It's amazing what a boy will to for a little piece of tail

For a father there are little moments of unadulterated terror.

For teen fathers it is all terror - at least for me. You see the life you imagined dissolving into the life you've chosen. I'm not complaining - my daughter was the single best gift of my life - but the reality is nothing can prepare a boy for adulthood. Except maybe adulthood.

How a person responds to that is a reflection of a number of factors - some obvious, some not. We all like to believe we would do the right thing when faced with a life altering challenge. One thing I have is arrogance - sometimes in spades and I often hide behind bravado looking to present myself as something I'm not. My dog does the same thing. When he sees another dog - he puffs himself up, haunches stand, he lowers his head and attempts to make himself look bigger.

Ususally, bravado carries him - usually. Once we end up at the vet putting 30 stitches in his ass.

That was me - all bravado covering a bloody and bruised ass.

I relied on bravado to cover my fear and shame. The fear was because I was immature and didn't know how to grow-up. The shame was from deep inside. I don't know where exactly. I didn't think well of myself to begin with and then toss a helping of public shaming from my family and my daughter's mother's family - and some snickering by friends - and I wanted to die. I felt like I was dying. I felt like I was drowning on dry land.

The first time I heard Roy Buchanan singing "Drowning on Dry Land", I knew the song was about me and how I ended up at nineteen with a pregnant angry girlfriend. It's amazing what a boy will to for a little piece of tail.

I'm going down. My nose is in the sand
I'm going down. My nose is in the sand
A cloud of dust just flew over me
And I feel like I'm drowning on dry land.

My father told me. He said, son don't rush to be a man
My father told me. He said, son don't rush to be a man
But I went ahead anyway, and now I feel like I'm drowning on dry land.

My father use to tell me, about a dog that couldn't see too well
He was crossing a railroad track one day
When a train cut off a piece of his tail
You know that dog turned around but he didn't even stop to look up and down the rail
And you know that dog lost his whole head
Trying to find a little piece of tail

I'm going down. My nose is in the sand
A cloud of dust just flew over me
And I feel like I'm drowning on dry land.

My Daughter Hates Me: Lastly - Where does it end?

When Samantha turned eighteen and half I called her. I decided not to call on her birthday because it would have been selfish to ruin her day. I decided to call after the holidays for the same reason.

It was an awkward, pause filled conversation - I think we were both waiting to see how far the other one would go. I was concerned about saying so much that I would overwhelm her with emotions. As much as I want to have a relationship with her I also don't want to overwhelm her with words and feelings and thoughts. Any relationship that develops needs to be on her time not mine.

We've talked twice on the phone in the year and half since then. Mostly we communicated via text messages, email, and MySpace. It wasn't going great but for nearly a year it was going - which was all I was hoping. I worked hard not to flooding her with questions about her life or bury her in information about me and my life. I sent her the same general info you'd send to or ask of a friend. On long trips I'd sit in the hotel or the restaurant and we'd trade 30 or 40 text messages. I loved every minute of it.

Of course, once Samantha's mom and stepdad discovered we were communicating the wheels came off the wagon. I was a little perplexed at why I wasn't hearing from her. First she unfriended me on MySpace. Then Twitter. Then she stopped returning text messages. Changed her phone number. Then she stopped returning emails.

In doing my research I discovered her mom and friended her on MySpace and her stepfather created a Twitter account. The only person either of them followed was Samantha. Out of distress and anger I reasoned it out with someone else. The reality is Samantha's mother and stepfather are paying her phone bill. She lives with them. They provide a roof over her head and money.

When Samantha was six months old, Kellie's mom stood before the two of us and gave Kellie an ultimatum - choose now. Essentially, Kellie's mom told Kellie to either choose a relationship with me or with them. She couldn't have it both ways. She made the reasonable logical choice of any scared young mother.

I imagine that is the lesson Kellie passed onto Samantha. It's one or the other. Although I could be wrong but something changed almost overnight. Perhaps it is the sins of the parents being passed onto our children.

Five years ago I married a beautiful woman and gained two stepsons – instant family. She married me in spite of my past errors, blunders and gaffs. She loves me in spite of my failings and, “loves me for who I am today, not who I was.” I went to great lengths to fully disclose the amends I’m still attempting to make and the reasons. She deserves to know the truth because we are sharing a life and a love.

The transition for all of us has been difficult. Leo is fourteen now and blithely unconcerned about the workings of the universe. Although, he is still struggling with his mother’s divorce and is having difficulty with the change. The other boy, Alex, is twenty, lonely and angry. He is the same age as my daughter and is the All-American boy.

Losing my daughter has made me especially sensitive to my role. On more than one occasion I have defended my wife’s ex-husband’s choices. Who am I to be casting stones? I made it clear to the boys I have no interest in being, replacing or undermining their relationship with their dad. I’m Sean. I refuse invitations to parent-teacher conferences and band concerts until after their father has declined the invitation.

At times I’m nothing more than a chauffeur or an ATM machine. On more than one occasion, I’ve thought I was failing as a husband and step-father (my insecurities get the best of me sometimes). My wife tells me that is normal and I’m doing great. I think she is just saying that but truthfully, I’m extremely grateful for the encouragement and support. I’m lucky to have the opportunity to be a husband and stepfather. Because of my past, I didn’t believe I’d ever be given the chance.

As my partner, I value her perspective and asked her to read through my story As a parent, divorcee, and award-winning journalist I value her perspective. She hates this article. It made her sad. She argues it is to dark and unforgiving. It should be more cheerful. She thought it lacked a proper ending.

