A History of Violence

Ugh!! What a week. I am just drained. A few too many early mornings, and a few too many days on the road. I think I could have slept forever today if I had given it a chance.

Way too much on my mind, and time is just going by too fast. Hopefully I will be able to put the brakes on a bit in December (double ugh, Christmas).

I don't know what the deal is lately, but it suddenly seems like every snot nosed 22 year old boy wants to pick a fight with me. I never go out looking for trouble, but I definitely hang out in a spot where it is possible. My fuse hasn't been the longest in recent months. I'm pretty certain that I have a fairly pressing blood pressure issue, but since my doctor retired I haven't been able to find a new one and I think I've let it go a little far. I am quite worried about it. So my patience has gone from a thick piece of oak to a summer dried twig. If someone wants to push my buttons, I'm going to push back fast and hard.

In the last week and a half three different guys have tried to pick a fight with me. I'm a 40 year old guy for Christ's sake. Part of me thinks that's why they do it. They think they can talk trash to you and because of your age and "maturity" you won't do anything about it. But I have my lines. If someone wants to be ill-mannered, demeaning towards women, or even a little too egotistical, they are probably going to hear about it from me. (And never, never, never, ever, call me a snob....very very bad).

That's the way the first guy decided to go. My friends and I were simply sitting around minding our own business, and discussing the week that was. Buddy boy took it upon himself to keep interrupting people's conversations and making the most inappropriate remarks. We totally ignored him. Later he decided to change seats so he could establish direct eye contact with us. I was texting a friend of mine when he started to point out what snobs we were. Big mistake. I placed the phone down and turned towards him. I calmly pointed out the fact that maybe he was perceiving us as snobs because he was being so obnoxious we didn't want to have anything to do with him and maybe if he took that next daring leap up the evolutionary chain we would converse with him like a human being rather than a knuckle dragging ape.

I turned back and started texting again. I could feel the soft breeze of forced air that was obviously his jaw dropping with shear velocity as he tried to comprehend what was just said to him. He leaned over to the table beside him and said to the people that he thought he might have just been insulted. When the people just laughed at him it was game on. He stood up and came over to where I sat. I pretended not to notice and just continued texting. He then went on a verbal rampage that probably exhausted the entire vocabulary of his grade 8 education. Once again I placed the phone down. I stood up, where to his surprise he found himself at eye level with my chest, and I just started the countdown. 10-9-8-what are you doing man??? I'm giving you a chance to make this right and time is running out 7-6-5 Well fuck you man, I don't need you people 4-3-2-1-gone. The door closed with the soft mutterings of an idiot trailing from his mouth as he tried to find redemption in thin air. First problem gone.

A few days later on the Saturday I wandered into the pub to watch the hockey game and to see if I could get the Utah Utes game on before. Ireland was playing France that day in the first round of their world cup qualifier. Ireland lost in a bad game and my Irish friends had been drinking since the game had started earlier that morning. I tend to stay away from that kind of stuff so I went to opposite side of the room so they could drink their woes away. The boys showed up and we hoisted a few and pretty much just shot the shit. We were keeping a eye on the Irish, there was one of them that we didn't know and he was acting a bit out of line. It didn't bother us, we just didn't want them to get into trouble.

They ended up out on the patio hacking butts. It was freezing out there, I don't really know how they were doing it seeing as how they were only wearing soccer jerseys for the most part. They were joined by this crew of guys I have seen around for about 10 years. All older construction workers. They are actually Serbs that were in the Serbian army at the time of the genocide's. They are nice enough guys, just sort of the type I will keep my distance from thank you very much.

The young one we didn't know started getting into it with them, and we could see the pot start to boil. We just keep back and told our Irish friends that they better keep an eye on him and better yet get him outta here. They just kept blowing it off, and over time the Serbs left. The guy was still acting like a goof. We just focused on the hockey game and pretended he wasn't around. About an hour later the Serbs came back in. In 10 years I had never seen them come back in. It was a little tense but I went out for a smoke and talked it up with their lead guy Jimmy for a little bit. He just said they were bored so they decided to come back.

Funny enough, when I back inside idiot boy was sitting in my seat (the second worse thing after calling me a snob). I politely asked him to move three times. The last time he gave me the finger.

Bad idea.

To be continued.....

Some Men Just Want to Watch the World Burn (Part III)

I stayed quite close to my grandparents once we were talking again, and we never mentioned the past. Fortunately my father moved out of town to his "dream" property. My grandparents were spared from his bullying other than his daily phone calls to berate them about something. My grandparents had reached the age where it was time for assisted living and moved to a complex out in Coquitlam where they could have their own apartment but also have their meals prepared for them. Even though it was a long way away I still managed to see them as often as possible.

