Hoping that you never got what you wanted.

As a kid I learnt an odd behaviour of mine that still sort of continues on to this day.

However, now that I more or less have control over my life I find that I don’t often fall prey to this line of thinking. But it’s still there in the deep dark recesses of my defective brain.

When I was a kid, especially living on Canadian Forces Base Griesbach in Edmonton I had developed a perverse way of dealing with Richard’s stinginess and hatred-by-proxy of Marie.

When it would get close to xmas or my birthday I would secretly start wishing that I wouldn’t get what I had asked for.

And it worked.

Never once did I ever get what I had asked for, and by wishing that I wouldn’t get it I actually felt in control.

Looking back it was obviously a really weird coping mechanism, but it did allow me to cope none the less.

This obviously wasn’t a very healthy coping mechanism.

I would often pretend to not be interested in the latest and greatest thing.

And that would often set me on a collision course with the popular kids who thought that I was just trying to be “smarter than them” or who were convinced that I was just a fucking faggot loser.

At school the kids were into the Blue Jays, the Maple Leafs, the Argonauts, “pro” wrestling was a major thing in southern Ontario back then. The kids at school would have the latest jerseys, or other sports related paraphernalia.

I had nothing like this, I don’t even think my brother had anything contemporary back then.

When we lived in Edmonton from 1978 to 1983 this was practically the top of the Edmonton Oilers dynasty. Richard never once took us to a hockey game.

Our grandmother had actually taken us to some Edmonton Eskimos games with tickets that she’d get from the Bissell Centre for disadvantaged families.

Richard loved the Toronto Maple Leafs.

But in the 7-1/2 years that we lived in Toronto on Canadian Forces Base Downsview not once did we ever go to a hockey game.

And no. There was no watching hockey with Richard. If you wanted to watch hockey with Richard, that was fine, you just had to shut the fuck up and not say a single fucking thing. And don’t ask him stupid fucking questions either.

And it wasn’t like I didn’t play hockey as a kid. On CFB Namao my grandmother had enrolled me in beavers, swimming, hockey, bowling, and basketball.

“But Bobbie, what if your father had no money, he was in the Canadian Forces”.

Sure, the pay was bad in the ’60s and the ’70s. But this was offset by the lowered housing costs of living in the PMQs on base. Also, ranks tended to be very close in pay grade. Privates made one rate, Corporals made another, Master Corporals made another rate, Sergeants made another.

I don’t have access to the historical pay schedules. But even going with the current pay schedule the ranks make basic monthly rates based primarily upon rank, but modified by number of years at that rank level and any special qualifications.

The end result is that my father as a Master Corporal wasn’t making $1k per month while the Master Corporal living next door was making making $2.5k per month.

Where’d his money go?

Not to my brother or I. That was for sure.

I know he had no issue spending money on the latest and greatest knickknack or computer toy for himself.

Was he paying child support on the sly? This honestly wouldn’t surprise me in the least. He did have a habit of skirt chasing.

Was he paying an out-of-court settlement for one of his drinking and driving collisions? Again this is a possibility as his insurance would have been very expensive given the number of collisions that he had over the years.

Other than that I don’t know.

But Bobbie, it’s his money, he can spend it any way that he wants to. You can’t tell him what to spend it on.

That may be true. But he should have worn a condom. Or pulled out. Or even just have asked for oral or a handjob. Would have obviously saved a lot of grief.

You don’t get someone pregnant and then wash your hands of the responsibility claiming that your responsibility ended at conception.

You don’t take your hatred of your former spouse out on your children as if being cruel to your kids was going to make your former spouse realize how much she inconvenienced you by leaving you to look after the children you fathered.

So yeah, birthdays mean nothing to me. And xmas means nothing as well.

I won’t stop you from celebrating.

But hopefully you understand why I don’t celebrate.

And no. Please don’t think that you’re going to “fix me” by inviting me to xmas parties or birthday parties. Nothing makes me feel more awkward and out of place. And it’s so fucking tiring pretending like I fit in or like I’m enjoying myself.