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The ability of Fathers and Sons to have a conversation...

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Apparently I don't have this ability, or he doesn't, or some combination of the two.

I honestly feel like I am talking to some alien person when we try and have a serious conversation.

Zero connection.

Does anyone else have this issue ? Or am I just especially fuged up? (yeah yeah)

I tried almost my entire life to make my Father proud of me. (Never happened.)

He never understood me, of course it would have helped, if he was around and not in meetings all the time.

He was disgusted that I played with dolls as a kid. (GI Joes)

That I would go to work for a company (I was an engineer with IBM) that wasn't union.

That I wasn't humping everything in a skirt. (There's no such thing as a bad piece of @**.) Maybe that was the reason he related better to my ssiter?

How come I called "Collect" after Hugo hit. (I had no power, phone, nothing. I called to get a care package sent to me (Batteries/candles.) And how I was going to pay him back!)

He was pissed that I called again from Saudi Arabia for another care package. (For Gold Bond Powder!)

Both times, my Mom put together a care package and mailed it to me. (And Yes, I paid her/them back.)

I always credited my Mom with raising me. I used to say that "My Mom raised me to be a man withoug being a Moma's boy."

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My father and I had an extremely tenuous relationship from an early age through my early twenties. He was pretty hard on me. Though I brought a lot of that on myself as we were both stubborn as hell. He and my mother divorced when I was just over a year old, and remarried when I was about 15.

It wasn't until I straightened my life up and left the drugs behind that we were able to start tearing down the walls we built between us through all those years. That's a long process but we did manage to get a bit closer in the few years between me straightening up and him dying of cancer. That's not to say we were close, though, and I'm not sure we ever would have been truly close. But being able to carry on a conversation with him after 20 years of not really being able to speak without arguing and butting heads was a nice change. I don't actually think he ever told me he loved me or that he was proud of me (though he never really got the chance on that one) and I think the first time as an adult that I told him I loved him was immediately following his death. So there's that.

I thank him greatly for not enabling me during all those years of experimentation and irresponsibility, and he gave me a great opportunity to take over the business he started two years prior to his death and that has been an incredible boost of stability for myself, my wife and my 19-month old daughter. Several other things he did to truly help me I won't get into here, but he definitely did all he could to help me overcome the difficulties of establishing a new life after tearing my old one down.

It's too bad I couldn't share that last paragraph with him while he was still alive.

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