The Invisible Man I Tried To Make Visible
The Invisible Man I Tried To Make Visible
By- LaVar D. Lard (Blood son of the late Robin Stoner )
The Invisible Man in my life was the one person that I could not wish was never alive. If it was not for whatever he did when he did it, then I would not be here on this earth nor here in spirit. You’d think that’ll be someone whom I’d revere and love, if not respect and cherish, but it wasn’t. Some terms would describe him as Dad, Father, Pops, Ol’ Man, or Papi. I, on the other hand, refer to him using the terms; Him, Ol’ dude, the Sperm Donor, or My Momma’s Baby Daddy. And as you can see, I can’t excuse him for what he did, because he did nothing. And it was exactly that-nothing. That is if you consider ‘nothing’ to be impregnating a woman and leaving her presence for fifteen years straight. The job he supposedly did had a whole lot of responsibility that came with it. He left his responsibility on the cub and took off-and I hated him for that.
As a child I didn’t know what Fathers were. I didn’t realize I didn’t have one until my mother kept introducing me to all these different people, beginning when I was 4 years old. She would always refer to me as “Robin’s Son.” Shit if I knew what that meant, but I met many people over the years and in experiencing that I learnt what a Father was to me. I learned that a Father was someone who was supposed to be the opposite of your mother. He was suppose to be someone who was always there everyday of your life. I soon realized that that was what a Father was to other kids. I felt incomplete because I only had a Mother and knew nothing of who my father was, not even a picture. I did my research by asking the right questions to the right people. I knew that he was in California, I received bits and pieces of his contact information, and I was told that I looked just like him. After some years I was able to contact him and I told him that I wanted to meet him. I asked him how his life was and if he missed me. I don’t recall exactly what his answers were, but I was comforted that I did have that other parent. It was just that he was not in the same state as me that made it difficult to pursue anything else.
When I was Fifteen my family lived in the shanty part of the city. Down the street from us lived a man whom I learned to call my Uncle Syl. It was my Uncle Syl who had married into my Father’s family and widowed out some time later. I often went to visit him to feel embraced by my some semblance of my Father’s family. He was a good man, even til’ the day when he called to tell me that Robin was in town. He went into detail by telling me that he was over at some homeless shelter in Rock Island, IL. I saw this as my opportunity to meet he man, the myth, and the legend-my Dad. Maybe my facial expression didn’t show it, but I was surprised, enthused, and amused to meet him. Me, my brother, my mom and her boyfriend all went to the homeless shelter to see him.
Robin, My Father, Sperm Donor, Baby’s Daddy, and Ol’s man was not what I expected. Although I never met him in person I expected for him to be glowing, if not sparkling like gold. He was a small man with bad skin who looked as if the last 20 years of his life where at the bottom of a whisky bottle. This was where I became amused. Now, I knew my mother could have done better than this, but this was the one she chose. There could be no other and at the time I didn’t wish that he never existed. I appreciated the new fact that I had a Father now and I embraced it. I hugged him and touched him for the first time. I didn’t cry, because I was relieved that I finally met him. How could I have known that this wasn’t the last time I’d yearn for a father to be in my life?
I was not sad as hell about my relationship with my Father. When I was eighteen and I haven’t seen nor heard anything from Robin in the longest time. Actually I had seen him 5 times ever since I first met him when I was fifteen. Sometime between then and when I was eighteen my mother filed for child support, being that he wasn’t being active nor visiting frequently enough. Little did I know that this pushed him away more that I could ever expect. He was angry of mother’s resentment for him not taking a hold of this responsibility a long time ago. Her bitterness at him caused him to resent me. Lucky me huh? I invited him to my high school graduation and I made sure that he received an invitation by dropping one off at his job, at his case worker, and at the place that he lived. I continued with me life and went off to college; thinking that I’d never see him again. Before I knew it I graduated college, moved to Kansas City, and spent several years there only to learn that he lived there for a year prior to the first time we met. I found myself thinking about him often, then I realized that I had to ask this man some questions before he die or something. Who knew what would happen with him, being that he and alcohol were one of the same. I made a special trek to the Quad Cities to find him. It took me a whole 2 hours, but I found him, with alcohol in hand. I asked him if I could speak with him for a moment, he obliged and we went off to have lunch together, minus the alcohol. At this luncheon I asked him questions that I didn’t want to follow him to his grave. These were questions about who he was, his mother, father, and any other fallen family members that I haven’t had the chance to meet during my life time.
Anyone who reads this would be surprised of the outcome of me going to talk to him that day. He kept rambling on about how much I must have loved him since I would search him down like this. In a sad demeanor he said he was proud of me and apologized that his Mother didn’t raise him to be a man or a father. He regretted never having raised me and seemed unhappy that he and I couldn’t have been a better pair. After listening to him I lost the ability to coldly tell him that I resented him. I was thankful to have come out great, being that he was not there for me. I wanted him to be, but there was nothing we could do about the past and my childhood was over. Meeting with him was a major milestones, which left nothing else for him and I to discuss any further. He missed out on my entire life and I missed out on his. I held back my anger and pain that I’ve acquired from him resenting me. I still don’t know how it would’ve made him feel to hear that I lost a piece of my heart every time I went looking for him and he wasn’t there to greet me or to know that he made no attempt to see me graduate and accomplish great things. I gave him every attempt and he did not take advantage of it.
I admit that I’m still bitter that my very own Father raised a boy that supposedly was not his own, but took no opportunity to raise me in any way. What makes this the saddest story ever is that he is now deceased and I will not mourn him in any way. I’m angry that there was no relationship there that would subjugate me to want to mourn or pose an ounce of respect for his now fallen life force. All is done and done it is. It’s a shame how we couldn’t have been better towards each other. I almost wish that there was something there; anything. But there is nothing.
