Experience

They say that once you reach a certain age, you start losing the ability to look on the bright side of things. Sure, everyone has bouts with pessimism from time to time, but a child's youthful innocence naturally protects him from feeling too negative about what happens to him. You might think just the opposite, since teenagers in general make a lot of noise about how the latest drama to unfold in their lives is the end of existence as we know it, but they do recover pretty fast. An adult, however, holds on to their pain and suffering until it reaches the breaking point. When the dam does break, it very well could be the end.

This is what I found myself thinking as I listened to my drunken father, once again howling at the moon after the latest offense against his sanity. I try to calm him down, but he won't listen to me. You'd think that someone who's lived as long as he would know that "this too, shall pass", but you'd be wrong. Oddly enough, I used to be his confidant. Back before his life turned to shit, as he would put it, he would come to me with his problems. Now, I don't know if that's because I was always right there, or if he really felt I knew what to say to cheer him up. I don't think even he has the answer to that question.

Just over a year ago, my dad's life was turned completely upside-down. His best friend of nearly 18 years died without warning, and the one person who should have been there for him did everything she could to stir the turbulent waters that ran beneath him. This woman, every bit as insane as my father, was my mother. It's true that she's done much to deserve a pen-lashing, but that's another story entirely.

Nowadays, even with a long history of trying to console him, my dad pushes me away if I try to help. For awhile, this shocked and puzzled me at the same time. I would think "Here I am, offering whatever I can to help, and yet he'd rather yell and scream at the sky than listen to me. What happened?". At first, I attributed this to a mid-life, teenage rebellion. In this day and age, with people living longer than ever, it seems as though the teenage years aren't the golden years for a rebellious spirit. Many people I know who are "freed" from the shackles of marriage act as though it's a time to celebrate, just as a teenager would after finally setting out on his own.

However, that's not at all the reason I can't offer a helping hand to my father.

In our society, we take experience seriously. A person could be completely inept at their trade, but a solid chunk of years' experience will make almost anyone think "maybe I could learn a bit from this guy." However, you take someone who can dazzle you with raw talent, and you still wonder if they'll be able to do what needs to be done when the time is right. Anyone who took a philosophy class in college knows that assumption is a fallacy, an illusion. No matter a person's background, experience, or lack thereof, we're supposed to reserve judgment until we see what they can do for themselves. Sadly, most of us don't. Most of us were raised under that fallacy, and taught to respect a man with experience whether or not he's capable.

This is evident when I hear those magic words come out of my dad's mouth: "You're just a kid. You don't have a clue what you're talking about. Come back to me when you've got some years on you. Then, we'll talk."

Well, how many years will it take? What, exactly, do I have to go through to earn the privilege of speaking with the "grown-ups"?

I don't know, and I don't think anyone knows.

It's sad, really, when a man turns down perfectly good advice in favor of wallowing in a pit of self-pity, in favor of wandering drunkenly down a path of self-destruction.

What's even more sad is that, in ten years, I may have earned a right to speak to him today. But, in ten years, he'll have ten more years' experience to throw in my face.

All I want to do is help.


Love,
Jake Martinez
December 2, 2008