My father constantly harassed to me to join him on his property, but I would have none of that. It was suffocating there. It wasn't real, he wasn't real, it was one of the greatest acts of all time. A phantom menace that was always lingering in the background with some impossible to conceive agenda.

My grandfathers health began to fade quite rapidly. There was one scare when I was called at work by the home saying he had been rushed to the hospital and was not expected to live more than a few hours. I rushed out there (getting a speeding ticket along the way) and ran into the hospital desparately trying to find him. My grandmother was left at the home and she too was worried to death. A nurse finally helped me and took me aside to inform me that my grandfather had nothing more than a bad case of gas. That day was probably some of the most fun we ever had together. As soon as I sat beside his bed he just started in his belly aching. "Oh John, I'm dying....good bye cruel world" and so on. As soon as I said lets go gas man, he sprung up and we were on our way. They never brought any clothes with him so he was left with his hospital gown for the ride home. I had to stop at a 7-11 on the way back to the home and I told him to sit tight. When I came out he was talking down to a bunch of teenagers smoking on the sidewalk in front. His robe and glasses making him a dead ringer for the Dalai Lama. He ever blessed them as I forced him into the truck.

He did die soon after that day. My grandfather being the man he was had everything in order. He had purchased their burial plots side by side years earlier. Everything was bought and paid for, everything was just as he wanted it. The one thing that he forgot was his son was a self serving freak. My father being the executor of the will, scraped all of my grandfathers final wishes. As I said he was obsessed with making people visit him at his "country estate", what better way to do that then to scrap the final wishes of your father and instead cremating him and burying his remains on your estate so any loved ones are forced to go there? Monster.

He basically liquified the entire estate of my grandfather, so to him my grandmother was nothing more than a nuisance now, "just another expense". My Uncle and I found a home for her just down the road from me so she would be close to me and fairly close to him on his drive home. She was never really the same after Bert died. She was already blind and her life long love was books which she could no longer enjoy. I hung a portrait of my grandfather right in front of her armchair. The home was awful and clinical, but she never really knew it. She just stared at that portrait all day long and talked to it. Even when her and I would have a conversation she would bring my grandfather into it.

I would visit there often, almost every day. We had many great conversations and would often watch Jeopardy together (her favorite). And every time I would leave we would sing "I'll Be Seeing You" to each other. She had her good days and bad. The home would call me at least once a week to go up and deal with her. She would just forget things and get very angry, but she would normally calm down once she heard my voice. I also greased the palms of many an attendant to make sure she was looked after.

Time just seemed frozen for a couple of years. She just sat in that small room and either stared at the portrait, or looked out the window where all she could see was a different shade of light. My father would visit a couple of times a year, and make his daily bullying phone call. I would see him for lunch or dinner a couple of times a year. It was always a struggle for me, but I figured it was an hour of my life and there was nothing he could do to me now.

My cousin finally decided to get married. My aunt and uncle really wanted my grandmother to come and asked it I could make it happen. That side of my family lives on Bowen Island. The plan was the wedding would take place on a boat cruise leaving from Coal Harbour. The nuptials would take place once we crossed under the bridge and the reception would commence as we cruised slowly through the outer harbour until we got to Bowen where the wedding party would depart. We would then return to Coal Harbour on the boat. It was a beautiful day and it all went quite well. The boat wasn't wheelchair friendly so we had to just find a spot for her and set up camp there.

I would run the food and wine back and forth for her, and take care of the introductions and greetings. By the time we got to Bowen she was really worn out. Almost every one departed the boat, save us and maybe about 10 other people that stayed on the top deck. The cruise back would take about 2 hours. About a half hour in she suddenly turned and looked at me, for the first time in years it was actually like her eyes could see me, and I could see them start to well with tears. She flopped her hand over the arm of the wheelchair until she could find my hand which she squeezed as hard as she could. In a broken voice she asked me why I had never said anything. I just played dumb and pretended I didn't know what she was talking about.

She looked even deeper into my eyes and said "I have always loved you, and I was wrong to do what I did. Bert was wrong and I was wrong."

I just sat there awkwardly. I just held everything inside me for so long I didn't know what to say. She said "I am not leaving this world without you understanding me. You have to know why I did what I did."

I managed to whimper out a "why?"

"We knew we were wrong. Your father said all of these things about you that we knew couldn't be true. But we knew you were strong, we knew that you would be hurt but we knew you were strong. He was our son. I could not call my son a liar, and he was my son."