“It lacks closure,” were her exact words.

I agree. It is sad. And unfortunate. And tragic. And heart wrenching. It has all the elements of a Greek tragedy. I wish I could write some beautiful ending that makes everyone feel good. I wish there was some way to give the closure my wife wants, Kellie deserves, and Samantha (I hope) will eventually seek. I wish there was closure simply so I could sleep at night without wondering about our fates.

In the meantime, my amends to Samantha is to be a better man then yesterday. Sometimes, I am. Sometimes, I’m not. I am more often then I use to be. If, and when, she knocks on my door, I’ll be ready. Should something happen and I’ve passed from the scene I hope my family and friends can tell her the truth without embellishment – “He was a fine man who loved you everyday.”

That is the amends I live towards. It is the “best” I can offer today.

My Daughter Hates Me: Part 12 - It is not a black-and-white world. Sometimes I wish it were.

It is not a black-and-white world. Sometimes I wish it were.

I know adults who grew up in broken homes and condemn my choices. They judge me based on their own experiences. Others thank me. I know parents who cry and give me a hug because they understand. They understand how much I love my daughter because I’m willing to sacrifice my “right” for what seems to be in Samantha’s “best” interest based on the circumstances of my relationship with her family. Others scoff and see my choices as cowardice and self-serving.

As I said, I don’t know what is “right”. I did what seemed “best”.

By allowing her to be adopted I did the complete opposite of everything my brain was telling me to do. It was the opposite of selfishness and self-centerdeness. It was an attempt to be honest about the realities of our relationship and change the things I could. Adoption has been the least “easy” choice. By allowing her to be adopted I allowed her the freedom to choose when she is ready to see me. By letting her go I took the most loving action I could manage. It doesn’t seem enough, and it may not be, but at the moment it is all I can do. I’m attempting to act on a level different than the one that created the problem.

Today, I see loving sometimes involves sacrificing what is “right” for me so others can have what is “best” for them. I know Kellie is capable of providing a stable, loving environment. She is capable as long as she doesn’t have to fear me intervening in her “right” because I’m pursuing mine. Nothing I do or say will change how Kellie feels about me. Proper amends are not intended to change how people feel but rather are given as compensation for a wrong. For this reason, most of the time I choose what is “best,” not “easiest” or “right”. My amends are an attempt to sever the Gordian Knot binding all of us to the past.

Of course, as I said earlier, the amends are not about changing Samantha's feelings but perhaps now she will have the freedom to choose.

Recently, I met the mother of one of my former student. In the course of the conversation I discovered she was great friends with my daughter's mother, was Samantha's cheerleader coach for nearly a decade and that Sam grew up two or three doors down. My student's mother had no idea Samantha was adopted. She had no idea Rick was not my daughter's father. Which is good for my daughter and heartbreaking for me.

Perhaps there is a chance my daughter will choose to know me for who I am someday and not be bound to incomplete retellings of outdated stories of who I was - if there were any stories. I may simply be the elephant in the living room no one discusses - I'm the shame and the secret. One hundred years ago they would have shipped Samantha's mom off to visit friends for the summer while she was pregnant - all to avoid the shame on the family. In this case they shipped me off and kept me a secret.

Not a day goes by that I don’t feel her in my heart. I yearn to help her with homework or go for a walk in the woods. I’ve missed all tweleve of her first days of school. It wasn't me that taught her to drive or helped her move into her college dorm. I missed high school prom and all the anxious nights waiting her to come home from a date. I'll miss her college graduation, her wedding and the birth of my grandchildren. There is an endless list of missed opportunities. All I can do is wait and pray she will remember our walks in the woods, The Lion King, and the paddleboats. My hope is she will remember me and doubt enough of what she hears to discover the truth of who I am.

But she may decide never to find out. That is a possible consequence of my choice and I knew it from the beginning. However, today, I have hope and believe everything will work out for the “best”.

Of course, the truth can be painful, which is why most people avoid it. And she may choose to always avoid it. I hope not. Most people don’t really want to know because what they don’t know cannot hurt them. It is always “easiest” to hate. It is always easiest to pretend I don't exist. It is easiest to ignore me. Right now Samantha is pissed - or I imagine she is. I imagine right now she thinks she hates me. I am willing to carry that burden. Of course, she doesn’t really know me and hates only a faded memory someone else has painted for her.

I heard an old man say, “The truth will set you free but first it will piss you off.” When I understood the truth of my character, I was angry and hated myself. That is what led me to the hotel room in Chicago. Then I learned I could change if I was willing to be honest and humble. I matured and realized that my past mistakes could be a strength if I wield it to help instead of hate. If I don’t dwell on it but rather embrace it I can use it to help other men who are struggling through the same barren desert of hopelessness, despair, and fear.

The truth set me free...my hope is it sets her free too.

My Daughter Hates Me: Part 11 - Some wrongs that can never be fully righted

For a long time my choices tied my life into a seemingly inescapable Gordian Knot: a knot inadvertently binding those I love (and hated) to a life of chaos and confusion. I tried everything I could think of to untie the knot. Often, I only made it worse. "The significant problems we face cannot be solved,” said Albert Einstein, “at the same level of thinking we were at when we created them.”

