CHARLIE: Dad
Jul. 19th, 2005 12:23 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsto: cplunder@southcrest.edu
from: stevenplunder@palomar.edu
subject: Dad
I've thought about writing this e-mail for a long time. Better part of the last ten years, in fact. It's hard to just sit down, and try to say all the things that need to be said without sending along a whole novels worth of words. Even that wouldn't be enough.
Charlie, I'm your dad, Stevie. Your friend Remy tracked me down and called me; said that he needed to tell me some things about you. At first I was mad. After ten years of thinking that your son was gone, some unknown with an accent as thick as soup calling up to tear up the scabs is not a call you welcome. I was angry that he had so casually thrown my life into turmoil and dropped your e-mail like it was a little thing. But that's not really true.
The truth is that I was scared, Charlie. Scared that if he was right in what he told me, then I had to face up to mistakes that cost us ten years in the making. I guess I'm not the most heroic figure to suddenly appear back from the blue, huh?
What I trying to say is that I'm sorry, Charlie. When everything happened, and when I never heard from you, it hurt less to accept that you hated me and didn't want to see me. That meant I could get on with my life, and only let the memories sneak up on my heart every so often. It was cowardly, Charlie, and selfish.
So how do you explain all of that to your son? I, well, I guess I'll start at the beginning. Maybe it will help things make sense.
Your mother was 17 when I met her, Charlie. She was working two jobs and trying to get her high school finished. See, her father was abusive, and she'd run away a couple of years before. She was a pretty amazing woman back then. The ambition and utter unwillingness to admit defeat. Well, it wasn't surprising that I fell for her hard. She'd just won a scholarship to law school, and I tagged along with her, starting my own history degree.
We didn't have much back then. She was completely poor, and my parents, your grandparents, didn't have a lot of money either. Both of us worked a couple of jobs, ate meals at the Hare Krishna's temple, all that stuff. What did it matter. We were young, in love, and all the stereotypes you could fit together.
And then you came along. I won't lie to you. You were a surprise to both of us. We didn't know how we were going to support a child along with the both of us. But Charlie, neither your mother or I ever thought about not keeping you. We didn't expect you, but that didn't mean we didn't want you.
I dropped out of Masters and went to work in my dad's shop, while Carolyn kept up with law school. I even joined the reserves, and my history degree put me in as a lieutenant in the armored cav (that's really big tanks). Officers make more money, and it all helped. Those years were tough, but we got by.
Unfortunately, that was about the time that the mess in the Gulf started, and I ended up sitting on a tank in the desert for the next twenty-one months. I remember sitting on the top, watching the flares going off in the distance, and thinking 'God, just get me the hell home'. Your dad isn't the bravest guy, Charlie. I've never been as scared in my life as during those months.
Your mother didn't have it any easier. I had my pay going to her, but alone with a son and school? She ended up having to take six months off to make ends meet, and graduated behind her class. I think that hurt her a lot, Charlie. That kind of hurt, it's hard not to let it spill over, and some of it splashed my way.
By the time I got back, she was already working for a firm in New York. I went back to school and took care of you. But something had... hardened in her. And I wasn't much better. It wasn't until years after I left that they finally found out I suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I started drinking; she spent longer and longer at work.
People drift apart, Charlie. Your mother and I had been through a lot, and sometimes that gets you to a place you can't get back from. I don't know what your mother told you, but it was my fault ultimately for the divorce. Your mother wanted someone that I was in no place to be, and she didn't understand why. When I met Sheila, she listened. She understood what your mother didn't. I don't know how to explain it without sounding like I'm looking for forgiveness or to seem like I'm not to blame.
The fact is that, yes, I did leave you and your mom, Charlie. It tore me apart to do it, but I knew that I couldn't be the person she needed me to be, and trying to would mean failing you too. When your mother brought everything up in her bid for sole custody, I guess I didn't understand how hurt she'd be, and how far she'd go to punish me. Since the divorce, due to the PTSD and my drinking, I was only permitted to see you on a limited basis, supervised, and not until I'd finished courses in substance abuse detox.