She grabbed my hand even tighter than I thought possible and simply said "I missed you every day and I loved you every day." She then turned away and gazed out the window the rest of the trip with tears streaming down her face. We never spoke of it again. As soon as we docked an incredible rain storm started. I drove her home and made sure she got into bed.

She died a few weeks later just hours after I had sung her "I'll Be Seeing You" for the last time. There was never a service, there was never anything. Just my father showing up to pick up her remains to take to his estate. I've never gone there. I think we said good-bye to each other that day.

About 4 years ago I met my father and step-mother for my obligated lunch. Just another uncomfortable hour of my life. I squirmed through it all. There were the resident questions such as why I hadn't come up to see my grandparents and crap like that. You know the type where you just want to reach across the table and smack somebody. I said I had to get back to work and left.

Later that day I got an e-mail from him. He was now insisting that he be given access to my child. I simply replied back "That's not going to happen." It turned into two days and about 20 pages of e-mails going back and forth. He last one simply stated "I never expect to see or talk to you again."

I was free.

It's funny. I wasted a lot of years not contacting my daughter because I was so terrified that she would be exposed to this man. And it was literally right at the point I did contact her that it came to a head. No matter how close or distant you are to them, you still try to protect them. Except when you're a monster of course.

There are volumes between the lines here, but that's no matter. That's the past and it is gone, and hopefully for all tomorrow's, so is he.

To come full circle. The quotes between Michael Caine and Christian Bale ended like this:

Bale: The bandit, in the forest of Burma, did you catch him?

Caine: Yes.

Bale: How?

Caine: We burned the forest down.

And I hope that is how this ends. They have a court date next Wednesday, and I hope and I pray that once and for all my father is exposed as the person he really is. A man with no logic, no sense, no guilt, no love, and no accountability. A man that just wants to watch the world burn.

Some Men Just Want to Watch the World Burn (Part II)

So I talked to my grandparents, not about the cocaine offer or anything like that, just the fact that I didn't like the woman. They were quite hesitant, I had to virtually pry out of them the fact that they didn't really like the woman. But at the same time they were quick to point out that my father was lonely and had his "needs". And also that they were worried about him.

They were right in a way. My father had never been able to look after himself, he was used to being catered to. In the brief time he was alone after my mother left, he would survive on Le Menu frozen dinners solely. The plates would be littered all over his penthouse. Quite sad really.

Anyhow, that would be the last time I would see my grandparents for some years.

The following weekend I went up to Whistler with a group of friends. I can't really remember the purpose, I think it was someones birthday or something (There is a video of that night out there somewhere that is legendary). My father had asked me to call him on the Saturday. This was a hard time for me as I felt like a sell-out, but for me at that age it was a game of survival, so I would throw him a bone from time to time.

I called him and he said he had 4 tickets for the hockey game that night (my father hated sports) and if my friends and I wanted them we just had to go pick them up from him. Once off the call I discussed it with the boys and we decided we would head down to the game. It was probably a matter of 4 hours before we got back to town.

My father lived in Fort Knox. It was one of those new slick West Van towers built and lived in by the Lougheeds. Every unit was a complete floor with wrap around balcony and a gold/glass elevator that climbed the outside of the building. Security was tight (yes, I was able to breach it many times). The front door if the building was not what you would expect. It was a simple solid wood colonial door so "outsiders" could not see inside of the building. And of course off to the left was the video camera so the people upstairs could see what undesirable was at the door from any room inside their palace.

I rang the buzzer, and it took what seemed like a minute or two for my father to pick up. He asked me what I wanted. I told him I was there to pick up the tickets. He said he had no interest in seeing me and asked me to go away. I was quite puzzled of course, and I pointed out that he offered the tickets to us and we drove down from Whistler to get them. There was a pause again, and it gave me a moment to reflect just how strange this scenario was. I was just looking at this speaker as my friends sat in the car behind me. Finally the silence broke as his voice came across the speaker. "Please leave before I call the police."

I was speechless. I just turned and left. My friends were ticked of course, but I just told them to screw off in a way only I can. They dropped me at home where I decided to cool off for a minute before reacting. I just lit a cigarette and sat back for a minute. I decided to call my grandparents. My grandparents had this habit of answering the phone simultaneously. It was quite a feat to witness personally. They had identical Lazy-Boys, and identical phones on the table between them, and they would actually do the countdown to answer. Always on the cutting edge of technology, they had a new call display unit so they knew it was me calling.

