Letter
to Left Behind Child
You
know who you are, AJB. The last time I saw you, you were ten or so.
You stood with your face pressed against the screen of a second story
apartment in north Dallas. Your hand was raised in farewell as I
drove out of your life. Inside your mother lay crying. She and I had
made love for the last time. I had risen early and tried to sneak out
the door, as I had so many times in the past. You heard me though,
and rose to watch me leave. For over two decades now, your image in
that window and your mother's tears have haunted me – at times with
great pain and at times with the memory of the exquisite beauty of
the love the three of us shared.
Remember
the days we spent playing pinball and video games? I remember how you
sang in that tiny Dallas apartment and how you introduced me to Rap
music. I remember how much your mother loved the Commodores. It tore
my heart apart when your mother decided to return to JL. The cowboy
executive who made four or five times what I made and who I worked
for at the firm. He was a decent sort of man. Not my type maybe, a
little bit more rough than I liked but he seemed like an okay guy. I
never really got to know him well. Back then, to me, he was the man
who took you and your mother away from me. Today, I don't even have a
clear picture of him at all.e
I
know it was a struggle to live with me. It probably seemed like all I
did was work and smoke pot. But I do remember reading Lord of the
Rings to you. Sometimes I was so tired all I could do was to fall
asleep. I wanted to protect you and your mother from all the pain you
had been through. I sensed that you were not happy with JL and that
you wanted to stay with me in Dallas. Sadly, I was not strong enough
to protect our little family from the forces tearing it apart. I felt
like I was in a tornado with no shelter to lead us to.
Today,
I am stronger. It has been over 20 years since I had a drink of
alcohol or used drugs other than tobacco or coffee as recreation. I
have no choice. All the drugs and drinking back in the 70s and 80s
left me with a brain filled with holes and delusions. Others may
safely use non-prescription, recreational drugs, I am not among them.
I do work with a psychiatrist and a psychologist to help me deal with
issues affecting my mental health and I go to a fellowship of others
working to remain sober. Writing this letter is part of that effort.
I hope it does not upset you too much if you read it.
I
followed your career in basketball. You played semi-pro in Europe. I
am so proud of you. I would have given most anything to see one of
your games, I'll bet you were a joy to watch.
I
wonder, do you have children? Are you living in the USA or abroad?
Where have you traveled? What are your favorite movies? Do you still
like Rap music?
I
thought of contacting you many times. I even tried to look up your
mother's number on the internet, but I could not find it. Also, I was
afraid that calling you would open old wounds and hurt all of us. I
am stronger now. Please call me so that I can make amends for the
harm if that is possible, and just to get together and see if we can
be friends.
Love,
Dale
Dale S. Hankins
308 E Burlington St.
#104
Iowa City, Iowa
52240
319-325-6374
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