Thursday, November 13, 2014
My father and my youngest son were both born on November 13. Thirteen is considered unlucky, even in Thailand. There is no 13th floor in my building, only a 12 and a 12A. Dad was born on a Friday and always considered Friday the 13th in whatever month to be lucky for him. My youngest son was spared that decision by being born on a Saturday.
And yet...he is still my son. And I think about him every November 13th. Today he turns 32. I don't know where he is or what he's doing. My relationships with my ex-wife and my daughter have likewise soured. Sometimes I wonder why I could not create the close intimacy with my kids that my friend Jerry has with his son and daughter. They accept his outrageously deviant behavior here in Thailand far away from their families in California and Washington. My closest friend Peter, who died of prostate cancer ten years ago, was an incredible father and I tried to emulate him without success. His three children all flourished under his love. Both my youngest son and daughter have struggled with their paths in life and I don't know how much is due to my poor parenting. But it's what I've got and I have to accept it. Happy birthday, dad, son.