Some Men Just Want to Watch the World Burn

There is this scene in the film "The Dark Knight", Michael Caine's character is talking to Christian Bale's.

"A long time ago, I was in Burma, my friends and I were working for the local government.They were trying to buy the loyalty of tribal leaders by bribing them with precious stones. But their caravans were being raided in a forest north of Rangoon by a bandit. So we went looking for the stones. But in 6 months, we never found anyone who traded with him. One day I saw a child playing with a ruby the size of a tangerine. The bandit had been throwing them away.

"Then why steal them?" The Bale character asks.

"Because he thought it was good sport. Because some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn."

This is a story of my father. A person who is rarely mentioned in this blog with the exception of occasionally referring to him as an ass. Due to recent events I feel compelled to vent on what a monster this man really is.

My father and I were never close, even as a young boy there was an intense separation to us. It was always like being around someone you inherently didn't trust. He never understood me, he knew my mind was open and free, he knew right from the start he would never be able to control me. He could punish me, he could ground me, he could be so incredibly cruel mentally trying to break me down. But I always got up, and I always got stronger. He could never win, I could not be broken, and by the age of 7 or 8 I stood in pure defiance of his behavior towards family and friends.

By the time I was in high school, I wasn't even allowed in the house while my parents weren't there. I was kept on the back patio like a dog (quite funny considering my dog was actually inside at the time), there was some water left for me, and a cordless phone (I would call everyone I could long distance just to spite him.)

I won't go too deep on my relationship with him, because it doesn't matter. Any relationship my father and I had died with the '70's. I want to focus more on his long term impact and the damage he was capable of.

I'll jump forward in time to the early '90's. A girlfriend that I had split up with found that she was pregnant. Long story short, the child was adopted down in Idaho. It was a planned birth and I knew exactly the day she was to be born. Man, it wasn't easy. I can't even fathom that being easy for anyone. I was pacing all day long, and I was worried about Lisa and the baby and hundreds of things. That night would be the last dinner my family would ever have together. My father decided to say something right during dinner, something that won't be repeated here or ever. I walked out. It was a horrible stormy night cold and driving rain, not typical for late August in Vancouver, but somehow oddly appropriate. I just remember walking down to the pier on 15th. I walked straight into the ocean, yes me with my fear of the ocean. It just felt like it washed everything thing away and the rain and the surf washed the tears from my eyes.

I went back and packed up and cleared out. My mother left him a few days later, for good. You have to admire my mother. She waited until he went away on business and then took exactly half of everything. You would have thought it would take days, but she managed to do it in a couple of hours, something I always attributed to long term planning.

My father returned and immediately started calling all of us kids, there was no regret, or sorrow or anything like that. Just blame and anger and accusations that could obviously never be substantiated. What is the first thing a sane man would do in this situation? Well, I don't know, I don't know any sane men. I can tell you what my father did though. My mother in her haste had forgotten one thing, the family photos. My father went through and cut up every single family picture ever taken. Christmas', holidays, you name it, all gone. The only memories I have from my youth are what I have in my head, a few photos I had taken myself over the years, and the home movies I had snuck out before this had all gone down. Just shameful and pathetic.

Almost as quickly as my mother had left, my father had found someone new to victimize. Although in the end it turned into a 50/50 deal. Wait for it....here it comes....she was his receptionist. A blond of the bimboist proportions. Up to this point he had been calling me all the time crying about how lonely he was, and that it was my mother that had stirred all this rage in him about my child (to quote Nipsey Russell...Right). I basically kept him at an arms length. I was struggling, I was working full time and going to college full time and I was hungry. So I sort of sold my soul to the devil so I could get a listen cash now and then and maybe a meal. In return I would listen to his sob stories.

Before you knew it my father and Bimbo would be showing up at my house in their sports car and matching track suits. The wedding happened faster than the first new tax introduced after an NDP won election. I had made my feelings of this woman known quite clearly. It culminated on my birthday when I went for dinner with them and my grandparents at Bay Moorings in West Vancouver. When my father went to the washroom, she leaned over and squeezed my knee and asked if I wanted to do some cocaine with her in the washroom. Talk about horrified. Geez Louise. I rushed through the dinner and excused myself. I said I wasn't feeling well and I left. I never saw the woman again, and I went to consult my grandparents on the issue.

To be continued......