Dead Beat Dad Really?

At the start of my adult life, I joined the military. I was eager about this as I had qualified for West Point, even though I was from the streets of Philadelphia. However, during Basic Training, I found out that a young woman I had a one-night stand with had conceived. Accepting my responsibility, I informed the military about the oncoming child. Taking care of all paperwork involved, and providing my own parents parental rights while I was in initial training, I was all in on being a father of my child.

The penalty involved in accepting my child I was disqualified from West Point, and it made clear I fully intended to be a prominent feature in the child's life. My parents was able to visit my daughter at the hospital just after she was born. The mother, had decided that she did not want her daughter raised by a warmonger. So on a weekend shortly after my daughter was born, the mother took her out of the hospital and disappeared. The daughter in question was raised by distant family of the mother, who chose to live off-grid as a member of the Hare Krishna.

So losing my daughter and the West Point path simply devastated me. In fact, it was a deciding factor in my not continuing in the military. At that point I my life as a civilian involved going to college and assorted educational choices. However not long after those choices I was re-activated for Desert Shield and subsequent activities. I, of course, survived and thrived after these moments in my life. But the search for my daughter's Mother continued.

As I was developing my IT career, at Bell of Pennsylvania, I met a wonderful young lady with whom I eventually became engaged. Sadly, she chose to engage in some infidelity at one point that destroyed my trust. The relationship simply could not continue however conception had happened and we were bound together by blood. When my next daughter was born I was there at the hospital when it happened.  At that time, we discovered another Desert Shield trauma. My chromosomes were damaged and the daughter was born with a life threatening birth defect. Several surgeries later, neural tube defect was adjusted for and her life began. The first 12 days of her life I was with her, worrying and sweating through each surgery and procedure, feeling tremendously guilt as it was my war service that damaged me. The full extent of this was not yet fully known however it does not take much for guilt to be planted and grow. That being said, I fully supported my daughter. Every chance I got I spent time with my daughter.

My career was starting to bloom and my life was unfolding in delightful ways. Not long after she was born, I was able to a friend's house. I also had some success within the relationship realm. Much to the dismay of Amanda's mother, I got married. Unbeknown to me, to a former disliked high school aquaitance. After the marriage, Amanda's mother officially took me to court for child support. It was a bit of ongoing spitefullness between the two ladies, but I didn't care. The court accepted my support records and simply decided that what I had chosen to provide my daughter was sufficient. It also refused the "no visitation" motion submitted by the mother. So I was able to take my daughter two weekends per month and one month per year to my house with my current wife.

Sadly, my wife also concieved not long after the visitations started. Sadly because this third daughter was also born with a Nueral Tube Defect. This repetition of condition signified that I was suffering one of the identified post_Desert War syndromes: Damaged chromosomes. Essentially any child concieved by me since that time WILL be born with a life threatening condition. Jessica, did not live long enough to know or be known. This not only destroyed Kathy mental state, but made me the culprit of her pain. Her response to this was a hyper level of infidelity that she committed. I accepted that pain of her actions and tried to continue the marriage even though it had happened, but she eventually left me realizing that I was punishing myself trying to work out my guilt involved. She loved me enough to leave me, stopping me from letting myself be tormented.

During all of  this, my life with Amanda continued and my career continued to grow. After my marriage disentegrated, I accepted work that took me to California. Again, a good choice for me as it was a few years before the dot.com bursting. The career exploded to the point I was living out there and was discussing long distance visitation rights with Amanda's mother. It was at that point I was informed that Amanda had finally succumbed to her birth condition like Jessica did. Being so far away, I had no means or desire to double check. Another daughter lost, becuase of me "the warmonger". 

I simply lost myself in the bottle for several years. No one pointed out that the "child support" was no longer being paid to the City of Philadelphia, per court oder.  Imagine my surprise to decades later find out that Amanda had lived. But by causing me to believe she did not, visitation did not happen ever again. One lie and I was essentially divorced from my daughter. No fuss, no muss, I was deleted.

When I moved back to Philadelphia, my career was no more. Alcohol use can cause those things to implode. 

I am not an alcholic, my usage was fully by choice. Not dependency.

I am married, again, but to a person worth my life. Not at the cost of it, but enhancing my life.

It has been more than two decades in this marriage and I am not just at peace, but I am happy.

