Pater Familias

    One of the hardest parts of the way my Ex and I ended our marriage was that she decided to do it while I was with my family for my father's birthday party. Because she wouldn't leave, this meant we had several very uncomfortable days. This was also the last time I would see my father before he died, and it meant we had an adventure. I didn't expect that to happen, and I didn't expect to connect with him during this last time I saw him. 

    

    My father and I didn't...really connect. It was very clear throughout my whole life my dad didn't really want children. He struggled with me and my sisters. I truly think if he could have run off with my mother, he would have. I've talked about my father before. The Marcus who wrote that 20 years ago was lying to himself a bit and was anxiously waiting for the birth of his son, but that's not the point here. The point is that I was who my dad went to the movies with, for example, because he could see what he wanted, and I was quiet. This was usually our time together. We went to what he wanted to do, and I would quietly go along. Thus, the day before I was supposed to head back to Minnesota, my father woke me up early (this was very much not normal) and told me what we were doing.

    "You're awake?"

    "Yeah, I was going to go to Steep Rock with the kids today. What's up?"

    "You're going to drive me to NYU today. Let's go." 

    " I'm sorry...what?"

    "Come on. I have to be there in a couple hours. They're waiting for me."

      After years of being this man's son, I knew better than to argue. It would just end with me being yelled at, so I got in the car and drove him to the Bobst Library at NYU. Normally, when I would drive my father, he would just...sleep. Not this day. Over the course of the two hour drive to the library, my father told me stories about his life I had never heard before. Stories about his parents, his extended family, and his time just before and with my mother. He also explained to me what we would be doing at the Bobst and that I was to, "Go along with it." 

     Bobst Library is a beautiful library. When we walked in, however, a man attempted to stop my father and ask what he was there for. My father just ignored him and kept walking. Before I could step in and try to explain, a person I had never met before yelled, "Dr. Leab!" He then turned to the man (who I've come to realize was security) and said, "That man is fine. I guess the one with him is too." 

    I wish I could remember this man's name. Ten years later, a few things get lost to time, but the man brought my father and me up to the 4th floor. He gushed at me about all of the things my father had done to help people learn about Communist history and labor history. This man would also be taking over for my father as the editor of the journals he worked on. At this point I learned the real point of why I was there. 

    You see, my father, as much as I loved him and as complicated as our relationship was, always had a hidden agenda. There was always another plan, and he didn't like to share it. This was the case here. As we were about head into the office, my father handed me a piece of paper. 

"What's this?" I asked.

"Go to the second floor, to special collections. and get the books on this list. I've written down where I think they are. Don't talk to anyone."

"Um, what?" 

"Get the books on the list. and bring them to me. Do it quietly." 

"Dad, what the hell?"

"Why are you still here?" Then he turned and went to talk to the man who brought him upstairs. 

This was annoying, but it was also nothing new. My father wanted me to do something and wanted it done his way. There was no way to discuss it. 2nd floor it was.

    I walked down to special collections and was able to pull the books on his list. No one looked at me; no one stopped me. It was definitely a moment of real privilege. I had three books, and I walked back up to the 4th floor. When I got there, my father waved me over and this is where I realized what was happening. He opened his cloth bag that he had with him, took out two books, placed the books I brought him in the bag, then put the two books back on top of them. 

    There is a moment when you realize what someone is doing. For better or for worse, you recognize the choice they are making and why. That happened here. My father, the guy who was supposed to tell me what was right and wrong, the person who I was supposed to emulate, was stealing books from NYU. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but that's sure what it looked like. 

    

     My father finished his discussion with the guy who brought him in, left some files, and started walking out. "Let's go," he muttered. When we reached the second floor, I stopped him. 

"Did you just have me steal books for you?"

"Hey... keep your voice down. We aren't stealing them. We're borrowing them for a little bit while I finish an article I'm writing."

"What's this 'WE' bullshit, Dad. I grabbed them. I'm the one who gets in trouble."

"I'll return them," and with that he just kept walking.

