My vice, my father and I (featuring @razvanelulmarin as author)

This is a cautionary tale: youth pushes a loved one past the breaking point.

I wish this is all it was.

Unfortunately, for me, this also a true story.

I'm 31 now and I'd want to say this story happened a long time ago, but I would be lying. It's shameful to me but this event happened just a few short years back.

During that summer, I was using my father's bicycle to go the gym. Working from home, that was my main activity, it was a short bike ride, maybe 5 minutes. One day, as I climbed on the bike I noticed that it has a flat tire. I said " I'll fix it tomorrow".
My thinking was that there's no difference between doing it today or tomorrow, after all, in the last month my father used the bike once. What were the odds that he'd need it later today?

You can guess that my calculations were incorrect.To add to that, my procrastination ways also doubled by laziness, there was a bike-repair shop extremely close to my gym. It could have been done in 30 minutes top. Yet, I chose not to go that route. I got my bag and headed - on foot - to my gym. I wonder now: how could I have been so selfish?

This put in motion a series of events that culminated in a the most intense fight I had with my father, one that forced me to change. Why do we always learn the hard way?!

If it sounds like fiction, rest assured it's not, just life being weird like that.
My father came back and was in a great mood and told me he's going to a concert. I didn't pay much attention as I was busy being commenting on Facebook. I thought he had left but I was wrong. He returned and asked "Where's the key for bike?". His car was in service and he needed the bike to get to the concert.
I knew right then that it's not gonna end up nicely FOR ME.

I told him it had a flat tire so he couldn't use it. His cheery mood evaporated instantly, I could see on his face, in his frown.
"Why didn't you fix it?"
"uhmm..I didn't see it" I lied.
" How can you be so selfish, Raz?!" he raised his voice slightly.

He left, slamming the door. I had a knot in my stomach. Ever since I was a kid, I hated loud noises, people yelling and doors slammed. I remember when I was being yelled at, I got scared and guilty. In my family, it was usually my father who did the yelling and also my father who made up easily after the fights. Maybe because i'm hearing impaired but loud noises still agitate me.

I went out to see if I could offer a solution. Meanwhile, he got more and more worked up:
" I only asked you to keep it in good fashion, use it all you want, you don't pay anything for it, i even gave you money for repairs, you just need to do one thing, keep it in proper shape!" He was already pretty angry but there wasn't much I could say, he was right, I just didn't think beyond myself.

He moved around the house, yelling now while I followed in silence.
"Look at this kitchen, breadcrumbs everywhere, unwashed dishes, dirty stove top. It was clean when I left in the morning now this. Every day I tell you: clean after yourself, do you ever wonder how it feels to come back to this mess every day? "
"Of course not, you just don't care"

On a superficial levels, this was about me being messy. And I was very messy, cleaning up was something I did do when forced to, at the end of the week when I ran out of clean..anything: clothes, dishes, office space.
But on a deeper level, this was about me not living up to the expectations. I know this because this wasn't the first fight where same words where uttered. It was like an automaton fight, always repeating the same words, activated by some other failing of mine, futile on both ends.
I could only be messy. He could only be a clean-freak.
I could only be lost in my interests. He could only want for me to be less selfish.
There was a deep irony here. We were incredibly different we were, yet we looked almost identical. Genetics can weave a cruel joke.

I thought that this was the end of it, a fight, another disappointment and then cool off. As it had happened before. Unfortunately, that day was not any other day.

"Ok, please drive me there then.." he said and headed towards my car.

My car is actually a gift from him. He always tells me I should take better care of the car, that it's always dirty, never filled with gas. In fact, he had asked me to clean it up just a few days back. Which,of course: I didn't. This pattern of behavior stained almost all our interactions. It was only on neutral subject that we could get along. In rest, our interactions almost always devolved in resentment.In time, a gaping void emerged between us. We both ignored it.

As he got in the car, he looked around and shook his head. I appreciated the effort it must have taken for him to avoid saying anything.
I put the key in ignition and I knew what will come next, the big "low fuel" sign. I wanted to do that yesterday as well but didn't "feel like it".

Of course, he noticed and all the self-restrain he maybe imposed upon himself evaporated:
"You're always low on gas. WHY?!?1 Why is that so hard to take 5 minutes and fill it up?". I guess he had a pet peeves with having the car filled, and for good reason if you think about it. But now, the issue was bigger because it was, the icing on the cake of all the disappointments that I presented to him today, in rapid succession.

The drive there was one I'll never forget.

He told me how spoiled, lucky and ungrateful I am and that he kept hoping I'll mature already and take my responsibilities seriously. How I don't help the family, that I'm detached and indifferent and many many many more. How I could not even imagine the stress he suffered from at work and in the place he hoped to find peace and understanding - at home - it just more stress, more disrespect, more fatigue.
A different son, a different man, a different me would have felt, maybe, outraged: that's too harsh, that's too much, too uncalled for. But no. Me, I felt that I deserved that and even more. I KNEW I deserved it.

Meanwhile, I knew my gas was low and that if the car stopped in the middle of the road, right there, tension so high in the car, i don't know what could have happened. I feared this could bring the end to what I took as an unbreakable connection: Father-Son.
I feared it the most how much I wanted it to happen, for the universe to smack in my head and give me what I deserved, what I brought upon myself.

Procrastination was my vice. It has brought me nothing but unhappiness. I have failed exams for not studying on time, I have lost jobs for not finishing my workload, I have lost - and every procrastinator out there knows is the most painful to lose - TIME. Lots and lots of time just poof into the air.

Now, I could lose my father too. This was too much, wasn't it?

Eventually, we got to the place and before he got off he said, almost a whisper:
" I'm just tired. I helped you to be a man, and you just want to be a child. It's too much, even for me..." then he got out. I remained in the car, waiting for my hands to stop shaking on the wheel.

I managed to get home and locked myself in my room. I was drenched in sweat, scared to the bone, disappointed and humbled all in one. I lay in my bed looking at the ceiling wishing I could disappear. Would have been easier on everyone.

I could not do that so I had to face myself. Despite my inability to improve myself, I am very self-aware, I know my shortcomings. That day forced me to take an active role in trying to overcome them.

I want to tell you that I've changed greatly since then, that I've learned from my mistakes, that I'm better. I think I am, to a great extent ( my father might not agree ) but the fight is still on, just as fierce today as that day: with myself, for myself.

I hope I'll win.

Don't forget to follow @razvanelulmarin