Sketch

     It’s storming. I’m scared of the thunder, but Daddy, in his big grey sweater, holds me and shouts, “I’m The Thunder King! Have No Fear!” He tickles me until I forget to be scared.

     I know this memory is the oldest because my mom and dad are living together. After that, I can tell how old the memories are by which procedures I have to go through to see him.

     5 hour drive, Mackinaw bridge, birth certificate, 3 hours of tiny grey waiting room, 3 electric doors opened by a guard in a bullet-proof glass box, half hour limit, no touching except the hug at the beginning and end - that’s Hiawatha. We went in my Grama’s no-a/c full-size van and she drank out of her big 64oz gas station thermos.

     2 hour drive, fancy blacklight hand stamp, big white waiting room, all our stuff in the little locker, 2 electric doors, and one time we almost can’t visit because I can’t get my ring off my hand - that’s Ionia. Grama carries a giant bag - $45 in quarters for lunch from the vending machines.

     Later, he got moved to a lower-security place where I could sit on his lap and he read me books off the little cart. That one had a long name, and good vending machines. I got a Payday, Grama got a Butterfingers, and Grampa got a Snickers. I still get weird nostalgia when I use a vending machine.

     I see him once during his parole, kind of in secret. I don’t know it is wrong, and my mom doesn’t know he was there at all until it’s too late. It is my Great-Grama’s birthday party - must be her 80th. It has been almost 2 years since I’ve been to Michigan. Grama looks at me, holds me around my waist and cries and cries. Daddy introduces Hannah to me, and says they’re getting married.

     In the summers after the wedding, I would visit for a week or two at a time. I had my own room, even after Brandon was born. When Daria was born - my first sister - I started praying that Daddy would go back to prison.

     A year later, Hannah was pregnant with Rachel, and Daddy filed for divorce in Muskegon, even though they lived 3 hours away in Saginaw. I laid in bed for 3 days when I heard the news, and it wasn’t until my boyfriend made his worried face that I consented to come down and eat.

     The next time I go to Michigan, I don’t fly. My boyfriend has a car, and we drive over together because I need to have support and some control. Daddy takes me down into Grama’s basement, where he’s living now, and tells me why he filed. I am angry. I just listen, stone-faced, while he talks. I don’t have anything to say when he’s done. I go back upstairs. Daddy remembers this as the last time I was really close to him; I remember it as the first time I was really far away.

     For the next few years, I tried to cut him out. I only talked to my dad when I was visiting Grama and she phoned him up. I searched myself ruthlessly for anything that reminded me of him. I tested myself. I fought his demons until I knew he had no control over me. I made jokes about being the spawn of Satan.

     The next guy I dated started as a botched one night stand - botched in that it lasted 11 months - and ended when he cheated on me. Maybe trying to fight the daddy issues just makes them worse.

     The last time I go to visit my Grampa, I take Husband along. I had been wishing for a few years that Grampa would just let go. His meds and illness messed him up, and he wasn’t my Grampa anymore. This time, though, is more lucid than I’ve seen him in years. He hasn’t been out of bed in weeks, but he sits up with us as long as he can manage. When he’s sleeping, I sit with Gramine, Daddy, and Husband, and we talk. Husband is sitting next to me. I am ok.  Husband reads a lot, and he’s able to keep up with my dad, intellectually. With someone else in the room, Daddy behaves. Everything is happy, and I don’t want to leave.

     Sometimes, relationships are complicated. Learning how to love my dad is like learning to build a fence. It’s no good building a 20-foot wall around your heart, but it’s no good letting hobos come in and crap on your emotional lawn, either. This relationship will never be normal, but I’m starting to realize that the more ok I am with myself, the more ok I am with him. Daddy may not be the Thunder King, but he’s not the thunder, either. As long as he doesn’t move to Wisconsin.