    I was convinced someone was going to tackle him. These weren't just library books, they were from a special collection. However, nothing happened. My father walked back out to the car. In fact, seconds after we left the building, he pulled one of the books out of his bag and started reading through it while walking. This forced me to have to guide him to the car instead of walking into a lamppost or a wall, for example. 

    The ride home found my father dropping little notes again that he had never said to me before. I learned about a restaurant that used to exist he fondly remembered going to with my mother. There was where he enjoyed getting bagels when he was in college...when could afford them. It was a stark contrast between the guy who had just taken books and been mad about being questioned about it, and the guy who was reminiscing. It felt like he was letting it all go because he wasn't going to see it again. For two hours, he talked about people he knew, places he went, and more. I felt like the groom listening to the Ancient Mariner as he told his arduous journey. My father didn't share any of this while I was growing up. He wouldn't talk to any of us about what he experienced, yet here he was telling me about people I had never heard of or seen at anytime in my life. 

    When we arrived home, he got out of the car and didn't say anything. He just grabbed the books and went inside. The trip was over which meant the talking was done too. As I entered the house, however, my dad, who was walking up the steps stopped. 

"Thanks for helping me today. I guess I never say that do, I?" Before I could say anything, he turned and continued up. He didn't want to hear the response. 

    The next day, The kids, my Ex, and I had to go back to Minnesota. Again, my Ex acted like everything was fine. As we prepared to get in the car and drive to the airport, my Ex told my dad, "I love you." He looked her dead in the eye and said, "No you don't. I don't love you either." He then went in the house. My mother had to grab him to come say goodbye to me. My Ex grumbled as she got in the car with the kids. My mother hugged me, and my father stood there. I went to hug him, and he actually hugged me back, and then he said, "Thank you for helping me yesterday." I shot back from the hug and asked him if he was ok. "I'm fine. You'll be fine too. You're a good man. I'm sorry I didn't do more to help you with that." He then turned around and went inside. Both my mother and I were shocked. "Maybe he just feels bad about the divorce." 

    This would be the last time I saw my father. His brain would get more scrambled over the next few months, and he would call and ask me how college was going, or if I was ready to get married. A couple months later he would go to the hospital for surgery. They couldn't do it. My father, being my father, scheduled the surgery for what he thought was my birthday. "I can't die on the day one of you was born," he said. Ironically, he picked the wrong day. A few weeks later, after not getting the surgery, he died. It was during my prep that my mother called me and told me his heart gave out. This would be the third of four terrible things that happened in 2016. Needing a new job, my marriage breaking up, and then my father dying. There would be one more.

    I appreciate that my father opened up to me, and it was almost like the universe gave us a gift of being able to talk to each other, truly talk to each other, one time. I'm glad my father could unburden himself to me and let me see who he was once. I just wish it was earlier than the last time I saw him. 

    Thanks, Dad. Just don't steal any more books wherever you are. 

    

Ten Years On

     I want to be very careful how I talk about this. I promised my children I would never speak badly about their mother, and over the course of the ten years we have been apart, I have held to that. I will start by saying that was really hard. Divorce, for those of you who don't know, sucks. It's worse when one person has decided how it's going to go, and the other is told to just go along with it. So how did we split? Not amicably. 

    My father decided he was going to throw himself an 80th birthday party. It didn't matter how my mother, or anyone for that matter, really felt. He was going to decide who was coming, what was happening, and all of the important parts. We were all invited to this party, so my kids, my now ex-wife, and I got on a plane and flew to Newark (because LaGuardia sucks). 

    My Ex and I were already in a bad place. We had been struggling to be around each other. I had just left the school I was at which I was working because, well, I hated it. This became another source of her frustration. Our first day in NY seemed...ok. We went to museums, and everything seemed to be ok for the kids. It was the party that would basically be the last time we were really civil with each other. I asked her to spend some time with me and hang out. She told me she was tired and couldn't. Then, she took off with my cousin and his wife. 

