First Childhood Memory

If I was able to interest you enough to keep reading into my story, I thank you! I'm not a person who tells people much about me. I usually keep things low key and don't really open up to people because it takes a lot for me to trust someone. Those that do really know me, you know who you are and there are not many, are who I would consider my real friends.

So back to my story, if I can gather my thoughts from before. So where did I end? I started a new job that ended up being very similar, away all the time. Right, ok! You know what...I think I'm going to come back to that topic. I think I will start from the beginning.

I don't really have the greatest memories from my childhood. The first four or so years of my life I spent in and out of the hospital with Asthma. I remember spending days in these big clear plastic tarps over my hospital bed. Having Maximist and other machines to help me breath. I still need a puffer the odd time but overall it is none existent.

My first memory of my biological father is not very good, he was an alcoholic. The one memory burned into my mind is this. I am playing on the floor with some fireman or fire truck type of toy, my drunk father, kicks it out of the way as he is lunging to attack my mother. Not very good eh? Considering my mother left him when I was four.

From the time she left till I was about 14, the only time I would ever hear anything about him was that he left a Christmas gift at my grandparents or aunt and uncle's house. Most of the time he would buy me black socks, even though the odd time that I did speak to him, I would tell him how much I disliked black socks. I grew up hating black socks. I couldn't even really wear any colour of socks except white until I was in my 30's. Mostly because of the hate that grew for him inside of me.

Around the age or 14 or so, maybe sooner, he started trying to get back into my life, not really sure why after so long. Maybe that is when he was finally away from the booze? But by then, it was too late. I put up with him trying to pretend like he was family to me because it still only happened once a year but I didn't want to. He still tries to this day to reach out at Christmas time, but It is too far gone. He missed his opportunity to build a relationship a long time ago. I did talk to him a couple weeks ago and he thought I lived in a totally different city, never met my youngest son who is three or even knew I was back in school and this is my third year!

A few years ago I decided, ok, he wants to come visit the kids and it is Christmas so I let him. He came to my house, sat down and proceeded to say to my kids (who have only ever met this person a handful of times when he would randomly show up not knowing what we were up to or anything) to come see "Grampie". I felt like knocking him the fuck (excuse my language, I swear a lot and I will try to keep it minimal for this) out! He is not my kids grampie! Or anything other than a sperm donor to me. The only thing I ever got from him over the years is what NOT to do as a father and severe depression for half of my life.

Ok, take a breath Ryan, before you through this laptop across the room! lol.

I did have a father figure in my life growing up, two actually. My step father, who I call my dad and my grandfather. Dad, my step father, and I didn't always have a great relationship though. He had another son and then two daughters at the time with my mother but him and I would butt heads. I was growing up wondering why MY father didn't even care enough to drop the gifts off to me in person to someone else trying to be there for all of us but we managed to get through. Dad is remarried and has another son, J, he's a pretty cool lad. Wish I would have been around more for his growing up. Dad, my step father, is who I call my father and whenever anyone asks who my father is, that is who I say. Even though we never see each other, he will be my father till I am gone.

My grandfather, my mother's step father (maybe someday I'll explain that), was there for me a lot growing up. I spent summers working in his garage, he was a mechanic, he showed me a lot and who I credit for my vehicle knowledge. He introduced me to guitar playing and many other things. He passed away shortly after my first trip to Africa, two weeks after being there. I knew it was coming, he fought a long hard batter with cancer and was in the hospital and fading by the minute when I left but I didn't really have a choice. I was out of work for a couple months prior but I'll get back to that some other time. I knew as soon as I saw my mothers contact info come up on my phone that day, that he was gone. I was crushed! Deep down I had this hope that he was going to hang on till I got home, and I could have one last visit but that didn't happen. I don't know, maybe I was being selfish but when someone who plays such an important role in your life is now gone and you're on the other side of the world, it fing sucks! I almost didn't last the remainder of my scheduled time there. I went to work but all I could think about was my family, my young kids and how they would never know him like I did.

Ok so now you know a bit more of my younger past, again not really sure where I am going with all of this but if you're still here, stay tuned. I will continue the rest of my first post in my next submission. Also, this is very odd for me, I never really was into reading and writing until this year so I hope I can keep you interested enough to figure out where this is all going. It is now 11:21 pm, my oldest just woke up from a nightmare and I am putting this away. I think two blogs for one day is good, don't you? Considering I never thought I had much to say till I started.

Me and my beautiful babies...