I needed a new solution on a different level. Most of my life I made choices based on my “rights” and the “easiest” way to gain them. As my divorce progressed I began to see that if I focused on giving the “best” instead of taking what was my “right” life might change for the better. It would change because I’d be making choices at a different level. My amends are an attempt to give compensation for my wrongs. It is the processes of thinking – and acting – on life based on a new foundation. On a different level. It has unraveled the knot binding me.

The Gordian Knot is a story from antiquity. When Alexander the Great arrived in the city of Gordium he learned of a prophecy pertaining to a great knot. Whoever could untie the knot would conquer all of Asia. Of course, the knot seemed hopelessly tangled and he could find no ends to begin untying it. So the future conqueror of Asia took his sword and sliced the knot in two. He found a solution by thinking at a level different from everyone else. My amends are an attempt to cut through the knot in my life. As I said earlier, my change in behavior is an attempt at making the amends that can be made.

I know there are some wrongs that can never be fully rectified but I want to do as much as I can.

First, there is the man who is on the verge of repeating my mistakes. I hope he will learn from my experiences and stop to reconsider his choices before they adversely affect his life and the lives of the people around him. He will seek what is “best” instead of what is “easiest”. Embrace his “responsibilities” as opposed to engaging his “rights”.

Then of course, there is the man who is sitting on the edge of the bed thinking about pulling the trigger. Everyone has a life worth living. You just have to find it. For me it had to begin by seeking the “best” solution instead of choosing the “easiest” and suicide was the “easiest”. It had to begin by being honest about the past, coupled to a willingness to start living for the future. I want the man on the bed to know that no matter how bad the situation it can be turned around. There is always hope.

Most importantly it is an attempt to mend my relationship with both Kellie and Samantha. These are the hardest amends. Of all the harms I committed, the one I would most like to untangle is giving Kellie someone to hate – someone to resent and fear. I know I made some poor choices. I know I was wrong. I know it is easier to blame and hate than take responsibility. But I also know from personal experience, that resentment, bitterness and suspicion contribute to a soul sickness as destructive as cancer or alcoholism. I wish Kellie could find some peace about our entangled past. By taking responsibility for my choices, paying my past due support, trying to help other men not repeat my mistakes, and by not hating her back, I am trying to do what I can to free her from the part of the knot I’m responsible for tying.

Unfortunately, making amends to my daughter is a bit more complicated. I have seen my daughter only once in the last fourteen years. It was in the lobby of the courthouse.

In July of 1999, when she turned ten, I allowed her to be adopted by her stepfather. As I left the hearing, Kellie’s parents, her husband and Sam stood in the hectic lobby. They were gathering to celebrate. As I approached, grandma wrapped her arms around Samantha and held her by the shoulders. It only validated what I’d known she was being taught. There are no written words to describe body language but it was as readable as a picture book. I looked Samantha in the eyes and chose to keep walking. I didn’t want her to be subjected to more insanity.

Walking past is my only regret because I have no reason to believe I will see her at all in the next nine years.

I know adoption isn’t the “right” way for everyone. It isn’t even the “right” way for me. Rather it is the “best” for Samantha. At least it is the “best” as I saw it in July 1999. I couldn’t bring myself to drag Samantha into court in order to assert my “right” as a father. I couldn’t continue to fight a war where the main casualty was going to be a little girl.

I’m supposed to be the adult.

As her father it is my job to protect her, not hers to protect me.

My Daughter Hates Me: Part 10 - This is where perception becomes reality

Don't misunderstand - I'm not defending my choices - most of them are beyond defending. However, there is a difference between being defensive and being honest. The former is a result of pride the latter humility. Knowing what I know today I would do most of it differently. But I didn’t know and cannot change the past. Spending time dwelling on my lapses in judgment is morbid reflection. Wishing it were different is simply misplaced regret. Both lead down a path that ends in self-pity and indecision. It leads back to the hopelessness I felt sitting on the edge of the bed in Chicago wanting to pull the trigger.

So what can I do?

I can choose to start focusing on doing the “best” instead of finding the “easiest”. I can start focusing more on my “responsibilities” and less on my “rights”. I can choose to conform to the rules instead of hiring a lawyer to help make the rules conform to my desires. I can start meeting life on life’s terms instead of mine. I begin by taking responsibility for my choices and let Kellie live with hers.

I stopped fighting with Kellie over visitation times, dates and plans. Even when I was technically “right”. Arguing made it worse for Samantha. I worked to meet my current and past support obligations without complaining about the unfairness of it all. It eased the amount of overt and covert criticism Samantha hears.

Eventually, I paid it all off and today am current.

When situations forced me to interact with Kellie and her husband, I tried to listen. I would say, “You could be right,” or nothing at all, when they were being critical. Sometimes their criticisms had merit. Sometimes the criticisms didn’t. I adjusted to the truth and ignored any hyperbole, exaggerations and overstatements. I learned that not every question needs an answer and not every comment needs a response.

I focused on Kellie’s good qualities. She is a good mother. She loves Samantha. She is doing what she believes is “best”. I might make the same choices if I were in her shoes. She is the one who has had to make the most sacrifices for Samantha. Women always do. She has made a good home for my daughter.

Most importantly, I realized all of my unkind, unnecessary, unhelpful behaviors were a result of living in fear. Fear I wouldn’t get my share. Fear I wouldn’t get what was “right”. Fear I’d be alone. Fear I was unlovable. Fear motivated me to act on unloving, unkind, selfish and self-centered feelings.

