Happy birthday Chickybabe.
Your grandfather is ageing. I could tell you that the only thing he truely wants is to see you and your sister before he passes.
Your father is ageing, I coud tell you that the only thing he truely wants is to see you and your sister before he passes.
You already know this from other grandparents.
I am sorry.
Happy birthday, my child.
After the divorce, I was financially strangled, predominately caused by Child Support on top of the maritial debts, so when the daughters and I were together, we did not venture out much. I bought a computer game, Roller Coaster Tycoon, and late at night both the girls and I played that game into the wee hours.
Some of my fondest memories after the divorce was of my youngest daughter sitting on my lap as she "moused" her way around an amusement park.
Roller Coast Tycoon turned 25 years of age last month.
I reinstalled the game, adjusted some of my settings and set about playing through the game again, recalling the nights of trying to explain to my children "how to" plan an amusement park.
The game lives with the memory of Bumbly Beach and my daughters.
A first fan recently asked "how will your children know they can contact you?"
A valid question. Estrained from me for years, they have been told information without opportunity for rebuttal, or correction. My hope is that they have better judgement than their mother.
Before we were married their mother and I were walking on a beach and a couple passed us in the other direction. It was her Father whom she had not seen for years. After preliminary conversation She was compelled to find out more, to discover if the stories that She was told by her Mother were true. When She reached out to her Father, then validated the versions, it was apparent that Her Mother had lied to her about her Father, for Her entire life.
Unable to live with the truth that She had been lied to all her life - by her Mother - she cut off all future contact with her Father.
History is not here for us to like but exists to teach us. To not recognise or consider that there might have been an alternative explanation, is to doom yourself to replicate history.
I should have recognized that moment.
I did not.
Today, I have no idea where my children are, who they are, or if they are alive.
Should they find their way here, the answer is yes, your Father will have conversations with you if you reach out, for of the two of us, I am the only one who has left the door open for you to find me.
Every four years, this date rolls around. A leaping year of activity.
I am some what fond of this date. A buddy of mine has a birthday, a couple I like have their anniversay, and a lady whom I once thought a lot of has a birthday - I think she would be 68 this year. We're finally clear of Christmas holidays and well into the working year.
A month ago I was in Australia and bar one day, even with Covid, it was pleasant. That one day - my last day, unpleasant for me not for what happened, but for what did not happened. One again, I probably let at least one person down.
That residue has carried over for the last 30 days and I am unable to shake the feeling that I have lost some footing. Again. Opportunity lost and who knows when they will want me to return to Australia again.
After a five year absence I have returned to Australia, via the most oblique route I could orchestrate. I had other reasons for part of the journey which on the first night was not a success, from my chair. I should have been...better.
The birds this morning were the cockatoos and the rainbow lorikeets. In California, all the birds are motley brown and have no voice. Here, each have their own unique voice, much like the people of Australia. Not surprising, I am having trouble with the Australian accent this trip that I've not had before.
I hear the words but do not comprehend the message.
I'm having to ask for the verbiage to be repeated second and third times.
I no longer speak the language of my home.
I am not even sure that there is a fit for me, here, anymore.
A counterpart - another father, wrote yesterday that it is 2499 days since he last saw his children. I feel sorry for the man, he has endured more than I ever did.
...and then I did the math.
This morning, Christmas day, it will be 5500 days since I last saw my children together. It was the last time I saw my youngest child, I saw my eldest child a couple of years later in circumstances where I thought that She would understand that there can be functionality after a divorce where both parents still work together for the benefit of their children.
I gave my eldest too much credit, I didn't comprehend the curse that had been placed upon her, how her grandmother had done to her mother, so her mother was now doing to her.
I looked at my own family also, how my grandparents, uncle and aunts, had done to my parents, and how my parents did with me. Turns out, the only one who was forthright with me about it, was the man at the center of it - my Father. I hadn't given my Father enough credit, and yet, I could fault him just as well. He did not tell me until I was in his position, of what would come.
2499 days have passed since Michael Brown last saw his children.
5500 days have passed since I last saw my youngest. Merry Christmas chickybabes. My Christmas wish for both of you is that I hope you are better than both your parents.
Going home.
I was once told you can never go home. You can never go back from whence you began. Early next year I will be returning to that which has haunted me since the day I left. But it is not home.
It's just the place that I report to others as home, when in fact, it's just the general area where I grew up. It has nothing of that which a home has. Any more.
Children. Parents. Christmas mornings waking with the family.
Stolen from me early in my life, I attempted to regather the pieces, but I didn't know how, I couldn't put it back together again. (A phrase borrowed from a First Fan.) I lost it a second time, and after that, I did the best I could.
I have found myself recently less at peace with what has happened and more at peace that it happened. I'm accountable for the wear and tear, and some of the breakages. But not the theft of the pieces.