It was a dark time, Charlie. It took me over a year to finally kick the booze, and much longer to fully come to terms with my demons. But I wrote to you every week for that year. I never heard back. After I'd finally finished the requirements from the judge, Carolyn told me you didn't want to see me. I knew she'd tell you the worst things about me, and she had reason to, but to hear that... it hurt, and at the time, I just couldn't face it. When I got the offer to finished my doctorate on the west coast, I took it.
So, the truth is that I failed you, son. And you've got every reason to hate me. I was weak; too scared to face what I needed to, and its haunted me for ten years now. I wrote to you every couple of months, and every Christmas and birthday. I hoped you'd still at least read them. Remy tells me that you've never seen them, which means Carolyn is still punishing me.
Don't hate her either, son. I hurt her as bad as a person can be hurt, and unfortunately, you ended up in the scope of her anger. But I wanted to tell you that I didn't forget you. I never stopped wondering about you, thinking about the kind of man you were becoming. According to your friends, it's one to be proud of.
I don't want to add any more pain in your life, Charlie. I don't expect you to forgive me, and I don't think I can just barge back into your life and take you for a hot dog and a ball game like nothing had happened. God, I wish I could though.
I live out in Southern California, not far from San Diego. You can walk to the ocean from the backyard of our house. You've got two step-sisters, and both of them are terrors. You'd like them. I wrote a book that was on the best seller list for almost an entire lunch hour, and I teach at the local college.
This is who I am now, Charlie. If you never answer, or tell me to go to hell, I'll understand, and I don't blame you if you do. But if you're willing to just meet and maybe talk, decide if I'm worth being part of your life, all you need to do is e-mail me. I'll fly out at any time to see you.
No matter what you do, Charlie, just remember that I'm willing to be here for you. After ten years, it's the least that I owe you.
-Stevie Plunder
from: stevenplunder@palomar.edu
subject: Dad
I've thought about writing this e-mail for a long time. Better part of the last ten years, in fact. It's hard to just sit down, and try to say all the things that need to be said without sending along a whole novels worth of words. Even that wouldn't be enough.
Charlie, I'm your dad, Stevie. Your friend Remy tracked me down and called me; said that he needed to tell me some things about you. At first I was mad. After ten years of thinking that your son was gone, some unknown with an accent as thick as soup calling up to tear up the scabs is not a call you welcome. I was angry that he had so casually thrown my life into turmoil and dropped your e-mail like it was a little thing. But that's not really true.
The truth is that I was scared, Charlie. Scared that if he was right in what he told me, then I had to face up to mistakes that cost us ten years in the making. I guess I'm not the most heroic figure to suddenly appear back from the blue, huh?
What I trying to say is that I'm sorry, Charlie. When everything happened, and when I never heard from you, it hurt less to accept that you hated me and didn't want to see me. That meant I could get on with my life, and only let the memories sneak up on my heart every so often. It was cowardly, Charlie, and selfish.
So how do you explain all of that to your son? I, well, I guess I'll start at the beginning. Maybe it will help things make sense.
Your mother was 17 when I met her, Charlie. She was working two jobs and trying to get her high school finished. See, her father was abusive, and she'd run away a couple of years before. She was a pretty amazing woman back then. The ambition and utter unwillingness to admit defeat. Well, it wasn't surprising that I fell for her hard. She'd just won a scholarship to law school, and I tagged along with her, starting my own history degree.
We didn't have much back then. She was completely poor, and my parents, your grandparents, didn't have a lot of money either. Both of us worked a couple of jobs, ate meals at the Hare Krishna's temple, all that stuff. What did it matter. We were young, in love, and all the stereotypes you could fit together.