The reason for this personal history monologue was recently that first daughter of mine lashed out at me publicly upon social media with the accusation of being a Dead Beat Dad. From her perspective, this is very true as my family did not know her, locate her, until she was a fully formed adult in college. Furthermore, my brain injury truly interupted the growth and development of the new "father/daughter" relationship that formed. Living distantly did not help but almost losing my life from a traumatic brain injury really inserted a powerful road block. I had not let her know much of this dramatic parental life fate has bequeathed me. So, I angered her and recieved her under educated wrath.

I can only hope that this lets her know she mislabeled me. The correct three words, yes! However in a very misguided and erroneous sequence. I am not a Dead Beat Dad.

I am a Beat Dead Dad.

First Step to Honor the Anthem

See there has been much debate regarding the activities of some Athletes (Celebrities) regarding when the Anthem is played at sporting events. The American public is outraged at these activities and I hear that some of the sports owners have created punitive measures if such activities are continued.

This outrage is wrong as it denies the true gesture of respect from these individuals. It further denies them the true reward & value of being an American.

See, the first step to honor the anthem is to STAND. These celebrities do stand. They stand and then, and only then, take a stance of protest. They do not just keep sitting there. They do not gesture in any way but especially in any vulgar way. They just kneel in protest.

They Stand! Repeat after me, they Stand!

The Americanism being denied them is freedom. This is a country born of protest. Some whackadoodle across the ocean acted in some reprehensible ways and we protested. Our protests met with hostile responses and thus the Revolutionary war was a result. The birth of this country was about Freedom. Freedom to make good, and bad, choices.

So here we are a proud bunch of citizens denying other citizens the freedom to protest of which such action was a parent to this country. I do not find such actions antagonizing to my American pride. In fact, I choose the opposite. Whenever someone engages in such polite honorable protest I cheer.

I cheer for them exercising their God given rights to choose. I cheer them living in a country that grants them the freedom to protest the country itself. I cheer for their bravery and let's not lie about this: Doing this is not for the faint of heart.

I cheer for them engaging in freedoms that I sweated and bled to protect. I served, I served at war, and I took an oath to defend this country from its enemies. Foreign or domestic, ones that is. So when I see any person in America trying to deny these celebrities the right to protest, I have to ask are those persons a domestic enemy of the state or do they simply just don't get what being an American means. I settle on blaming our education system as granting such persons the title of "enemy of the state" grants them more honor they have earned. 

However, in closing you, the reader, have every right * freedom to protest their protest. But please return their protest with the some honor and respect with which they gave their protest for us to complain about. After all, fair is fair.

Found out what is wrong with me

It's not incurable but not painlessly solved. I suffer from P.T.S.D.. A VFW friend noticed something about me, pulled me aside, and asked a simple question... the answer of which opened up this unfortunate can of worms that is my life.

"Are you scared?"

Apparently he finally realized that while I act appropriately there is almost no hesitation from action on my part. A hyper state of alert, medically called anxiety, is a common symptom of P.T.S.D.. That may explain why there are triggers in the world that can send me back to Desert Shield in a flashback.

Suddenly I am there listening to Patriot missiles dealing with Scud missiles. In that moment I panic for two reasons: I can't find my gas mask which means I will shortly be dead and I have no idea where the debris from those missiles will fall potentially crushing me or trapping me in the building.

These reasons are highly likely to occur in that environment I was in and I was not momentarily in such an environment. For several weeks, months even, this was what was happening 8 hours a night. When we should have been resting and sleeping we were under that attack, each and every night for 8 hours at a time. You could not comfortably sleep in M.O.P.P. 4 chemical protective gear. (Google MOPP 4, look at the pictures) You can safely pass out, if your lucky, in that mode and gain some rest for the next day's physical/mental requirements.

The bad thing about P.T.S.D. is people have such bad ideas about it. It is the traumatic events you must endure to continue living. That is, I think, a key aspect of the condition: to continue living. To succeed at that there are awful things each of us must face and they can, not will, leave their mark on you. Physically and/or mentally that event will.

In my case, I have not left "fight or flight" mode for a number of decades. This has led to flashbacks, regular nightmares, and constant knee jerk reactions. The VA has become aware of this problem and are willing to assist me in resolving this with me. My old coping mechanisms don't quite work anymore due to the civilian brain injury I suffered, another continue living: event that has left marks. So I will have to let them try to teach me other mechanisms, or medications, to help me with my hyper alert state.

Family Communicating or the Lack Thereof

Before my accident I was motivated to get my siblings to use Skype. This was back before smart phones & tablets were Skype capable. However after Microsoft took over Skype it has mostly become a marketing banner for us non-premium subscribers so I have left Skype.

