We're Home Again

I had a moment with the kids at the Sporting KC game on Friday night when I realized I was present. There was a long rain delay at half-time and we ended up having the best time. I was dancing. They were making fun of me. Blake was hitting me with a towel and wrestling me. Riley was telling me about what she and her friend were snapchatting, while secretly taking video of Blake and me acting like fools.

The game itself was shit. We played fairly well without some of our best players, but one of the two shots DC took on goal all night found the back of the net, resulting in a 1-0 loss. The rain wasn’t ideal, but we were mostly covered until the long walk back to the car. It was during that miserable walk that Riley said, “I don’t know why I’m in such a good mood.”

I don’t want to take too much credit for that, but there was a sense I had that the three of us were home again. And part of that had to do with that realization during the game that I was present. My head wasn’t fucked over the break up like it was off and on last year. Or maybe worse than that, my head wasn’t fucked like it was repeatedly during the relationship. I could just be a dad and not be checking my phone or feeling shitty about this issue or that.

And the reason I think it dawned on me is because it was at a Sporting game with the kids (I think last May) when I was 100% sure I was fucked. Sarita was about to move out. I couldn’t afford the place we were living in by myself. My business typically sucks during the summer. So, I was not only dealing with the hurt of the break up, but trying to manage the emotions of extreme financial panic.

I remember at that game taking back control and deciding to move me and the kids into the cheapest two bedroom apartment I could find. I’d have to sleep in the living room, but it felt good to know my rent would be cut in half and I’d figure out a way to make it work. (And I ended up getting a miracle when my property management company pretty much handed me a 3 bedroom duplex with way more space than we could have gotten in an apartment for less than $700 a month. So lucky.)

But, the point was…I could get back to enjoying the game with the kids a year ago May and be partially checked back in without continuing to worry about money. One problem was solved. And that night went well, but, my god man...the unraveling of my brain that occurred those next few months was a nightmare.

I completely fucked up my trip with the kids to Seattle in August by letting myself get mindfucked over the Sarita stuff. I wasn’t present on that trip with the kids. I had my moments. And we had fun. But, I spent chunks of what should have been kid time worrying about shit that I should have just let go.

And I think that’s why Disney World was so fucking great this spring break. I was present for that trip. We had a blast. We were family. I think it’s especially painful to look back on the Seattle trip, because I vividly remember my dad being distracted or checked out or really just having this indifference towards me. I imagine he didn’t actually feel that way, but what matters is how it felt to me. And I never want my kids to feel like that.

And the times that they have…I can picture several times like that and each time it had to do with one of my failed relationships with human girls. And honestly, I know it’s possible, in theory, that a relationship would actually bring me closer to who I really am, make me a better dad and unfuck my mind instead of fucking it up. But, I really can’t picture it.

What I can picture is what I know/what I’ve experienced. And that’s been hollow promises and words that don’t line up with actions. I was just thinking about how in this last relationship, I was sure it was safe…it was home…it was real…and I had a friend. But, then you look back without the emotion that carried you through four years and instead you use reality and the facts as your lens and it’s just this gut-wrenching feeling that I was living in a god-damn mirage. Smoke. Mirrors. I was a real life Truman show. I was sure it was one thing. It was another. And it doesn’t exactly make you want to get back out there and try again.

But, I did. Ha! I got drunk one night and joined match dot com. Holy shit. I’ve had some bad ideas in the past, but fucking hell that might have been the worst. It’s just a shit-show of people saying insightful things like “I like to set goals and strive to achieve them.” Or the self-described "grammar freak" who was looking for someone with the same “principals”.

I got winked at by all the girls I would never have talked to. I was called “gorgeous” by one woman who couldn’t message me from her phone until she found her reading glasses. But, the best one by far was the lady whose profile picture was her in a low cut, short dress. She had a big smile on her face. Sounds good so far, right? Well…it would have been had the picture not been taken at the grave of her 10 month old dead baby, who died in 2003. That’s awful. For sure. But, my god woman…that’s probably not a great picture to use to attract dudes.

So, of course, because I have mental problems, I actually did go out on one Match date. And it was enough to make me retire from dating altogether. Nice girl. But, I could tell she was not the one when the ice from her first drink had fully melted while I was on drink number three.

But, the thing is…I do believe I need more time to heal. The depth of what happened last fall hasn’t fully sunk in. I got hurt bad man. Can’t catch your breath, lying in bed for hours bad. But, today I had another gauge that I’m making progress. I took the kids to IKEA. And we got some Swedish decorations for riley’s room. Again…I was there. I was in it…present…however you want to put it.

In contrast…last fall I took the kids to IKEA and we got them desks that I didn’t realize came in 10,000 pieces. I was not functioning last fall. And each time the kids came to my house they’d ask if I could put the desks together. And each time I said, “we’ll see”, which is Norwegian for “I’m going to end up in tears and in the fetal position in my room”. After several weeks I finally got the desks put together, but still just didn’t have the mental ability to process the hurt that I’d been through. Today at IKEA I was all about the kids…wanting them to pick out what they wanted, joking around about how much I hate Swedes and just being generally in it with them.

So, it was cool…these last few weeks…to have three different situations (Disney, a Sporting Game and IKEA) come up to help me realize how much progress I’ve made. Shutting out the voice who fucked up my head has been a big part of that. As long as she doesn’t say anything, my head has a chance to heal. I wanted things to end on a positive note…an apology…an appreciation/understanding of the hurt I’d been through, but the words that I got instead added to the pain, muddied the water and created more chaos.

And the home my kids deserve doesn’t have room for any of that. So, when Riley says, “I don’t know why I’m in a good mood”, I can say to myself, “maybe, in part, because you’ve got your dad back kiddo.” We’re home again. Having a nice house that we can’t afford isn’t our thing. We’re home when we’re together whether we're at IKEA or in our shitty duplex. And it’s a lot easier for us to be "at home" with each other when the father figure is smart enough to keep his fragile mind out of harm’s way. Here’s hoping that the next time I get lonely, I don't try to convince myself that the lady with infant graveside profile picture might just be my soul mate.