Such A Painful Phone Call

Had to call my son last night to tell him we could not get together today, because my goddamn truck screwed me again.

I love this truck. I really do. It came randomly into my life, I am not a truck guy, but it has served me well. 1997 Dodge Dakota pick-up with an 8 foot long bed. An 8 foot long bed.

Think about that. The standard bed is 6 feet. Mine is 8 feet and I don't even use it. I am not a truck guy. I don't haul lumber, I don't carry tools, in fact my tools have rusted. I don't pick up this, I don't transport that.

I just drive a truck.

But I dig it. I think mayhaps I believe it machos up my image. Who the hell knows. I have been living in NH too long.

Anyway, a month or so ago the truck started stalling on me. Start it up, foot off the gas, stall. I drove around with one foot on the gas, one on the brake. Eventually it wouldn't start at all. Had it towed to the best car guy in the world, he massaged it back to health.

Around 6 months ago my son suggested it would be cool if we spent some time together. Me and him. One on one.

He is a bartender, I am a retail employee, our schedules are weird. Figured we could make this happen.

Time slipped away, we talked about it from time to time, it didn't happen.

When he brought it up, I was thrilled. I don't use the word thrilled often but the reaction was genuine.

I worship my sons. I don't see enough of them, not even close, because I don't make the effort. One lives 25 minutes away, the other 45.

I am so wrapped up in my own personal pain, real or imagined, that I go to work, I limp home, I nurse and kill the pain.

I don't make the effort.

Finally, we had concrete plans to get together today.

Friday night, when I started my truck at work, it stalled. And stalled. One foot on the gas, one on the brake, to make it home.

Sunday I drove The Peace Mobile to work (enabling me to dig on Van Morrison, see below). Carol had to go out and do errands; the truck would not start.

I had to call my son last night to tell him I could not make it because I had to deal with the truck today.

It        broke            my                  heart.

Because as the words came out of mouth it sounded like I was making excuses. Like I was lying. 

Even though the words were the truth and the situation royally sucked. The timing. I cannot believe the timing.

I hunger to make a deeper connection with my sons, to see more of them, much more of them. To do simple, fun stuff with them.

John Mellencamp has a song from "No Better Than This" called "Easter Eve."

Here are some of the lyrics:

"Well me and my son of only fourteen, a finer young gentleman you've never seen, we went out walking on Easter Eve, just to pass some time together. Well he asked me some questions of things that I'd done, but I kept it good natured, we were just having fun."

That is what I am looking for. To just pass some time together. To just have some fun.

Somehow our relationship seems to have degenerated to Carol and I as parents summoning our sons to the house to congregate in the mandatory celebrations. This is the relationship I had with my parents and I resented it. The assumption of obligation.

So my heart is broken today. Genuinely broken. I should be laughing with my son in total honesty and trust. Instead I am wondering if we can afford a newer vehicle, worrying about work, worrying about money owed, wasting away the one day I have off, before serving 8 consecutive at Lompoc.

I have to believe he believes me. I have to believe he picks up on the vibe of how much I love him and how much my life is enriched when I am in his company. I have to believe both of my sons know this. And feel this.

I cannot survive otherwise.