Defining Life Moment #1

I was reading Becky's site today and she stole and idea from Janet, who stole it from, well you get the idea. The reality of it is the idea originated with Charlie on Lost. I think it is very tough to boil your life down to five defining moments, but I will give it a try. Since I don't want to write a book, I will post them one at a time.

If I told you that my dad and I have the great relationship we have today because he hit me once with his fist, would you believe me? It is true, my first defining life moment is the fight with my dad.

As I have written many times, my “dad” is actually my stepdad. He is the only father I have ever really known and I have always thought of him as my dad. That is not to say that our relationship has always been great. I am sure this is the case with most kids and their parents, but I think it can especially be true between kids and step parents

I don’t have many memories of my childhood, at least none I choose to remember. But the fight with my dad is very vivid. It was a crucial turning point in our relationship and in my life. It happened one morning during the summer in my junior year of high school. I was sixteen, I was always a year younger than everyone else, and had done something teenager like the night before. I had told my parents that, after I got off work, some of my friends and I were going to the drive-in movie, back when they had drive-in movies. In reality, I was going to a party at a friend’s house. Well, I ended up in a bad quarter’s game and got so drunk that I passed out and never called home. This was not the first time I did not come home at night, but it was the first time my parents had no idea where I was.

I remember waking up in the morning and thinking I was in big trouble. My friend told me that my parents had called around 4 AM looking for me. They had apparently been frantically calling everyone I knew. I didn’t go home right away as I was trying to avoid the inevitable. When I got home later that morning, only my dad was home. I walked into the dining room and he met me there. I was greeted with a fist to the face. And then a lot of yelling about how I had worried my mother to death and I better never do that again.

Now this wasn’t the first time my dad had ever hit me. It was the first time he had ever hit me with a fist. I know he didn’t hit me as hard as he could, but it was still shocking and to be honest, really pissed me off. I remember standing there with my fists clenched ready to throw down.

As I stood there, angry, I looked into his eyes. He was still yelling, but I wasn’t really listening. You see, for the first time ever, I saw something in his eyes that I had never really seen. I saw love. I saw his love for me. I saw that it wasn’t only me worrying my mother that he was yelling about. I saw the same worry in his eyes, in his face.

Our relationship had been very rocky since I was about 8. This was maybe the first time since I was a child that I didn’t just see my dad as an angry bastard. I had to do something stupid and he needed to get my attention before I could see that despite all of his anger and all the problems we had, that he loved me.

He had stopped talking and we stood there looking at each other. He saw that I had been ready to hit him. I think he was waiting to see what I would do next. I think he also knew this was a defining moment in our relationship. I unclenched my fists. He didn’t say anything, he just hugged me.

It took some years after that for us to really grow to the relationship we have today, but I always think back to that one moment as the turning point for us.