way and think for himself. Me too man. I don’t want to spend any more time in the family prison’s of shame and depression. And I want my kids to be free of that to. I had to lose my life to find it. But, man it’s so cool to me that my life has begun again and my kids get a dad who loves them always. They can see that they don't have to live in the prison that I grew up in. Yeah I had to get kicked out of the house and made to look like a horrible sinner. But, ya know what? I am. And it’s okay. I’m loved anyway.