Sinday

My profound need to isolate is offset sightly by some civilizing influences. But I do tend to isolate.

If my father knew the full degree of my aversion to contact with him, he would kill himself. That is my honest opinion. If my son felt that way toward me, it would devastate me. The difference of course is that I am honorable, as far as he will ever have cause to know. Secrets? By definition, we do not discuss my secrets. But only God can judge my heart. As for actions, my father has never had a relationship he has not betrayed -- no wife, no son, if any friends, no friend.

It was arranged for Sunday at 2:30, the family get-together. What a travesty. I said I'd go if one or any of my brothers would. But what can that old man possibly be thinking. He sends me his insane abusive letters, and then appears to forget about it. Neat trick. But I've really had it. My lifelong pattern has been to comply and just shut up. All I could ever have done would be to contradict his errors, and where's the point in correcting someone who is incapable of learning? Like a dog that's incapable of being house-trained. Not cut out to be a pet. Yard dog.

But one day, I maintained, was insufficient notice. I reserve Sundays for things that are not toxic. A day of cleansing and rest. So I have given myself a slight reprieve. Only one brother is willing to go. The needy one. The other, rightly, refuses to have contact with someone who demonstrates an intractable inability to hide his contempt for a man's wife. I'm told that the phone call last night did not go well. Incapable of understanding the insult. Well. Speaking for homosexual pedophiles everywhere, I can relate.

What, do I have to fake my death? Leave me the fuck alone, psycho.

An attitude hard to resolve with Christianity. God will have to overlook my hard heart. But for all God's forgiveness, he provides for damnation. The word means lost. Let him find grace. I have shown mercy by keeping my mouth shut.

The pattern is always the same. Those of his sons who can be gathered, alone with him in the vast echoing hollow of his home. He does all the talking. I don't know. Do you have any suggestions? I'll be very good, like him, at pointing out why solutions won't work. None possible. Engage in an honest exchange of ideas? That's called an argument. No dissent allowed. Remain silent? I'll be silent at his funeral. Unload? -- some digestibly small part of the vitriol, bile and rancor stored up in my soul? What's the point? Just bring on an earlier funeral, or, at best, poison his life just that much more. Better for him to be insane and ignorant, than to have his eyes open to the emotional Bataan death march of his past.

He didn't do it on purpose, stifle all the small souls around him. But if he had been a drinker, he would have beaten us to death. As it was, he wasn't violent, physically, except with prior announcement. "Go get the belt." A blessing, truly. Should we be thankful for evil that does not overtake us? Sadly, yes.

Merry Xmas.

J