I saw that if I were terrified someone might come and take away something I knew was my “right” I might stack the deck as I had on many occasions. I saw that creative resumes, padded expense accounts, expensive gifts, and high paid lawyers are attempts to stack the deck. All are attempts to get my due. To get what is “right” for me. The actions all led to me getting what I want – a better job, extra money, sex, custody, etc. – instead of what I deserve or need.

I’m guessing now about fear because I have no special knowledge or insight into the emotional, mental or spiritual workings of others. However, since I accept Cooley’s assertion that my “motives are the same as other people’s,” I will assume Kellie and I both want to ensure our future with Samantha. Our motives were the same but we made different choices. As a result, we made statements that would have been “best” unstated. Actions were taken that would have been “best” untaken. The thought of a sheriff showing up at the door caused me some sleepless nights. Perhaps, although I don’t know, they may have caused Kellie some too.

And this is where perception becomes reality. My perception is Kellie stacked the deck by exaggerating to Samantha the reasons to hate me. Of course, by making the “easiest” choices I made stacking the deck simple. I foolishly handed over the Aces through my selfishness. Because of the venomous relationship between my daughter’s mom and myself the unfortunate legacy for my daughter is she has learned to hate, instead of how to love. Although, I know it is a lesson Kellie taught, it is hard for me to blame her. Truthfully, my choices made it easy.

My Daughter Hates Me: Part 9 - If a child dies isn’t it the mother’s fault?

Growing up in the hill country of West Virginia my dad is full of colloquialisms. He is constantly saying things like, “That’s slicker than an eel in a bucket of snot,” or this thing or that is “slower than molasses”. On more than one occasion he has suggested not coming between, “a she-bear and her cubs”. I imagine that is good advice if you are fishing in bear country during trout season. It is also good advice when discussing my daughter and her mother.

From the beginning, Kellie argued my relationship with Samantha was a package deal. Either accept both of them or forget having a relationship with Samantha. Regardless of whether that is “right”, it is reality. It is exactly how it turned out. I don’t like it but I long ago accepted it.

As stated earlier, I was angry with Kellie for coming between my daughter and me. As such, I responded by withholding child support and threatening to get a lawyer and sue. I would steamroll her if she didn’t stop interfering in my relationship with Samantha. After all, Samantha is my daughter and I have my “rights”.

Of course, if Cooley is right, and her motives are the same as mine, she was angry with me because I was coming between her and Samantha. From my perspective, we both did and said a lot in an attempt to protect our “rights”. Truthfully, it would have been better if I had focused less on my “rights” and more on my “responsibility”. It would have made my fifty percent less messy.

In hindsight, I cannot blame Kellie for her actions. I certainly cannot hate her. I threatened to get a court order taking custody of Samantha. I imagine she was just as terrified of a sheriff showing up at her door taking Samantha away from her as I was of the sheriff showing up at my door with an arrest warrant because of past due child support.

Living in fear is horrible, whether human or bear, and I guess we both instinctively do what have to do to protect our children. We do what seems “right” regardless of what is “best”.

For example, over the years, I’ve heard stories of firemen needing to drag mothers out of a flame-engulfed house because they refuse to leave until the baby is found. Sounds “right” but if the mother dies is that “best” for the surviving children? Is it “best” for the mother? I have a female friend who argues that the “right” in that situation is irrelevant. It is what is expected and the societal shame is a heavy burden for a grieving mother.

After all, my friend asks, if a child dies isn’t it perceived as the mother’s fault?

As a discarded dad, I have a unique perspective on children. Not the “right” one just a unique one. For example, I have friends who have divorced and fought over the children the same way they fought over the Roth IRA. The issue becomes who contributed what and for how long. They treat their children as a possession instead of individuals. Having lost the bond to my daughter I know better. Broken possessions can be replaced. Broken relationships may never mend.

I heard a wise grandmother say to me her children are individuals of her not because of her. They are gifts from the Universe and simply passed through her womb. Her responsibility is to care for them until they can care for themselves. She tries to teach them how to love and be loved. How to live fearlessly.

I like that because that is what I want for my daughter. I want her to be able to love and be loved. I want her to be fearless by courageously facing the dangers and challenges of life. Honestly, that is all I want for myself. For my ex-wife. For Kellie. For everyone I’ve ever been angry with. For everyone I know. I’ve never met you but it is what I want for you.

I talked to a number of individuals with similar experiences, and sought their advice about my situation with Kellie and my daughter. Generally, the solution was variations on the same theme:

“Get a lawyer and sue.”
“Get a lawyer and fight for your rights.”
“She has a right to be with her father."

Maybe.

When I’m honest, it seemed to me it would make a bad situation worse. After all, how can I argue in good faith for my “rights” when I did such a lousy job addressing my responsibilities? I wasn’t accountable when Kellie was pregnant. Later, I neglected my financial obligations out of childish anger, false pride and unbridled ambition. Truthfully, it seems I lack the credibility to be demanding my “rights”.

My Daughter Hates Me: Part 8 - Love requires action

However, one of the most painful situations arose when Samantha was four. She stopped calling me Dad and started calling me Sean. When asked where she got this from, Samantha said it is what her mother told her to do. She was being taught to call her stepfather “dad”.

Now other than my pride and ambition, I have no real objection to her calling her stepfather “dad”. However, I did object to being called “Sean” and told her to call me “Dad.” When I confronted Kellie she informed me that although four, Samantha knew the difference and was clearly choosing her father. As an eighth grade science teacher, I’ve been around kids enough to know that at four, they generally do as they are taught.

