Mooney's Class
Edward Mooney, Jr.
Antelope Valley Press
September 5, 2005

Title:  Humpty Dumpty and my Dad.

Decades ago I saw myself as someone who understood relationships.  As I've
walked, crawled, run or muddled through each of the years of my life, I've
discovered that I still have a massive amount to learn about how humans
interact with each other.

As a child I believed that mommy and daddy loved each other, and, most
importantly, they loved me.  As a teen I believed that if I'm nice to
people, they'll treat me well.

This view of the world worked - until my father became a raging, abusive
alcoholic.  This shook my foundation; it wasn't supposed to happen.  Dad was
my hero who took me to Red Sox-Angels games, but his drinking and hitting
shattered my world of growing up.

As I moved into my twenties we drifted further apart.  I lost my wife at 29;
I became jaded.  Life was tough, I decided at that point, and relationships
were temporary, fleeting moments in this Earthly existence.  After all, my
employer, a man I respected deeply, advised me to throw myself into my work
and turn from the pain of feeling for others.

It seems this is the way of our lives - disposable relationships.  Work,
money and status are the priorities - and our substitute for lost
relationships.  Messages from many parts of our society say that if a
relationship becomes troublesome just divorce it, fire it, abandon it or
forget it.  Notice I wrote "it", not he or she.  We objectify relationships.
It's easier that way - we don't have to feel.

What happened with my Dad would surely qualify under this category, and for
years I maintained a tenuous, distant "Christmas card" contact.  Eighteen
years ago today I received a cryptic message on my answering machine from
him.  He wanted to have lunch with me.  You can't imagine the confusion and
fear this stirred up.  I went through my twenties seeing little of him.
What could this mean?

Then it dawned on me - September 5th is my parents' wedding anniversary.
Maybe it had something to do with that.  I called him and agreed to meet at
a local restaurant in three days.

After we were seated, and the necessary chitchat was over, he pulled an
aged, yellowed envelope from his pocket, then removed the papers inside.  It
looked familiar.

"I found this - a letter you wrote a long time ago."  His hands were
shaking.  As I saw the handwriting a faint memory awakened within me.

"I remember," I said.

"You wrote that someday you wanted to talk about, uhh." His voice trailed
off.  I scrambled to find kind, caring words to describe the horror of long
ago.

"What happened when I was a teenager?" I whispered.  My father nodded.

In hushed tones I described the pain I had to deal with and how the memories
of the abuse wouldn't fade.  He looked down into his ginger ale.  I noticed
it wasn't vodka.

"I feel very bad about all that," he whispered.  I described one
particularly violent episode in which he ended up in the emergency room -
and how guilty I felt for defending myself that night.  What he said next
startled me.

"I don't remember.  I don't think you're lying, Ed.  I just don't remember.
The seventies are all a blur for me.  I was always drunk."  He looked
straight at me as a tear rolled down his cheek.

I realized he couldn't just forget this relationship.  Neither could I.  I've come to see that none of us can truly walk away from someone we love. Love is forever - it can't be switched on or off at will.

From that day on he made me see that I have much to learn about
relationships.  Sadly, we Americans don't do forgiveness very well.

Since that day I've discovered that what my father gave me is more rare than
gold or platinum.  Most abuse-broken relationships, perhaps 97%, are lost
forever, never to be put back together.  Maybe this is what Humpty Dumpty
was about.

As he lay on his deathbed last year, we were able to hug, say "I love you",
and just spend time together, knowing all was clean between us.  Perfect?
No.  But he redefined relationships for me.

He's my hero again.  Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad.  I wish I could buy you
dinner tonight.

Thought for the Week:   "Whatever happened back then, I hope our love can
overcome it."  - Edward Mooney, Sr., 1928-2004  (It did, Dad.)

Edward Mooney, Jr., of Palmdale, is a teacher at Quartz Hill High School and
the author of the novels "The Pearls of the Stone Man" and "The Journey of
the Stone Man".