    Some back story: my ex-wife HATED my cousin and his wife after they talked down at her at my grandmother's funeral. This was a years long anger that apparently cooled off when she started making more money. Suddenly, they were equals. Instead of telling me, she took off with them for hours and left me with the kids. I was really angry. When she finally came home at 1:30 in the morning, she told me she wasn't interested in talking to me and went to sleep.

    Now the nice thing about New York (one of the many things) is that when you can't sleep, there's always something to do. I left the hotel we were staying at on 64th and walked all the way down to the West Village, then back to 110th, and then back to the hotel. It gave me time to 1. cool off my anger, and 2. see my birth city at night. 

    In the morning, we woke up, and I sent the kids out so I could talk to her. It became a fight as I explained how I felt, and as it got more heated, she said the words. "I want a divorce. I don't want to be married to you anymore. I already have feelings for someone else, and I want to see how it goes." I was angry, but more than that, I was really sad. Sad for my kids as their parents couldn't make it work. I felt like a failure in that minute. At the same time, I also wanted her gone. This led to a major issue. We had another 5 days on the east coast before we were heading back to Minnesota, and I didn't want her there anymore. 

    Looking back on it now, I should have fought harder to tell her no and make her go home, but I think she was afraid I would just bolt with the kids and hide in New York or Connecticut forever. This was not going to happen, but I can see no how she might have worried about that. Still, for me, those next 5 days were awkward as hell. We were in a house with my sister that my parents had found in Connecticut as part of the celebration. My brain was on fire trying to figure out what to do for my kids because I was so worried about them, and she wouldn't leave. When we got to the house, she claimed the master bedroom and said I could sleep in the basement bedroom with the kids. Again, I didn't fight. My mantra those days was, "Protect the kids."

    The first day after was a travel day, but it would get more awkward. My son was turning 10 while there. Lando (his nickname) loved his Grammy (my mother) and was excited to spend time with her. She had purchased a cake for him and had a local restaurant hold on to it in order to surprise him. To this day, I feel guilty that I was trying so hard to hold it together for the kids that I wasn't as much fun as I could have been for him and for my daughter. My family all knew at this point, so it was very awkward. They tiptoed around her and me, and let their guard down on things. My mother, especially, reminded me how my parents and sisters really didn't like my ex-wife...ever. For context, my parents offered me money to not marry her. My sisters, after meeting her the first time, said, "Oh you can do so much better." The problem was two-fold: 1. I was stubborn and didn't like being told I was wrong, but more so, 2. I was afraid no one could ever love me after I left college. I was afraid I'd be alone forever. It wasn't until later in life that I discovered that, as the kids say today, I had more rizz than I thought. 

    Now, I couldn't mope or feel bad for the kids or myself, so we ended up taking a "family" trip to Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine. It was a great trip for the kids, but for me, it was like driving with a stranger. The feeling of trust was just...gone. It didn't help that she would take off at stops to call someone or text someone. I would find out later that she was fast-tracking some things for the divorce and didn't care what happened to me or the kids. I could go on about how difficult it was, but that's just complaining. One thing that kept creeping in was the feeling like I had failed my kids. That's one of the hardest parts of divorce is feeling like you failed.

Look at me faking like I was ok with this. 

    The absolute hardest part of all this, though, was this was the last time I would see my father alive. He had lost his license and needed someone to drive him to NYU Tisch Library, and I was voluntold. What happened there is a story for another time, but what I can share is that my father actually, for the first time in our relationship at that point, said to me, "You'll be ok without her. Probably better." He had never given me words of affirmation before, so this was very shocking. 

    The rest of the trip was awkward for me, but my kids had a great time. When we were leaving, my family wouldn't give my ex-wife any love. She told my father, "I love you, Dan," to which he responded, "Don't lie. It's rude." That would be the last time I'd see him. I'll admit that I carried A LOT of anger with me for a few years about that, and I wanted her to apologize for it. She never did, and she never will. 