Now I had a tapeworm in my gut and a bloodsucking lamprey on my back.

Maybe Samantha would have learned this behavior whether I was around or not. I don’t know if it really matters. All I know is she deserves better. From a philosophical perspective I think that is all parents ever really want for the children. They want the “best”. They want it to be better for their children than it was for them.

Of course, there is more. There always is. But those are the incidents that tear at my soul. I grew bitter and resentful and looked for a way to strike back. I envied Kellie and her husband because they had a nice four-bedroom house in the suburbs and another new car. The company I worked for was merging and I was on the verge of losing my job and house. I was near bankruptcy. I was angry and resentful. It was at this time, I started to hedge on my child support payments. Three words about my behavior come to mind: childish, shortsighted, and wrong.

Self-honesty requires me to take one hundred percent responsibility for my fifty percent. And my fifty percent was messy. It was messy with my now ex-wife, with my family, with Samantha and with her mother. It was messy, because in all my relationships I fought, manipulated, cheated, stole and lied to get what I wanted. And truthfully, all I wanted was to be loved. Although occasionally, I settled on being “right”.

Of course, it was my fifty percent that made it so easy to hate. I don’t know about anyone else, but for me, it is easier to hate than love. And in truth, I hated Kellie as much as she hates me. My self-righteous indignation manifested as an intense dislike that can only be described at loathing contempt. At the time my perception was that on more than one occasion Kellie undermined my life and my relationship with Samantha.

Of course, perception is reality.

It took me a while to recognize my part in the tangled web. And as I said earlier, there is plenty of fault to spread around. It wasn’t all me. I know taking all the blame and responsibility would be heroic, but it is also arrogant and self-centered. As I said, when honest about my fifty percent and when not taking responsibility for her fifty percent, I stopped playing the role of a martyr.

Of course, it is easier to hate because hate is passive and relies on the lack of perfection in the world for fuel. It requires seeing only the worst in others, without looking at our own imperfections. It is a form of moral smugness and self-righteousness that blinds the hater from the realities of the human condition. It blinds us from the truth that no one is perfect. I know because for a long time I hated everyone.

Love on the other hand, is proactive.

In order to love, a person must be willing to forgive, show compassion, feel empathy and sympathy, offer support and encouragement, and see ourselves as we really are. Love relies on self-honesty and humility to see the world as it is. Love allows us to cherish the best in others and accept the worst. For me, it relies on what writer Mason Cooley suggests is the key to self-knowledge. “The beginning of self-knowledge,” he wrote, “[is] recognizing that your motives are the same as other people’s”.

As I said in the beginning, it would be easier to hate back but once I saw the extent of the harms I had done to others it was much easier to put into perspective the harms done to me...

My Daughter Hates Me: Part 7 - We are what we are taught

Shortly after the divorce, I ended up in a softball game against my divorced wife. She really is a beautiful woman – inside and out. Unfortunately, bitterness, suspicion, and jealousy blinded me from many truths. Bile rose to my throat when I stepped into the batters box and saw her standing on the mound.

My first at bat was a weak, ugly ground ball back to the pitcher. Right back to Cass. She threw me out at first. I’m not sure, but I think she gloated. I would have.

The second at bat was a stand-up triple. Of course, my pride wanted a homer so I dug in and headed for home.

Can you hear the little bells on my fool’s cap?

Anyway, as I approached home plate she came in from the mound to catch the incoming throw and tag me out.

This is where it could have gotten ugly. I still shudder at the thought. I wanted to steamroll her. I wanted to destroy her. I felt the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse fueling my desire for vengeance. I don’t mean to sound dramatic but for the first time in my life I felt the true power of evil – a word I don’t use loosely. From the look in her eyes she must have know it. I don’t know why or how, but somewhere in the sixty feet between third and home, a power greater than myself did for me what I could not do for myself and struck down the Horsemen. The clouds of anger parted and I no longer saw my ex-wife standing in front of me. Instead, I saw a beautiful woman doing the “best” she knew how to do. I felt for the first time in my life compassion.

I stopped halfway between home and third and let her tag me out. I walked off the field, picked up my gear and went home. It took too much energy to fight a war that no one was going to win. It took too much energy to be “right”. Instead, I did what was “best” for me. I surrendered my anger and pride. It turned out to be “best” for everyone.

While all of this was happening I was in the midst of a progressively uglier tug-of-war over the heart and mind of my daughter. A struggle by adults to protect our rights as parents by whatever means necessary. It was a war everyone chose to fight but that everyone was destined to lose. My daughter turned out to be the main casualty. Let me explain.

One of the worst moments of a weekend father is the pick-up and the drop-off. Samantha cried nearly every time. She cried because she didn’t want to go with me on Friday. She cried because she didn’t want to go home on Sunday. This was precisely the kind of emotional turmoil I wanted to protect my daughter from. It must have been confusing to a five year old. I know it was confusing to me, and I was twenty-five. Maybe there is no easy way for a child to understand. Of course, people told me over and over she would get use to it. Truthfully, I never believed them. Still don’t.

Then there is the Spaghetti Incident. Looking back on it I have no idea how it started. Samantha was six and we were dining in one of my favorite Italian restaurants. Sitting in the middle of a packed restaurant on a Friday night, Sam was drawing with a portable crayon set Cass had bought for her. Samantha puts down her crayon and looks at me. She cocks her head and begins channeling her mother. An uninterpretable stream of consciousness commences:

“You’re not my real family."
"I don't belong here."
“Your family has no traditions."

