September, 1987

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

As I made my way to the first meeting of my German language course last night I got caught in the snarl of displaced traffic that resulted from service problems with the Green Line train.  I ultimately had to take a very circuitous route that resulted in me arriving to my first class nearly thirty minutes late.

During my long trip I found myself with ample time to ruminate just a bit too much.  I found myself thinking back to September of the year 1987.  That September marked the beginning of my entry into that precious, transformative (and often highly angst ridden) time known as high school.  It also marked the first time I took a German language course.  I was young for my grade.  Being born in September can be a bit of a curse that way.  A person born this time of the year will ultimately be very young or very (chronologically) mature for his grade.  I began high school before I had reached my fourteenth birthday.

I recall the weeks leading up to my entry into high school were a time of high anxiety for me.  I had a younger brother who was an infant at the time.  I felt unsure of myself.  I had my growth spurt late compared to other boys.  I thus began my freshman year looking very much like a kid.  Being short of stature and young was not an easy way to start high school.

My transition into the realm of high school was further complicated by the fact that I was sick at the very beginning of the school year.  I thus began the school year feeling even less prepared for that new phase of my life.   It’s still strange how well I can recall that time of my life now.  I can still vividly recall my father speaking to me in my bedroom during the few days I was ill.  I remember him holding my little brother in his arms and talking to me about ‘saving’ his soul.  I wanted to roll my eyes as he spoke.  At the age of thirteen I was already exceedingly weary of how his conduct had caused me untoward harm. 

The grief I feel regarding the very sub-optimal relationship I long had with my father is still with me.  It’s improving as time passes.  I have learned to accept the inevitable highs and lows of my journey to a life of freedom from the pain of the past.  It simply takes time.

When my birthday comes this Sunday I want to celebrate the life I have been given to live.  I want to celebrate my renewed health and the new direction I am moving in my life.  I do not want to harbor resentment and feel burdened by the past.  I wish I could remember my father’s life and recall more moments of pleasure and contentment than I ultimately do.  It’s so sad that I feel completely estranged from my father.  I doubt that will ever change.  The time has come for me to live my own life and never more look to him…for anything.