Life As I Play It

Recently, my father and I made peace. This brought more than two decades of animosity between me and my father to a close.

Up until now, this was the most defining element of my life. I’m glad I was able to tell my father that I loved him while I still had the chance, and while I feel that something has been lifted, I’m at a loss, trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do now.

Michigan may have been where everything peaked out; dodging lengthy prison sentences and nearly being killed a couple of times made me realize that I wasn’t going to live forever. But in my self-destructive anger, I pushed away a lot of people whose only mistake was trying to love me.

I’m tired of shoving people away. My problem is that I like people just fine, but I don’t trust them at all.

Not everyone is bad, and I’m blessed to know some very good people. But if you want to find out who your friends are, see them in a life-or-death situation…or put them in a position of power. Both allow you to see people as they really are, with no inhibitions or deceptions. You’d be surprised (horrified) by what you’d learn.

My problem is this; I’m inclined to believe the worst in people, and so I keep them away, and the good ones I find I’m terrified of losing, so I keep them away.

Hell of a way to live, I know, but it makes me good at my job; I’m at my best with people who will never know who I really am.

This is why I rarely try to write towards other people.

Lately, as the anger subsides, something else has come to light; people have tried to reach out to me, and being my usual self, I’ve resisted at most opportunities. I turn down rides to and from work despite hard rain or blistering heat. I had no idea how to react when referred to as someone’s friend.

Still, what I’m facing now is easier than what I just came from.
I’m free from the rage that stayed with me for so long. I’m free from hating my father, from the past I held onto for so long. My head’s a holy mess right now, but I’ll figure it out, I always do.

I have good people seeing me through it. I’ll meet more along the way.

This was my Independence Day.
I hope you enjoyed yours.

Maybe next time, I’ll accept that ride home.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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Ah, the long, difficult, and storied relationship of me and my father.  I was tremendously angry when I first started telling stories about my childhood; my father had always been so good at getting away with everything. To the world, I was the demon child, and he was the valiantly-struggling parent. So when I started writing, my goal was to make sure the world knew “the whole story”. So I wrote, and wrote, and wrote some more until enough people heard me, and hated my father as much as I did.

Mission accomplished; the world knew.

But God works in mysterious ways, and as more and more people despised my father, I found myself…getting over the whole thing. Now I find myself cleaning up my own mess; explaining to people that my father isn’t quite the bastard I made him out to be on MySpace.

Now, before you call me a fraud, let me explain something; not once did I lie about anything my father put me or my mother through. What I omitted, however, was that I was not the best child. In fact, I really was a little demon, and I have the juvenile record to prove it.

Now, you can do the what-came-first-the-chicken-or-the-egg argument until the cows come home (I think I’ve been in the country too long, if phrases like that come naturally). My very first memory of my father isn’t pleasant, and I began acting out as soon as I could walk. Was my father overly strict because he didn’t want me to act out, and I rebelled? Or did I act out because I knew no other way to get attention? Truthfully, I think I acted out because I just flat-out didn’t care. None of it matters; it’s all in the past.

Amazingly, my father is about to celebrate a birthday, I’m in my thirties, and my oldest son is a slightly-out-of-control honor roll student. And a bloody teenager. Everything comes full circle.

It took me a long time-getting into my thirties-before I figured out who I was and what I wanted, and honestly, my father played a huge role in that. No one ever hit me as hard as he did. No one ever hurt me as much as he did. No one ever pushed me to the brink like he did. The real world? Other people? Please. The real fight took place at home. Home was where I was forged. Dad often used to say that I was soft, and that part of the reason why he rode me so hard was because he wanted to toughen me up.

It worked.

He taught me how to think faster. He taught me how to respond to situations faster than most people. He taught me to think for myself and stand by my actions. He taught me that the world wouldn’t give a damn about me; if I wanted to make something happen, then I had to make it happen. He taught me self-reliance.

He taught me that failure has a price. He taught me to be my hardest critic. He taught me to never stop climbing until I get to where I want to be. Inadvertently, he taught me to be acknowledge my successes (something I never saw him do) but at the same time, never become complacent. Never become satisfied. Never think you’ve learned all there is to something.

I apply my entire being to an endeavor, whether it’s the martial arts, writing, or this job I’m about to close my first week on (and not doing so bad on, so far). I don’t know how to go half-ass on anything, and I have little patience for people that do. I have no patience for people for go half-assed and then bitch and moan when they don’t get anywhere. I’m not low-key; I live out loud, I like to laugh, I like to be a bit immature at times, I like to have fun, meet new people, and experience new things. I’m wicked loyal to video games and I love being a dork. And I make no apologies for who I am.