She repeats her mantra twice.

She stops. Picks up her crayon and starts drawing. The spaghetti comes. She eats. Cass eats. I push the food around my plate. They finish their meals. We leave the restaurant. She climbs into her booster seat. I close the car door. I cry like a baby in my wife’s arms.

Not very manly is it?

Ignoring the issue of whether or not a six year old knows how to spell, let alone the meaning, of the word “tradition,” how does a parent respond? You certainly cannot rinse out her brain of the trash she has both heard and seen. At the time, I couldn’t ignore it. Her words ate away at me like a tapeworm. I didn’t want this for my daughter.

I never wanted her to feel like she had to choose a family...

My Daughter Hates Me: Part 6 - “I love you” screws up everything

As you can tell from my earlier writing I wasn’t a nice guy. My interaction with my daughter's mom was a continuous list of harms done. Which is why the universe gave me a daughter. From the moment, Sam was born I wanted better for her and I knew I wasn’t going to be much of a role model if I continued on my wandering and destructive path.

Even Slim Shady knows he is slim…and shady.

Fathers lock up their daughters for a reason. We realize our little girls will eventually be alone with a man, on a prom date, in a car. I think daughters make fathers realize just how depraved men can be. For all my faults, and I have a few, I love my daughter and believe if our relationship existed in a vacuum, I would have been a great father. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on your perspective, relationships are inherently dynamic and I was unable to move past a deep and entrenched soul sickness that clouded my judgment and undermined all my relationships. Sadly, it was a while before I learned the truth.

I would like to say the truth was presented in the form of a burning bush, a flaming sword or a bolt of lightning throwing this ass from my ass to my ass. Instead, I was presented something much more spiritually moving - a daughter. She has been the catalyst for a fundamental change in who I am and what I want to become. The result is a desire, a willingness, and a passion to improve my character: to change my spots. This has been, and is, a slow, deliberate, trudge uphill. I’ve been caught in small slips and complete mudslides. The evolution of my character and attitude has been an ongoing and gradual twenty-year remodeling. As a friend says, “Sometimes quickly. Sometimes slowly”.

What is the truth?

Basically, I had no idea what love looks like. I know “love” as an expression such as, “I love Greater’s Raspberry Chocolate Chip ice cream,” or, “I love blues music”. In either case, I order the ice cream and then eat it. Or I sit in the living room and listen to Stevie Ray Vaughan wail on his guitar. Sometimes, I listen to Stevie’s “Little Wing” while eating ice cream. That’s heaven. I love that.

Unfortunately, saying “I love you” screws up everything. It’s when I have to do something “loving” I struggle. “Love” as an action becomes a quandary. “Love” as a verb reveals my Achilles Heel. Thank God for my daughter. She is an angel giving me an opportunity to “love”. She made me want to be a man who acted lovingly.

If Samantha is the catalyst that drove my desire to be a better man, than my my first wife, Cass, is the instrument by which I learned. Our marriage ended for a number of reasons shortly after the incident in Chicago. Upon reflection, it may have ended because it is frustrating to love someone who doesn’t love them self. Perhaps, it ended because it is difficult to respect someone who is unable to look you in the eyes. Maybe it really was because I selfishly ate the last piece of pizza. I don’t know and can only speculate but the bottom line is she didn’t want to be married to me.

Honestly, can you blame her?

Of course, I didn’t want the divorce and selfishly fought it. I fooled myself into thinking if she saw what a great guy I was she would change her mind. I wasn’t and she didn’t. And in truth, in the end, it was the “best” thing for both of us. It taught me two life altering lessons.

First of all, letting go stinks. I made the pain worse for both of us by hanging on. I hung on because I thought when a man loves a woman he stays and fights.

Let me repeat that.

Letting go stinks. I made the pain worse for both of us by hanging on. I hung on because I thought when a man loves a woman he stays and fights. Of course, I was wrong. Fighting is how you win a war. Sometimes letting someone go, when he or she is ready to go, is how to love.

But it was a long and painful eighteen months before I realized nothing I did was going to make her want to stay. In reality, practically everything I did made it impossible for her to stay. “Sometimes a man’s own angry pride is cap and bells for a fool,” wrote the poet Tennyson. I was definitely a fool. A friend even bought me the fool’s cap with bells. I let angry male pride make my decisions.

In hindsight, I acted as if Cass were a possession and not a human being. It never occurred to me the universe is structured in a way that constantly moves people in and out of my life. Because relationships are inherently dynamic, grandparents, parents, lovers, children, friends, enemies and complete strangers constantly move through our lives teaching us and learning from us. Cass showed me I needed to treat each individual as an individual and not as my possession.

As soon as I saw Cass as something other than "my wife" I began to gain some peace about the divorce and learned to act lovingly. To genuinely want for them what I want for myself: to love and be loved. In the end, all of my wailing and scheming resulted in a difficult situation becoming insufferable. I hurt the woman I loved because I didn’t love her enough to want her to be where she could be happy, doing what made her happy. That is selfish and self-seeking behavior. I’m working to make amends for this behavior by supporting the dreams and desires of the people in my life today.

The second lesson came in four parts and is more pragmatic. In my zeal to make, manage, manipulate, maneuver and maintain my marriage I learned a great deal about the court system.

1.) It means well, but generally it doesn’t care about anything other than the law. That is as it should be.

2.) The interpretation and application of the law appears to be directly proportional to the hourly rate of the lawyers. I’m not sure that is “right” but it is reality.