I've switched to another Instant Messaging & Video application called Discord. Such applications I believe help those of us separated by distance from family members, immediate and extended, to stay connected with each other. Not just connected mind you but more informed, advised, and participating in each others lives. The recent family gathering for my father's funeral helped bring this bad situation once again to my eyes.

These days there isn't a device that is not Skype capable if that is how this connection must happen. Discord is PC and device compliant as well. I love the PC version for reasons I'll happily talk/type about in Discord.

However I put this to all of you, my family and friends, do you want to be connected with me? Do you want the benefit of my experience and/or knowledge at your beck and call? Would you like to help me become, again, a worthwhile individual?

Then Discord up and let us see if we can remove any discord that distance has allowed to creep into our relationships. Message me your Discord ID#, or ask for mine, and lets cure the ailment distance causes.

Herein lies what I currently find offensive

Fellow members of "my" organization has consistently complained about a few of us who attend not in uniform. Being tall and bulky I stand out. So the organization bought us all what we needed as gifts. Mine was for a couple of years of service not just because I was out of uniform.

So my uniform showed up and I was happy until I looked it over, then I got angry. I hate any thing, person, or group that limits my options. I define who I am by my actions, I'll rage against the machine that pre-defines me in any way, shape, or form.

To safely explain, I now have a t-shirt that I "should" wear for all meetings. This t-shirt is in the organizations colors, has the organizations name boldly printed on it, (so far so good right?) and has my current job title on it. CURRENT!!!

See, volunteer would be fair - janitorial volunteer is not. By placing "janitorial volunteer" upon it does this mean I can only be a janitor? Or if someone else rises to that position should I give them my "gift", oops, t-shirt.

And putting job title on the t-shirt is almost always a personal choice, one people make for themselves. Someone else made this decision for me, and just me!. They chose to pay a little extra for this to happen but only for me of the group so lucky to receive such a gift.

Now I'd like to speak up but am I being whiney?

Of course I don't think so, I'm offended that this happened. I feel it's a gesture of disrespect as I held a much more significant job than janitor let me tell you. Just because I stepped down to janitor, it does need to happen!, doesn't mean that is all I am now, all I've contributed, or all I may contribute from now on.

And therein lies what I find offensive.

I have a story to share with two topics.

The first topic dominates the story but is not the primary story that is being told. It just creates the situation for a bunch of young men to live through. And they did live through it, continued on to ripe ages, and inspired some of those around them.

The Vietnam War happened, there are many opinions that can be expressed (some of them my own as well), but the simplest statement is: It happened. It required more personnel than was currently available, or motivated to be available, so the Selective Service was activated and many people were drafted to serve.

This greatly effected 3 young men. Now specific details are not available to me nor do they really matter. What day someone got their draft notice is not exactly relevant to this story. What is relevant was that 3 brothers served during that time period and the choices made from that complicated scenario is the point of this story.

The oldest brother went first and to the honorable U.S.M.C.. Which was a damn fine choice because I can only describe him, yes I know him intimately, as a warrior, a never ending warrior ready for anything life threw at him. Made him difficult to live with, yes, but made him something of an Idol to me. So much so I followed his example later on in my own life.

He went to Vietnam and survived. That was not easy for new troops! What people don't get is no amount of training, NONE, can prepare you for that moment. That moment when combat starts and people start dying around you. Usually in gruesome ways with unpleasant noises. Some of them you know and like, others you have no idea and maybe even hate as those are the enemy. So novice troops have a high casualty rate due to lack of experience. He successfully transformed from a novice to a living warrior.

When his service time was coming to an end, he was eager to go home and stop being attacked, when he found out that his younger brothers was drafted. He choose to be an impediment to his brothers being assigned in Vietnam, as novice troops!, by staying in Vietnam until their enlistments were completed. So his service lasted many years much to the dismay of his family and, more importantly, to his brothers. The one brother completed his time in the Army but the younger brother was still enlisted in the Marines.

To remove the motivation for his older brother to keep in Vietnam the younger brother made himself a problem child. Problem children are quickly dealt with in many ways but the leaders of that time took the easiest route to address that behavior: Misconduct Discharge.

When that happened, the oldest brother came home and the family renewed their intense bond. So much so at several points of their later lives these brothers lived with each other even though wives and children were involved.