My father has his issues-who doesn’t-but I proudly say that he kept food on the table, and every time he gave his word on something, I stopped worrying about it. I learned what that meant from him.

He may have been a colossal prick, but he’s still my father, and I’m proud to call him that. I am who I am because I was raised to be strong. I can deal with the issues.

So thanks, dad, sincerely.

And I’m doing okay.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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2008 was a great year. Runners up include holding onto the same job, apartment, and phone number. The grand prize is that I was never arrested.
Even more important, I never gave the police a reason to arrest me, although that didn’t stop them from looking for one.

The new year started off routinely; I sprained my back in a sparring match. Although Billy continually asked me if I was alright, I chose to fight through the pain (just like always) and continue. I was in so much pain that those who watched the match pointed out how worn out I was. I fought on. I don’t know why. The addiction to fighting is something I need to deal with this coming year.

I blog about the people and events that have the most impact on me (that I’m allowed to talk about), which brings me back to my relationship with Molly. She tore me a new one when I told her that I had hurt myself sparring. What she said hit home, and she made me make a promise; I will undoubtedly make friends in St. Louis who share my passion. The second I get hurt, stop. I can no longer risk a serious injury that jeopardizes my ability to take care of my children.

Her influence on me has forced me to take my life into account; she’s much more informed on world events than I am, and I find myself having a hard time keeping up in conversation with this girl who’s ten years my junior. There is no excuse for how little I know about the world around me, and I find myself driven to learn everything I can as quickly as I can. Adding the Nightly News to my list of podcasts was a good idea. I can no longer afford to have an apathetic attitude; I’m a part of this world too.

I’m blessed with a near-invincible drive; if I decide that you’re not going to beat me, then you’re not. If I decide to succeed at something, then I’m going too. I hold myself to a very high standard and I used to tell myself that it was okay to do the best I could; if I failed after doing the best I could, then I could live with that. This is no longer the case, and I can no longer have even the slightest excuse for failure. With more than my own life at stake, I can no longer just try; I have to succeed at some level.

This means I have to get a lot of my self-doubt under control; I have a hard time believing why anyone would want to be with me. I can pick apart someone’s motives until they finally leave, and then say this was how it’s supposed to be; I’m supposed to be alone. Or, I can try this; Molly wants to be with me, and also, she believes in my ability to succeed.

So not too long ago, she comes across a blog written by someone I was considering a relationship with, and some of what was mentioned drove her a little crazy. One of the statements in the blog alluded to the more she got to know me, the more she saw a child. I didn’t take it personally–at first. I noted that this blog came following a decision to be with Molly instead of her. When Molly began to ask me about the legitimacy of our relationship (was I sure about her?) I took things a little more seriously. I can screw things up with women just fine on my own; I don’t need any help.

I wasn’t raised normally. I have no desire to be “normal” because the idea of settling into a dreamless existence is a fate worse than Hell to me. I like to laugh, as often as possible. I look for fun in everything I do. I charge obstacles wholeheartedly and with everything I have because if I try to half-heart the obstacle, then I’m only going to get halfway through it. I approach the world with a child’s curiosity because it is a huge planet God gave us, with literally millions of opportunities to explore. I am close-minded to almost nothing and blessedly, I have been exposed to a multitude of cultures and at one point, I spoke Japanese nearly fluently (not so much anymore. Not too many opportunities to practice in the Midwest).

I take my responsibilities very seriously; I’ll go so far as to say that I take my responsibilities more seriously than most people because I have been where one ends up when they ignore their responsibilities. My children are my life and no matter what I encounter this year, I will have some sort of custody arrangement by summer.

I’m not a child. I may not look at life the same way most people do, but this doesn’t make me a child.

I will, however, cop to being a dork. And screw Tony Stark; I’m Iron Man.

So begins another year, one which finds me in a very promising relationship, mine to make work, at the first stages of a burgeoning writing career, about to move to a major metropolis area and begin caring for my two children.

The battle to curb my insecurities, keep my anger in check, and overcome my trust issues continue.

For the first time in more than ten years, my father and I will come face-to-face in June of this year. An angry child left California; a father and writer will return.

Let 2009 begin.

Thanks for following along.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC

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