Chapter 1

I did not get along with my father. So, when I heard he was going to remarry, it was hard enough for me to conjure up any emotion to resemble giving a damn, let alone commit to a physical presence for his wedding. Which was exactly what he was asking.

"This means a lot to me. I'd really like it if you were there, son." So many virulent responses raced to the forefront of my brain, hung on the edge of my lips, begged to be spat into the phone receiver. I wanted to ask him why he was never there for me? Why after his divorce with my mother, he hardly had anything to do with me for almost four years. Why out of the blue he showed up on my tenth birthday to say, 'Son, I've swallowed my pride'. What kind of crap was that? Least of all, he could have apologized to my mother. She raised me. She. Alone.

Hindsight being what it is, I didn't say it, though maybe I should have. My mom, ever the peacemaker, rearranged it with the custody courts, granting my father weekend rights to see me. And for five years, things bore some semblance of normality. I spent the week days with my mom, went to school, did extracurriculars like a normal kid, and visited my dad on the weekends. It's funny, my dad is actually a decent enough guy.

That is, if you can look past his being a terrible father. I think once he realized I was pretty much raised, and he didn't have much left to do but be a friend, he relaxed. He started treating me more like an equal, and that was cool considering how alike we are. I mean, you really can't hide from genetics. We're both baseball nuts. We like the outdoors. We love to fish. And for good or ill, both quick-tempered. So, on those weekends together, I got to have that friend my father finally figured out how to be, while trying to bury what he should have been. Sure, there was still a bit of trepidation, but things were a far cry better than they'd been not so long ago.

When I had started high school things sort of fell apart. My mom was offered a great job down in Phoenix, so we were forced to move south leaving my dad a full two hours away. Not one to enjoy a challenge, my dad almost immediately began making signs like he would give up. He would bad mouth my mom—always jealous of her, in reality—claiming she was moving me farther away on purpose. I did have the presence of mind to remind him that she was the one who went to the trouble of getting the courts to allow him partial custody.

At any rate, for a few months he might come and get me for a weekend, or he might not. He would call on Friday and say: 'Can't this weekend. Gotta job in Flagstaff' or: 'Things are too hectic to make the drive'. I was still young, of course, and at fifteen you haven't quite got it put together. You don't realize how easy it can be just to say: 'Stick it up your ass. If you don't want to be my father or my friend, then adios!' You're still at that age when you're unsure of your ability to toss in the occasional ultimatum.

When I turned sixteen, I got my driver's license and my mom helped me buy a car. I was so excited, I forgot it'd been four months since I'd seen my father so I jumped into my car that Friday after school and drove the two hours north to see my dad. I felt so free. I felt as if I were Ze Bridger of Ze Gap. My dad's response on seeing me pull up was nothing short of a complete buzz kill. He was sitting on his front porch reading the paper when I stepped out of my car. 'It's about time', was all he said. And that was that.