I’ve never really had the (dubious) luxury of being able to fit neatly into a prescribed “identity” or “role”:
For one thing, at least the last several generations of my relatives were “White trash”:
My “Father” is a virulently-racist, burnt-out drunk. From what I can piece together, he was functionally illiterate even before the (serious) memory-loss which appears to have eroded hiis cognitive functions since his most recent heart surgery.
The only things I definitively know about his past:
- He was married at least once prior to hooking up with my “mom”. Thus, I have several half-siblings, at least some of whom live in Virginia. (I’ve never been able to muster up any sort of interest in giving enough of a shit about any of them, beyond the one half-sister (Lisa), who claims to have actually lived with my parents and I at one point. (I have no memory of this, whatsoever.)
- The primary (or sole) reason that he blundered into fatherhood is because he “doesn’t like condoms”.
- He claims to have been stationed somewhere in Alabama, during Army service at some point. I have never been able to corroborate this, nor does doing so interest me very much. (My Aunt — the one of his sisters with whom he occasionally communicates — has expressed doubt to me as to whether anything my Dad says about his own past is true. She has stated (for example) that he lied to her about having worked at an oil-field in Saudi Arabia during hte same time period during which he now claims to have been stationed in Alabama.)
I can’t figure out how to ask him (even if I wanted to): for whatever reason, subsequent to his most recent heart surgery (?) he seems to barely be able to remember to hold any kind of coherent conversation for any length of time, without either repeating himself several times, or directly contradicting something he said a few moments prior.
4. He was never “around” in any usable fashion back during my childhood/teens. He was either off fucking other women (mostly slut-pigs from truckstops/bars), or blackout-drunk on the living room couch. In either case, he was utterly useless in terms of being a “role-model” (except possibly as an object-lesson in how to fail spectacularly in literally every possible way.
From approximately 1989-2009 (I think) I had no contact with him whatsoever. The proximate cause of this was when he didn’t show up to hang out with me on my 16th birthday. Oddly enough, both my “mother” and my idiot, heroin-addict half-brother went to “Chi-Chi’s” (my favorite tex-mex restaurant at the time) without me — even though my “mother” had previously stated that doing so would constitute my “birthday present”.
Quite frankly, my 16th birthday was yet another situation where I was systematically fucked over by all of them.
Speaking of the other two:
My “mother” is — if anything — infinitely worse, in my estimation:
- She chaim-smoked while pregnant (causing me to be born prematurely as a result).
- She then relentlessly milked her status as the mother of a “miracle-baby”, by means of varioius, extremely embarrassing “fluff”-pieces in the local media.
- Meanwhile, she was alternatively “ignoring”/covering up for the antics of my idiot, heroin-addict half-brother, as he “progressed” from chonically-truant school bully, to High-school dropout/heroin addict obsessed with “White power” ideology, to morbidly obese, CHAINSMOKING heroin-addict (which was his current status as of 2013, when I severed contact with both of them).
Basically, I am only capable of 3 emotional states where my “relatives” are concerned:
- Seething, barely-restrained rage
- Icy contempt
- Utter lack of interest
I would honestly find it amusing if one of them were to fall asleep smoking, and “accidentally” burn to death as a result.
I know that neither of my “parents” were capable of the sort of forethought/active participation in their own lives which would have allowed them to amass anything of value for me to “inherit”. “Mom” managed to squander any potential value her shitbox of a house might have had by allowing her most recent husband Frank to re-mortgate the place so he could run up tremendous amounts of credit-card debt, on frivolous purchases.
Most likely, in the event of “Mom’s” death (assuming the Junkie Psychopath hasn’t OD’d by then), the Junkie Psychopath will reign destruction upon that house — along with its drug-addled “friends” — to the point where it lacks any sale-value, whatsoever.
That’s assuming that the (mortgage-encumbered) house doesn’t get grabbed due to my “mother” becoming unable to pay the (most likely extortionate) amount the banksters are probbaly gouging her, for the privilege of continuing to live there.
As to my “father”: he and his current wife live in a dumpy little trailer in an “over 55” trailer-park. I have my doubts that they have anything in the way of savings, etc. Moreover, given the fact that anything “dad” DOES possess will most likely end up being divided among the half-siblings from Virginia, and his current wife — yet again, I stand approximately a 99% chance of getting screwed over by the guy, yet again.
So, no: I can’t even brgin myself to pretend to respect either of them in hopes of inheriting their garbage.
(Most likely, the only thing I’ll “inherit” from either of them is whatever shit-tastic disorders are endemic to their “family history”.)
Thanks again, fuck-asses.