I went in to Social Work in my late twenties for a number of reasons: (A) I have always been a “helper” so it seemed like a logical choice (B) I wanted to figure out and gain control of the garbage in my head (C) I wanted my father to be proud of me.

During my early twenties I decided that I wanted a positive relationship with my father for it takes a lot of energy to constantly hate someone. It took sometime but eventually it grew to a point where my father became my dad and later on my best friend. The only area that was left I thought was for him to say that he was proud of me which in my warped perspective would eliminate all of the emotional damage that was caused during my childhood. Memories and flashbacks that announced to the world that I was worthless, dumb as a stump and would never accomplished anything were still running through my head taking chunks out of soul. So I figured if I went back to college and graduated with high marks he would take back all of what he had said to me earlier in my life.

The first year of college I took twelve courses and in eleven of them finished with a final grade of over ninety five percent with the last class being English were the mark was seventy nine percent as apparently my grammar skills sucked which is pretty evident through out this blog. Anyway my mom was saying over and over again on how proud she was that I was doing so well but my dad never said a word. The next year of schooling started up and my plan was the same to finish as high as I could so my father would say those words I needed him to say. Again all of my classes were finished with marks in the high nineties but again no word from my father.

During the last semester of college the first month was all sorts of small classes designed to get the student ready for the final placement. I soared through this period until the last week when a phone call would change my life. My mom called saying my dad was in the hospital and just diagnosed with terminal cancer and he had under six months to live. I made arrangements with my teachers then drove the hour and a half home to see my father in the hospital. My mom wanted to wait til my sister arrived then we would all go in together to tell my father that he was dying. The next day which was a Friday the three of us went in with the doctor to give my father the news which he responded to with anger and disbelief.

On the Saturday I spent time with my father where we basically talked about nothing at all and he was making comments that he would prove the doctors wrong and beat this cancer. The next day I went back in to see him and then needed to make my way back to school to finish the last week before placement. The drive back to my college town I was trying to figure out how I could complete the placement while at the same time be able to travel back to my hometown as much as possible to spend more time with my father.

My girlfriend and I were in the shower when I felt my heart break and immediately started to sob uncontrollably for what seemed like a long time. A minute after I stepped out of the shower the phone rang and it was my mom on the other end who said that my father had passed away ten minutes earlier.

The first person I called was my aunt and uncle for my uncle is a college professor in a different city so I wanted advice on what I was suppose to do about school. A few weeks after this call I looked back and realized that I was doing what I have always done which is push the bad stuff to the side of the road then barrel through it. Anyway the program coordinator of my course said to not worry about the few classes I would miss as they were basically nonessential and to go home to do what I had to do.

My fathers funeral was on a Saturday and then three days later I started my final placement. I through myself into this last part of my education finishing with a mark of 104 out of 105 which is apparently the highest mark in both my courses history and that of the placement. About a month later was graduation and when I received the official paper announcing this I realized that I did not want any part of it for the person I really wanted to be there wouldn’t be so I called up my new boss and specifically asked to work that day.

For a long time afterwords I would not even look at my diploma or final transcript for it meant nothing to me. My girlfriend who had become my wife a few months after school finished tried to get me to at least recognize what I accomplished in school and eventually I did. I graduated with a 3.996 grade point average and if it was done on percentages it worked out to a 97 but to me I still wanted to hear my father say that he was proud of me and take back what he had said in the decades that preceded it.

When I first became ill this was one of the situations that I looked at and finally came to the realization that the goal was never for my father to say what I wanted him to say but it was a way for me to finally be able to fight those words that haunted me for so very long. I was not trying to make my father proud but I was trying to prove him wrong.

People talk about all of the damage that physical abuse does but I will tell you this I would rather get beat with a baseball bat then endure the pain that comes with mental abuse. With a physical beating it is just a matter of time before the wounds heal but with mental and emotional abuse it stays with you long after the attack finally ended. Take care.

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2. An Odd Relationship
3. The Story In The Picture
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5. Sledding Don’t Tell Your Mother