3.) Lastly, the administration of the law is never intended to be personal unless I make it personal.

4.) Legal decisions are based on the quality of the legal argument (See Lesson #2), while the extent of the legal consequences is usually measured against the intensity of the self-centered choices.

These are hard truth to face when you have lived your life selfishly while taking everything personally.

In the end, when the judge did for me what I could not do for myself and granted our divorce, I was emotionally, spiritually and financially broken.

There was no place to go but up...

My Daughter Hates Me: Part 5 - Broken hearts, healed lives

Ironically, the person who cared the most was also the only woman to break my heart.

She was the first individual I ever wanted to truly love and the one who taught me I had no idea how to love. If I'm being honest - and I am - there are many great things that Cass, my first wife, did for me for which she deserves credit - including making me a better man, teaching me the meaning of love and showing me the joys of Stevie Ray Vaughan's Little Wing and Chitlins Con Carne.

Actually, she is one of the reasons I have a story at all because she planted the seeds of my solution. She taught me the necessity of forgiving my daughter's mom, Kellie, and acting in a self-less manner when making choices about my daughter.

To this fact, I am eternally grateful to her.

Truthfully, the pain I felt over these years was essential to growing up. I’m not telling you this to gain pity or earn forgiveness. The approval or forgiveness of others means little in the grand scheme of things. I know I earned every judgmental glance and self-righteous lecture.

Now if you can relate to any of this, perhaps even living in the middle of this, I’m going to let you in on a little secret - you don’t have to live with this insanity. All of this happened over fourteen years ago and today I am grateful for all of it. I still have moments of regret but I see the truth that I cannot change the past but can change the future by taking responsibility for my choices and attitude. In the face of all the consequences, I have a good life and I have become a better man because of it.

As I said, I still face the consequences of my actions when trying to buy a car or pay my back support but the difference today is I know I’m a good man, regardless of what others think. I know because on a daily basis I’m doing the “best” I know how to do at that moment as opposed to the “easiest”. I know it is better because I can look everyone in the eyes when I talk to them. I can look in the mirror. On most days the shame, remorse, fear, loneliness and morbid reflection are gone.

So when we returned home from our one year wedding anniversary, I followed Cass' lead and started the slow process of rebuilding a life worth living. I started by being honest and making amends to those I had harmed. Not an easy task for someone whose life was built on dishonesty - my amends list was long. It has been a slow journey full of pain and heartache. It has also been a journey full of beauty and redemption.

However, there could be no forgiveness or love or redemption until I began changing my actions - although I've learned some amends are simpler than others. For example, if you take money that isn’t yours, that’s called stealing. You make amends by paying it back. If you tell someone something that isn’t true, that is lying. You make amends by admitting you lied and then tell the truth.

Doesn’t that sound straightforward?

The issue becomes less clear when making amends for abusing someone’s life. Where do you start when your behavior changes someone else’s life? I was an insensitive, self-centered, immature, and dishonest clod. My behavior often aroused bitterness, suspicion and jealousy in the people closest to me.

Certainly, admitting you are wrong is a start. You then stop the behavior. Again, sounds simple enough. But how do you make amends to your daughter’s mother for not being there? Where do you start? How does it end? Truthfully, thirteen years later I’m still working it out. All I can do is to keep trying to do the best I can and allow her the freedom to hate me. In a pure black-and-white, right-and-wrong world, I earned it. I know not everyone is going to like me, and Kellie may never give me the benefit of the doubt and forgive me. That is the burden of my consequences.

Part of my amends has been to carry the burden of loss...

My Daughter Hates Me: Part 4 - Suicide is never easiest

Let’s be frank. Kellie hates me because of some of my choices. She hates me because I consciously made some choices because they were in my “best” interest. She hates me because I disagreed with her and made other choices I thought were in Samantha’s “best” interest. Of course, there are some plain old-fashioned poor choices. These were choices that were in no one’s interest. They were simple the easiest. I made more than a few of these "easiest" choices - as did Kellie. As I said, it is because of these choices Kellie hates me. And Samantha hates me because of what she has been taught about my choices.

Truthfully, I can offer only feeble excuses for my poor choices and the resulting behavior. I won’t even attempt to justify that behavior. In the early days, I often didn’t chose “right,” or even “best,” I chose only “easiest”. I chose what I thought was “easiest” throughout Kellie’s pregnancy and financially for several years of Samantha’s life. In hindsight, I was often wrong and continue to struggle with the consequences. In every case, the “easiest” choices have resulted in the harshest consequences. I had difficulty buying a car because of the past due child support. I’ve had my license suspended. Third dates were hard to come by because most women have difficulty understanding why. Heck, I have difficulty understanding why. However, the most painful consequence was not being able to face myself in the mirror, or look others in their eyes, because of my shame. It kept me awake at night. Sometimes it still does.

I wish I could say the consequences affected only me. They didn’t. My choices tore through the lives of family and friends. My daughter has grown up not knowing her father. My first wife, Deb, struggled with the emotional and financial consequences of my arrogance. My daughter’s stepfather is raising her. Choices have kept my parents from seeing their first granddaughter for almost fourteen years.

Try looking at yourself in the mirror after these hard set in. Try living with that hard truth.

I imagine if you’ve read to this point, you’re angry. Rereading this I’m angry. My daughter, my family, her family and society deserve better. I know it. I’ve known it since the beginning but it all came to a painful head on Oct 9, 1995. The year Samantha turned six.