There was no hello. My grandmother, already obviously crying said "You're a horrible young man, horrible!!" I asked her what was going on and she simply said "Your father told us about you and we never want to talk to you again!!" My grandfather didn't speak, but his shallow breathing confirmed his presence. Again I was dumbfounded. I couldn't even form words, just random stutters that were met with simultaneous slamming of phones. (You know, old school slamming, cell phones have forever ruined that for us. I feel like a should pack around a good old rotary dial phone just so I can hold my cell to it and slam it for effect).

I loved my grandparents, and they loved me. I was always their favorite. My grandmother knew I was the dreamer, and it was like she saw something in me that she had always longed for. The freedom, the defiance of suppression, something along those lines. She just always had to be around me as if I provided her with some type of life energy.

I was devastated. I didn't give a rat's ass about my father, but my grandparents were so important to me. That night when my child was born I basically alienated myself from my family, and for the most part it is still that way today. To me at the time my grandparents were the only family I had left and they were gone.

It would be six years before I would see or talk to my grandparents again. What ensued from that point was the greatest three ring circus of a divorce this country has ever seen. A law student actually told me once that they use the case as a precedent when teaching at UBC. My father fell in Icarus like proportions. This was a captain of industry. He ran some of the biggest companies in Canada. Petro-Canada, Nova Corp., Telus, etc. etc.. Now he was showing up in a courtroom in a wheelchair being pushed by my grandfather even though just hours earlier he was seen walking briskly on the West Van seawall. Some even speculated that he was wearing makeup to make his skin look greyer. He was caught in lie after lie after lie. And the judge made him pay dearly, however, the judgement itself did not have enough clout or closure and the case remains before the courts to this day. 18 YEARS LATER!!!!!! He has squandered everything in legal bills for the mere sake of winning. There is no logic. The latest case being heard before the judge as I understand is about $100,000. He has stated himself that just for this case alone he has spent $45,000 in legal fees on top of the millions he has already spent.

I just distanced myself from the whole thing. I was essentially living underground for the next 6 years. There was scandal after scandal, my fathers name would now be smeared in the press on what seemed like a monthly basis. I was even thinking of changing my name at this point to my mothers maiden name, Vincent.

Somehow, years later he found out where I worked and just showed up one day. It was a rainy day and we went out on the lot where nobody could hear us and I could hide behind a cloud of cigarette smoke. He was explaining to me how he had fixed his life up and was getting married again (Bimbo was gone a couple of months after the whole hockey ticket episode, along with a good portion of my grandparents money that she allegedly swindled them out of, although I still believe to this day it wound up in my fathers pocket), he wanted me to meet the woman and to come to their wedding.

I didn't give a fuck about the man or his wedding, but regardless of what they did to me or how they treated me I still missed my grandparents everyday. I met his bride to be, and she was nice enough, easily brain washable anyhow so right up his alley. I saw my grandparents of course and like a light switch flicking to on it was like nothing ever happened. The Hartwick family was built on denial and I wasn't going to shake the foundation, I was just glad to have them back in my life again.

To be continued....

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......

C is for Cookie, That's Good Enough for me

Damn FCC

You Gotta Luv This Guy

This is Christopher Walken on a British talk show reciting the lyrics to Lady Gaga's song Poker Face. Comic genius without even trying.

More cow bell!!

I Tell the Others Don't Bother Me, Cause When They Look at You They Don't See What I See

It's been a funny year you know. There have been so many changes in people's lives, not mine , but most of the people I know. With that there has also been a lot of personal conflict. It seems like most of the people I know are under enough pressure to produce diamonds. Me? I'm lonely and bored as hell, so I tend to lash out and it doesn't help the whole scenario.

I've even had moments in the last year (more often than not) were I find me telling myself "you're one nasty piece of work."I can't help it, it's just like I'm in this fog of irritability. I miss what I want so much I just make the world responsible. How could this happen to me? How dare they do this to me? And on and on....

Some people say they just don't understand me, and I've heard that wax on like a broken record for years. Nobody is understood unless people care enough to take the time to understand them is the way I see it. People have to be strong enough and patient enough. I have a friend who has taken the time over the years. And I could probably guarantee you that even though we have only seen each other once in 11 years, you could drop us in a room together and we could finish each others sentences over and over. We have taken the time to understand what makes the other tick, what makes us happy, and what makes us sad.

I think people have to take more time. I think I have to take more time. People are so fast to judge others, we all know that we are built by the events that shape our lives. Every person has their story, take the time to listen. There are people I know that are just not liked by others. I think the world of them, but I took the time to know them. It's almost like a secret society.

I have every intention of changing my outlook and how I view others, it just seems like the whole world is against me sometimes and I have to fend for myself. Who knows, maybe if I open myself up more the world will open up more.

You can always tell the ones that I write at the spur of the moment ha?