And then you came along. I won't lie to you. You were a surprise to both of us. We didn't know how we were going to support a child along with the both of us. But Charlie, neither your mother or I ever thought about not keeping you. We didn't expect you, but that didn't mean we didn't want you.
I dropped out of Masters and went to work in my dad's shop, while Carolyn kept up with law school. I even joined the reserves, and my history degree put me in as a lieutenant in the armored cav (that's really big tanks). Officers make more money, and it all helped. Those years were tough, but we got by.
Unfortunately, that was about the time that the mess in the Gulf started, and I ended up sitting on a tank in the desert for the next twenty-one months. I remember sitting on the top, watching the flares going off in the distance, and thinking 'God, just get me the hell home'. Your dad isn't the bravest guy, Charlie. I've never been as scared in my life as during those months.
Your mother didn't have it any easier. I had my pay going to her, but alone with a son and school? She ended up having to take six months off to make ends meet, and graduated behind her class. I think that hurt her a lot, Charlie. That kind of hurt, it's hard not to let it spill over, and some of it splashed my way.
By the time I got back, she was already working for a firm in New York. I went back to school and took care of you. But something had... hardened in her. And I wasn't much better. It wasn't until years after I left that they finally found out I suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I started drinking; she spent longer and longer at work.
People drift apart, Charlie. Your mother and I had been through a lot, and sometimes that gets you to a place you can't get back from. I don't know what your mother told you, but it was my fault ultimately for the divorce. Your mother wanted someone that I was in no place to be, and she didn't understand why. When I met Sheila, she listened. She understood what your mother didn't. I don't know how to explain it without sounding like I'm looking for forgiveness or to seem like I'm not to blame.
The fact is that, yes, I did leave you and your mom, Charlie. It tore me apart to do it, but I knew that I couldn't be the person she needed me to be, and trying to would mean failing you too. When your mother brought everything up in her bid for sole custody, I guess I didn't understand how hurt she'd be, and how far she'd go to punish me. Since the divorce, due to the PTSD and my drinking, I was only permitted to see you on a limited basis, supervised, and not until I'd finished courses in substance abuse detox.
It was a dark time, Charlie. It took me over a year to finally kick the booze, and much longer to fully come to terms with my demons. But I wrote to you every week for that year. I never heard back. After I'd finally finished the requirements from the judge, Carolyn told me you didn't want to see me. I knew she'd tell you the worst things about me, and she had reason to, but to hear that... it hurt, and at the time, I just couldn't face it. When I got the offer to finished my doctorate on the west coast, I took it.
So, the truth is that I failed you, son. And you've got every reason to hate me. I was weak; too scared to face what I needed to, and its haunted me for ten years now. I wrote to you every couple of months, and every Christmas and birthday. I hoped you'd still at least read them. Remy tells me that you've never seen them, which means Carolyn is still punishing me.
Don't hate her either, son. I hurt her as bad as a person can be hurt, and unfortunately, you ended up in the scope of her anger. But I wanted to tell you that I didn't forget you. I never stopped wondering about you, thinking about the kind of man you were becoming. According to your friends, it's one to be proud of.
I don't want to add any more pain in your life, Charlie. I don't expect you to forgive me, and I don't think I can just barge back into your life and take you for a hot dog and a ball game like nothing had happened. God, I wish I could though.
I live out in Southern California, not far from San Diego. You can walk to the ocean from the backyard of our house. You've got two step-sisters, and both of them are terrors. You'd like them. I wrote a book that was on the best seller list for almost an entire lunch hour, and I teach at the local college.
This is who I am now, Charlie. If you never answer, or tell me to go to hell, I'll understand, and I don't blame you if you do. But if you're willing to just meet and maybe talk, decide if I'm worth being part of your life, all you need to do is e-mail me. I'll fly out at any time to see you.
No matter what you do, Charlie, just remember that I'm willing to be here for you. After ten years, it's the least that I owe you.
-Stevie Plunder
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