By- LaVar D. Lard (Blood son of the late Robin Stoner )
The Invisible Man in my life was the one person that I could not wish was never alive. If it was not for whatever he did when he did it, then I would not be here on this earth nor here in spirit. You’d think that’ll be someone whom I’d revere and love, if not respect and cherish, but it wasn’t. Some terms would describe him as Dad, Father, Pops, Ol’ Man, or Papi. I, on the other hand, refer to him using the terms; Him, Ol’ dude, the Sperm Donor, or My Momma’s Baby Daddy. And as you can see, I can’t excuse him for what he did, because he did nothing. And it was exactly that-nothing. That is if you consider ‘nothing’ to be impregnating a woman and leaving her presence for fifteen years straight. The job he supposedly did had a whole lot of responsibility that came with it. He left his responsibility on the cub and took off-and I hated him for that.
As a child I didn’t know what Fathers were. I didn’t realize I didn’t have one until my mother kept introducing me to all these different people, beginning when I was 4 years old. She would always refer to me as “Robin’s Son.” Shit if I knew what that meant, but I met many people over the years and in experiencing that I learnt what a Father was to me. I learned that a Father was someone who was supposed to be the opposite of your mother. He was suppose to be someone who was always there everyday of your life. I soon realized that that was what a Father was to other kids. I felt incomplete because I only had a Mother and knew nothing of who my father was, not even a picture. I did my research by asking the right questions to the right people. I knew that he was in California, I received bits and pieces of his contact information, and I was told that I looked just like him. After some years I was able to contact him and I told him that I wanted to meet him. I asked him how his life was and if he missed me. I don’t recall exactly what his answers were, but I was comforted that I did have that other parent. It was just that he was not in the same state as me that made it difficult to pursue anything else.
When I was Fifteen my family lived in the shanty part of the city. Down the street from us lived a man whom I learned to call my Uncle Syl. It was my Uncle Syl who had married into my Father’s family and widowed out some time later. I often went to visit him to feel embraced by my some semblance of my Father’s family. He was a good man, even til’ the day when he called to tell me that Robin was in town. He went into detail by telling me that he was over at some homeless shelter in Rock Island, IL. I saw this as my opportunity to meet he man, the myth, and the legend-my Dad. Maybe my facial expression didn’t show it, but I was surprised, enthused, and amused to meet him. Me, my brother, my mom and her boyfriend all went to the homeless shelter to see him.
Robin, My Father, Sperm Donor, Baby’s Daddy, and Ol’s man was not what I expected. Although I never met him in person I expected for him to be glowing, if not sparkling like gold. He was a small man with bad skin who looked as if the last 20 years of his life where at the bottom of a whisky bottle. This was where I became amused. Now, I knew my mother could have done better than this, but this was the one she chose. There could be no other and at the time I didn’t wish that he never existed. I appreciated the new fact that I had a Father now and I embraced it. I hugged him and touched him for the first time. I didn’t cry, because I was relieved that I finally met him. How could I have known that this wasn’t the last time I’d yearn for a father to be in my life?
I was not sad as hell about my relationship with my Father. When I was eighteen and I haven’t seen nor heard anything from Robin in the longest time. Actually I had seen him 5 times ever since I first met him when I was fifteen. Sometime between then and when I was eighteen my mother filed for child support, being that he wasn’t being active nor visiting frequently enough. Little did I know that this pushed him away more that I could ever expect. He was angry of mother’s resentment for him not taking a hold of this responsibility a long time ago. Her bitterness at him caused him to resent me. Lucky me huh? I invited him to my high school graduation and I made sure that he received an invitation by dropping one off at his job, at his case worker, and at the place that he lived. I continued with me life and went off to college; thinking that I’d never see him again. Before I knew it I graduated college, moved to Kansas City, and spent several years there only to learn that he lived there for a year prior to the first time we met. I found myself thinking about him often, then I realized that I had to ask this man some questions before he die or something. Who knew what would happen with him, being that he and alcohol were one of the same. I made a special trek to the Quad Cities to find him. It took me a whole 2 hours, but I found him, with alcohol in hand. I asked him if I could speak with him for a moment, he obliged and we went off to have lunch together, minus the alcohol. At this luncheon I asked him questions that I didn’t want to follow him to his grave. These were questions about who he was, his mother, father, and any other fallen family members that I haven’t had the chance to meet during my life time.
Anyone who reads this would be surprised of the outcome of me going to talk to him that day. He kept rambling on about how much I must have loved him since I would search him down like this. In a sad demeanor he said he was proud of me and apologized that his Mother didn’t raise him to be a man or a father. He regretted never having raised me and seemed unhappy that he and I couldn’t have been a better pair. After listening to him I lost the ability to coldly tell him that I resented him. I was thankful to have come out great, being that he was not there for me. I wanted him to be, but there was nothing we could do about the past and my childhood was over. Meeting with him was a major milestones, which left nothing else for him and I to discuss any further. He missed out on my entire life and I missed out on his. I held back my anger and pain that I’ve acquired from him resenting me. I still don’t know how it would’ve made him feel to hear that I lost a piece of my heart every time I went looking for him and he wasn’t there to greet me or to know that he made no attempt to see me graduate and accomplish great things. I gave him every attempt and he did not take advantage of it.
I admit that I’m still bitter that my very own Father raised a boy that supposedly was not his own, but took no opportunity to raise me in any way. What makes this the saddest story ever is that he is now deceased and I will not mourn him in any way. I’m angry that there was no relationship there that would subjugate me to want to mourn or pose an ounce of respect for his now fallen life force. All is done and done it is. It’s a shame how we couldn’t have been better towards each other. I almost wish that there was something there; anything. But there is nothing.
posted by Mookdaddy at 9:55 AM
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