Root of Bitterness (Part 2)

(Continued from 6/16/2010)

One day soon thereafter Dad sent a process server to the house and presented my mom with divorce papers. It was a really weird realization. My parents were big fat liars. They had told us from the time that we were little, that they loved us and that the wanted the best for us. Frankly, that was nothing but a load of propaganda. Some people want to do the right thing. For others it’s enough to want to WANT to do the right thing. Those folks can easily find excuses for anything they decide to do.

My mom was devastated. She cried, but she caught herself quickly and found the deep, dark strength that her family had bequeathed her. In the short run, bitterness can seem to be an asset. For many years in became her focus and her desire to burn my father’s house down, with him, my sisters and me in it. Hard lines were drawn. If you so much as tip your hat in Dad’s direction, you are a traitor. Traitors must all be shot at dawn.

My dad acted a bit more casually. He hired the best divorce attorney in the state and set out to take whatever he deemed to be his, especially his new “metro” car dealership. The first place Mom’s attorney attacked was the dealership. Was it true that there was a moral obligation for Dad to give half of the winnings from his entrepreneurial endeavors to a mere housewife? Millions to the milkmaid?

Sickeningly, I was dragged into the proceedings at this point. Dad called me up and invited me to a meeting with his attorney. I figured that no harm would be done. What could he ask me? Was my dad a jerk? Did he have a violent temper at times? Did he like to drink a little? Was Mom angry often? Did she have the worst case of PMS in the universe? I could easily answer “yes” to all of those questions and be done with it, right?

Not so fast. Even though I was only 25, I could see where the attorney was going. “Did your Dad and Mom actually SELL you a piece of their business or was it a GIFT?” Hmmm… It was an easy thing to do. The attorney was so crafty and I was so willing. “You know, if your mom can prove that this was a gift, then she will be able to financially destroy the company. Where will you work then?”

I was convinced. Whatever that honorable barrister asked me to say, I would say it. Self preservation, right? I had a wife and kids, right? I needed to say whatever I needed to say to make it all go away. Go away it did. My dad ended up giving my mom several million dollars just to settle, but I could feel the tips of the bitter rootlets pierce my soul. But just a little.

Needless to say, my mom was livid. I saw my grandfather for the last time outside the attorney’s office. Now he was glowering at me. It’s amazing how alliances can be made and broken. “Many are defiled.” For the next almost six years I never talked to my mom. By 1990, I had four kids and I was deeply involved in my work and my Christian apologetics ministry. I had an ache to do the “right thing” with my mom. With the encouragement of a Christian friend, I called her on the phone and apologized. “Oh yeah? We’ll see.”

For the next three years, I saw Mom occasionally. We did Christmas. (Christmas was eerily reminiscent of the Christmas Eve’s of my youth!) We did a few Easters and an occasional dinner. She saw my kids, but wasn’t too interested. What she was interested in was for me to do my penance. Like a good Catholic, temporal punishment is necessary to absolve one of one’s sins. She wanted me to pay for my sin from the divorce.

My personality is such that I don’t really like to call people up just to chat. I am more of a substance and conflict kind of guy. I usually leave the social calendar up to my wife. As married folks do, some duties are always relegated to one spouse or the other. In the case of invitations and appointments in our family, my wife is the go-to girl. My mom would have none of it. If I didn’t call her personally and find a new way to apologize for my lack of loyalty from years earlier, then she wanted nothing to do with me. In fact, she said so in a letter. She was done with me . . . again. She has never seen my youngest son. He is now 15.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, my dad’s business dealings were getting dicier and dicier. After draining the last of the cash from the car dealership, he decided to start dating seriously. This was a new affront to my sensibilities. It’s strange thing to hear your own father saying things to young girls that would embarrass Pee Wee Herman. “If you were wearing cowboy boots, I’d marry you!” to perfect strangers in public places and with ME in earshot! My level of tolerance was thinning. If it wasn’t the banging headboard from the hotel room next door on a business trip, (he was entertaining his “date”), it was seeing a 21 year old hottie driving a brand new 300 ZX fresh off the lot, (with his permission of course).

Who cares about cash flow when you have love? Dad spent much of his time entertaining the girls and spending money like he had it. The dealership was in trouble and he needed help. Just after the divorce I occasionally visited the “big store” in Phoenix. I had my own deal down south. (Remember the “gift”?) So I was only exposed to his new libertine life once in awhile. It never really sunk in until later that year. Dad called.

“Hey son? Would you mind coming up to Phoenix for a few days? We’ve been selling cars in record numbers, but there is something wrong with the bank. It seems like we don’t have any cash.”

(To be continued)