    When we got back, she had already been in touch with a realtor about selling the house (hadn't talked to me about it), and had already started figuring out the logistics. We went to couples counseling where the counselor said we needed to split. My Ex explained that I didn't do enough to make money, and that's what she wanted. Someone to "care for her...monetarily." I wanted someone to love me for me and put the kids first. To this day, I find that so sad. I wanted my kids to be loved, and she wanted money. This was NOT the woman I had married at the beginning of the 21st century. 

    That's another aspect of divorce: the scales fall away, and you suddenly see your partner as they really are, not who they were. I was still in love with the woman I had started dating in college. This woman was not her and did not care about anyone but herself and her needs. She would move into a new house with her new boyfriend who would become her husband. There were a lot demands put on me. Either give me this much money (which she knew I didn't have) or sell the house. I had to move into a duplex with my kids (which worked out ok for a year) and essentially restart my life. There was so much anger as we had made a divorce decree, and she broke so much of it when it came to the kids. For ten years, my kids have known that I was the parent who made sure they were ok while their mom was the one who paid for things. 

    Even when it came to telling the kids about the divorce, my Ex couldn't figure out how to talk to them about it. She needed me to be the one to go through it with them and explain everything. 

    Ten years on, I can finally say this, but I feel guilt saying it: my divorce was hard, but it was one of the best things I ever went through. It took some time, but I found someone who loves me for me. No expectations of how much money to make or getting mad at me for being romantic or yelling at me for putting the kids first. I did date, which was wild as person in my late 30's, but it helped me to find who I am. I became comfortable with myself and saw the person others did instead of hating who was in the mirror. I realized that even with the divorce, I was a better parent than my parents. That was a big one. There were other struggles that happened at the same time. Let's just say the later part of 2016 was very hard on me. 

    My kids did survive the divorce though it really changed them. My daughter struggled with connections for a bit as she was 7 when her parents split. My son was 10, and, unfortunately, his relationship with his mom suffered for it. She chose herself and later her daughter, and she kind of pushed him off. His therapist always thought it was because he reminded her of me. 

    Now my Ex and I don't really talk. There was a moment about 4 years after we split where she called me because of some things happening in her life and needed me to be her shoulder. That was when I started feeling sorry for her. She had given everything up for this guy she was now with, and it meant she was lonely. I talked her through it, and I would do it again a few years later when she had to put the cat down and needed support. Maybe I was a sucker, but this is the mother of my children, and I need her to be functioning for them. 

    In a year or two, my kids will all be out and about in college or the "real world," and I don't think my Ex and I will talk at all...and I'm really ok with that. There's nothing I can get from her anymore. She doesn't fill any cup or anything like that. I am jealous of those folks who are friends with their exs, but that won't be me, and that's ok. As long as she continues to show care for our kids, that's all that matters. 

    So what's the moral of this long and stupid story? For me, it's that you can survive if a relationship ends. It's also understanding that you can't put everything into one person. It will end badly if you do. I like the person I am now post divorce SO much more than before. Hell, one of the last things my Ex said to me as we were departing from each other was, "I liked you better when you drank." That tells me everything I need to know about how she sees me. How she saw me. Now, I'm in a much better place. So if you're in a relationship, and it ends, grieve it. Be sad it ended and then move forward to better times ahead. 

Of course what do I know? I'm a schmuck who got divorced. I could be wrong. 

Dusting Off The Old Book

      Sometimes, to figure out where you are, you have to pull out an old book, dust it off, and look through it. So...hello. It's been *checks watch* 10 years. I guess we should catch up. 

    Since my last post in 2016, here's what's happened:

1. My divorce was finalized

2. I moved twice and did everything I could to keep my kids feeling comfortable and stable

3. I taught at 4 different schools and finally have a place that I feel wants me

4. I dated which was an adventure to say the least

5. The world went through COVID, the first Trump presidency, and we're in the second Trump presidency

6. I got engaged to a woman that loves my children, and they love her

7. My son started college, and my daughter is almost there

8. I navigated the post-divorce relationship with my ex-wife. (spoiler: it's been rough.) 

9. My mother died

    There's a lot for me to talk about on here, and I think in order to organize my emotions and thoughts, I will go through a lot of it in different posts. Tonight, however, I want to talk about something that most people wouldn't expect me to: The New York Knicks. 

