A Fractured Milestone

 Even after that call, things still weren’t the same. I should have been excited about my son graduating. Excited about going to see my family. About my brother, who somehow talked me into buying land together and going into business together. And I was, but I had another hurdle to get over before I could even tackle the thought of all that.

So, my son is graduating from fucking high school. That is the week. It was all about him and Dora and how proud we are of them. God damn, does time fly by. I was so fucking excited and proud and hurt and ashamed and just fucking shocked. That week had been hell, no matter how or what I tried.

I was all-around proud of that kid for graduating. And on time. He worked so fucking hard to get that, it was insane. But he also worked that hard to try and completely break me. And ultimately, he did. But it's not all his fault. We all play a role in our own happiness and unhappiness. It's just what we have to deal with. Do I wish I did things differently? Yes. Do I think I would have? I want to say yes, but I don’t think so. I love that boy, but I don’t think me changing anything would have made him think or treat anything any differently than how he already was.

That week alone should have completely taken anyone out. All the emotions. All my emotions, fuck. I had moments when I was so proud of Tristan, and how much we were getting along, and how good things were. Until they just weren’t. And that’s literally how it went. Things were good, we were talking great, I didn’t say anything wrong—nothing that could stir a fight by accident. And then I guess I did.

I always do something to that kid. Then I try to stop the explosion. I tell him to stop. Ok, Tristan, enough. Especially when he starts in on Dora's family. Then we fight because he was out of line, and shit goes to shit. All week it was like that, and I get it to a point—nerves, graduating, becoming a man, having a job (which he did have, by the way, he was working at Taco Bell). But that week was just a lot of stress. That was enough.

And then, getting the news from the boy that his father and stepmother were coming down for it. So there was that tidbit. My trauma. My son's father. A ghost from another past that I don’t think I was ready to be again. Over ten years since I've seen that man face to face. And our last conversation was when I told him Tristan wanted to stay down here with me.