my moral compass

this one is about him. my dad. the man who taught right from wrong. every single memory i have of my father is of him standing for everything that is good and right and true. i remember christmas cards to my mother, after divorce. during the silence. in those cards cash. needed money. the means to give us, his children, a little something christmas morning. i never talk about how poor i was growing up, because i never feel like i have the right to speak on that topic. because for most of the time anyone i currently associate with has known me, i have been comfortable, or with the means to obtain the things i want. growing up this was not the case. like so many things in my life there has always been duality. mom and dad. strength and wisdom.

to be blunt and give as little self pity to this story as i can. when my parents split it was good. it was, i think, an attempt to let one of them walk away alive from a ship that was sinking fast. drunks, who come from drunks, with troubled kids, it was all too much. more kids. more bills. one job. one steady flow of income. the pressure, i imagine must have weighed him down. so my dad, in an act of survival, saw a life preserver and grabbed hold. i have never been like so many children of divorce, optimistic for a norman rockwell painting they could never be. i know my mother's abandon and need were draining. i believe that had they stayed together they would both be dead now.

my father taught me to do the right thing. early. when they split 75% of his take home pay was put in my mother pocket. he kept just enough money to eat (a little) and give money to the house he was staying in. legal matters ensued. money distributed. and still everyweek he would bring her, my mother, food and help. aid in battle she never could have won. a battle to survive.
i know, from him, the importance of helping whenever you can. of giving that extra bit, even if it might strain you. of favors and selflessness. of giving, without bells and whistles.