I just didn’t know where to start to make it better. I knew it would never be “right”. So, I figured it would be “best” for everyone if I were dead. I sat on the corner of a hotel bed in Chicago wanting to pull the trigger. I wanted to escape from the seemingly inescapable, never ending pain and consequences. I wanted an out. I couldn’t look in the mirror. I couldn’t look my wife, my family, my friends or complete strangers, in the eyes. If I did, I was sure they’d see straight to my soul and see I was walking through a living hell. They’d see I was a failure. A coward. A liar. A cheat. A thief. And how I felt about myself was far worse than what others thought about me.

Believe me I know because on more than one occasion people shared their opinion of me with me. They never said anything new...they rarely said anything helpful.

I didn’t think the shame, remorse, fear, loneliness, and morbid reflection would ever dissipate but it did because someone cared...

My Daughter Hates Me: Part 3 - Is "right" also "best"?

Now it isn’t that Kellie and I didn’t try. For a few months after Sam was born we tried to do the “right” thing. Of course, we failed miserably trying to do the “right” thing. Our efforts only made it worse. This is one of the difficulties when discussing out-of-wedlock pregnancies. The self-righteous and judgmental members of society insist people do the “right” thing, regardless of the circumstances. They say, “Son, be a man, and do the right thing”. When pressed as to the meaning of “right,” they respond with, “You know what to do”. Apparently, I didn’t.

I am a great deal of things and stupid is not amongst them. Arrogant, selfish, condescending maybe, but stupid I’m not. I understand the unspoken societal rules: get married, have other babies and live a righteous and God fearing life. Of course, I don’t know anyone in a situation similar to mine, where doing the “right” thing actually work in the long run. No one is perfect and for all my faults I knew playing house would result in everyone being miserable: Kellie, me, and most importantly my daughter.

We both wanted the “right” thing for Sam but we kept bumping up against the boundaries of reality. The reality was, I was never going to marry her mom. Truthfully, after my behavior during the pregnancy she was never going to marry me so it is arrogant to assume I had much choice in the matter. In hindsight, I think showing-up drunk at 3:00 a.m. probably contributed to our demise. Although, it could have been grandma’s ultimatum to Kellie to choose: her family or me. She would have been insane to choose me. A simple, but hard truth.

Regardless of our motives, we made the “best” choice for ourselves. And although we often disagree, I think we both believe we’ve made the best choices for Sam based on the circumstances. As a result, Samantha has had a fairly stable childhood and after all, that is what matters most.

As I’ve grown and become more honest and mature, I believe less-and-less in the “right” thing. I guess that makes me a cynic. The “right” thing often gets in the way of the “best” thing. For example, the “right” thing is not to kill. The “best” thing is to kill them before they kill us. In every case, the “right” thing is to get married. In our case, the “best” thing was not to get married. Although I was willing to sleep with Kellie, I knew I’d never keep my vows. I would have eventually cheated on her out of sheer resentment – or her on me – had a nasty divorce, and spent years fighting over Sam.

Like I said, more hard truth...

My Daughter Hates Me: Part 2 - More hard truth

Naturally, I could throw myself on the sword, – something I’m sure a few people would be willing to pay to see – play the martyr, and take all the blame. That certainly would allow Kellie to continue repeating to others the part of the story that is convenient. But truthfully, if blame were food we would be having a Thanksgiving feast and everyone involved would have seconds. I’m not a martyr – although I acted like one for a long time. I’m also not a predator or evil – and I believe Kellie is not a victim, nor an angel. From my perspective, Kellie and I were volunteers. Which is also a hard truth but I’m tired of taking all the blame. This, of course, does not release me from any culpability because my attitude and actions certainly contributed to the chaos.

I’ve been told children learn in the womb and hate is learned. If I accept these as scientific facts then my daughter, Samantha, learned to hate me early. I provided many learning opportunities for her mother to pass along. As I said earlier, in hindsight her mother’s contempt for me was well earned. There are a number of reasons for this. Let me mention a couple of the obvious ones.

January 6, 1989. I know the exact day because it is Kellie’s birthday. She was five months pregnant and living with her parents. I committed to taking her out for her birthday. Of course, I didn’t show…or call…or even buy a card. I can only imagine the anguish she felt as a young, attractive, soon-to-be single mother sitting alone at her parent’s house on her birthday. Of course, when confronted I lied about where I was. I lied about what I was doing. I lied about whom I was with. A hard truth: I was a liar. Every January 6, I still shake my head in disbelief. I’m amazed by how immature and self-centered I was.

For over 9 years I owed back child support. At one time I owed more than $19,000. That’s right -- $19,000. It wasn’t that I didn’t have the money but rather, for a time I selfishly didn’t want my daughter’s mother to have it. I was trying to control Kellie with money in an attempt to make her respect my rights as a father. Obviously, it didn't work. It only reinforced her perspective that I was too immature and selfish to be trusted with Samantha. In hindsight we were both trying to get what we wanted using any leverage we could find.

My simmering resentment towards some of my daughter’s mother’s choices, combined with bitterness towards the unfairness of life combined to make me a miser. Resentment is a horrible thing. I hurt everyone and betrayed my daughter, Kellie, my family and the law. I’m not sure there is a word that accurately describes my character over those long dark years. Jerk? Coward? Inconsiderate? Selfish? I was all of these, plus a few I won't print here. You can probably think of a few more. And you’re probably accurate.

More hard truth...