The example set by the older brother inspired me to do something similar when I was called upon for Desert Shield/Storm. I had been out of the military for almost a year when that started and I got a phone call from the Army. "Would you be willing to come back?" I was asked and immediately I thought of my brother who was serving as an Infantryman at that exact time. "Yes!" was the answer that I said and I spared my brother, not so in his words I should add, combat service. But I honored family history with that choice.

And that is the key element of this story. That warrior Marine was my uncle, the youngest brother is my Dad. I choose against the Marines due to the way the Marines mishandled, in my opinion, my father's honor and integrity so I joined the Army. But serving is built into my family, men and women alike(!), so when those moments came upon me I always think of what would Dad do?

That Bad Conduct Discharged Marine has been the guiding angel of my life. Uncle Marine inspired the warrior heart of me but Dad, who later became a minister, guided this mind to understand the power of peace and love. So much so that my initial thoughts on any situation are peaceful and helpful. Never violent until that option is chosen by someone else. Considering the skills and heart that the warrior cultivated in me I regularly suggest people to NOT choose that option.

But at the end of this tale we come to the place where I share my primary thought for sharing this gem of family history. Dad has entered the final stage of his wondrous life. While I am sure that I will not accomplish my goal within the time frame involved but I have for many years thought about this goal. With this point approaching I am going to make this goal a goal in my life.

Addressing my Father's discharge upgrade should have been done many decades ago. And the upgrade will have zero financial effect to anyone involved. However the emotional effect will be tremendous. It will be something of an after effect recognition of his honorable choices, one of which I am. I can't imagine how uplifting this would be to my family, immediate and extended.

There are several important women in my life.

Off the top of my head there are six. The hold various roles but I can not imagine my life without a single one of them.

My Mom, the Great Investigator. There was never a part of my life she did not dive into and immerse herself within to better understand what makes me tick.

My Wife, my Commander. Like a good Commander she guides me, she protects me, she inspires me. Not only would I die for her but a bad end will come to anyone who does her any harm, a very bad end.

My sisters, my Cheerleaders. Very positive, sometimes not so positive, but without fail they are beside their brother. Through thick or thin, through his insight or his idiocy, they are there.

My Daughters. The two of them have had a huge impact on who I am. I've always been upfront about the tragedy that is my life regarding my off spring.

The oldest, bless her soul, was hidden from me (by design) until the investigator finally succeeded in locating her and initiating contact. This has lead to a decade of bittersweet joy. Whenever I see Yaz, whenever I talk to Yaz, I love and hate her mother who gifted me with a such a beautiful mind and robbed me of seeing that mind become.

The youngest was born with trouble. Trouble caused by the damage done to my chromosomes during Desert Storm. I feel most burdened by this damage as it was, in essence, my fault. I did NOT have to go. (Well they probably would have insisted if I said no but) So in my mind and soul I felt her birth defect was my fault.

During the first week of her life she had to have significant operations to allow her more life. I stayed with her each day and each night while this was happening. Whenever she went into the hospital for revision surgery, I was there even at the cost of my job which I eventually lost due to my adherence to her side.

A few months after I lost that job a great employment opportunity opened up for me literally across the country. I took a bus, yes a bus, from Philadelphia PA to San Jose CA for this job. And this job was good for me, I tried to maintain contact with Baby Mom, though to be honest she did not want me to be around, but life was better for me.

Then one day life transformed for me. A Philly friend of mine expressed his remorse over my loss of my daughter. Loss of my daughter?!? Since that time I have had to tell people about how my one daughter died from birth defects my willing service caused her at a tender age of 5. That horror had dreadful impact upon my psyche. I started to experience PTSD in debilating fashion. The most painful was the flashbacks which I had not experienced before this point and has taken several decades to control. It did cause me to leave my profession though as it became the trigger which caused them.

That is the effect that I don't tell people about. The news about my loss triggered something of a mental meltdown. Nothing untoward to the community around me... all the pain and discomfort went to the target, Me.

Well, the great investigator was uncovered another great mystery of my life. the youngest did not die. The friend was mistaken in his report and my avoidance of spending significant time in her hometown has kept this mistake alive. She lives and once again life, and service, has robbed me of the life and love of a daughter. However, I am going to strive to thrive (as always) in the face of this revelation. I think I'll get Yaz to open contact with her sister, Amanda, and let them work out how I should be punished. Positive or negative I will accept their judgement and punishment whatever that may be.

They are and have been, truly, significant portions of my psyche. There is no part of me that I will not own though a writhe in shame at some parts. However at no point was I ever deceitful or unscrupulous so I leave the dice where they lay and regret only the numbers that appeared.

I do not regret tossing the dice.