Wait, you're thinking, Leab, you have years of stories to tell with lots of things that happened to you, and you're going to talk about...sportsball? Really?

Yup. As the Knicks are maybe on the cusp of winning a championship for the first time during my lifetime, and as the team was important to my mother and sister, I want to talk about my love for the team.

    See, here's the thing: In early 1986, at 8 years old, I went to my first Knicks game with my mother. At this time, the Knicks were...bad. They had just drafted Patrick Ewing (which some people thought was fixed), and they were trying to be good again. My mother got the tickets from a school raffle, and they were cheap. Who wanted to watch a bad team? So, on a Saturday (11/9, I still have the ticket stubs), my mother took me to watch the Knicks lose their 8th straight to the Bulls. 

    I was new to this. My father hated, HATED, sports, so he never talked about anything sports-related. I didn't know the Knicks were a bad team at the time. I also didn't think about the fact that Jordan wasn't playing. I would learn about that later when I saw him destroy the Knicks. He always seemed to destroy the Knicks. Chicago would win this game, but Patrick Ewing, the 1st overall pick, was amazing to watch. He was SO TALL too. Remember, I was 8. I also thought that Gerald Wilkins was the coolest at the time. 

    As the years went on, I would learn the heartbreak of being a Knicks fan as my oldest sister and I would go to games and until the 90s, we'd rarely see the Knicks win. We'd always hope though. That was the hard part of Knicks fan: there was always hope, and it was almost always dashed. 

    When Bill Cartwright was traded to the Bulls for Charles Oakley, my mother found her favorite player. Until the day she died, she was all about Oak. "I bet he's good to his mom," she would say. She would cheer when he'd knock a player off the court. When we went to a game in 1990, she would cheer the loudest for him. 

    Then the 90s with Riley came. Suddenly the Knicks were...good? We'd still see games where the Bulls would crush them. I cannot express how good Jordan was, and how frustrating as a Knicks fan (and how amazing it was as a basketball fan) to watch him just take over the game. That's why being at the game in '93 when Starks dunked was incredible. It was the loudest I ever heard the Garden, and the loudest I ever heard a sporting event until the Rangers in 1994. 

    The thing about Starks was he was a perfect example of the blue collar underdog Knicks fans see themselves as. Here was a guy who wasn't drafted, played in the CBA (Continental Basketball League. It no longer exists), tried to dunk on Ewing, the star of the team, during his tryout, the team couldn't cut him, and then he proved he should be the starting guard. The Knicks would actually live and die not by Ewing or their other players but by Starks. His cold game in the 1994 Finals would be part of the reason why the Knicks would lose the championship that year. 

    The thing about the 1994 final, however, was OJ. Trying to watch the Knicks in a tiny little corner of a screen as the station was showing Al Cowlings driving. It was so frustrating. My sister and I were like, "Is that Ewing scoring?"

    "No, I think that's Mason."

    Then the announcer, "Greg Anthony with the nice shot." 

    The Knicks would lose that year. Then they'd go to the finals again in '99...and lose. We kept hope, but the dark times were coming. There would be terrible teams with players no one could name. 

    However, they are one game away from winning championship this year. In my lifetime, I've seen the Mets, Yankees, Giants, Islanders, Rangers, and Liberty all win championships, but I've never seen the Knicks win. That could change tonight. If they do win, I can't share that with my mother as she passed in 2020, but I know she'd be so excited about this. I can share it with my sister, though, who even though she is in another country, loves this team. We both still have our orange "BRICK" signs from games we went to together. It's my hope the Knicks do get their championship. If they don't, I'll be sad, but it won't be the end of the world. 

    Go, New York, Go, New York, Go!