Calling Dad

Have you ever done something in your life that left somebody completely devastated? I’m sure you have. I know I have. Some things intentionally, others accidentally.

When I was eight or nine years old my dad started taking my brother and me for weekends, twice a month, as part of his custody. The visits started when I was eight. He left when I was six, and at eight, he would pick us up two Saturdays a month. Then after about a year he asked my mom if it was cool if he had us for a whole weekend, he wanted to take us to Palm Springs for the whole two days. She reluctantly said, “OK.”

We were all nervous, me, my mom and my brother. Good, bad or whatever, we got used to our routine. Two years together and now it’s getting changed. I don’t know what to say to this guy, you were and now you’re not. So, we ending arguing and fighting (probably, just me and my mom, my brother was a pretty low-key dude).

So, one time my dad comes over to pick us up and we’re bickering, my dad says, “If the fighting gets too much and you want to get away, just call me. I’ll pick you up and bring you back once everybody is calmed down.” What?! We couldn’t do that. It felt like we’d be selling out mom.

So, six or seven months later some shit popped off and everybody is fighting, crying and carrying-on. So, I say, “I’m going to call dad to come get us.” At that point my mom was like, “Fine, go ahead.”

Something happened during the time I told my dad to get us and the time when he arrived. It sunk in, I sold my mom out. The guy who ditched us was now my safe-haven.

By the time my dad arrived we were all crying and apologizing. My dad was cool about it; he let my mom know that we were going to run up to the newsstand, buy some comic books then we would be back.

Though I would have many, many more fights with my mom, I never forgot how devastated she looked as I dialed my dad up on the phone.

#michaelessington #lifewontwait

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