Oh Deer

This might be the hardest month yet to write a blog post for me.  I have never missed a month without writing at least one entry.  It has been hard to find a topic during this horrible time…with the coronavirus and people being ill and losing family members and being unemployed.  I don’t want to complain because I am healthy and getting a paycheck.  I have racked my brain to find something to write about that is not negative or offensive or insensitive and I finally thought of a topic…deer skulls.

In the northeast region of our country, it is very common to see deer everywhere.  Just on my two mile drive home from my sister’s house last night I think I counted 8 of them.  Some people think of deer as a nuisance because they cause car accidents, while others appreciate their beauty.  When I think of deer, I think of a specific memory with my father.  It was a singular moment so insignificant in my life, I am surprised I even remember it at all.

One day, we were exploring some trails in the woods behind my childhood house.  My father and I were walking ahead of my mother and my sister and my dad was pointing out various wildlife and plants.  A squirrel would skitter along the path and he would shout “squirrel!”.  He warned me not to touch poison ivy and explained how to identify it (a skill I still find useful as I am VERY allergic).

“Whoa! Check that out!” My dad pointed to something round and whitish on the ground a few feet in front of us.  As we got closer, I realized that it was a skull of unknown origin.  A dead person! was the first thought I had until I realized the shape and size of it could not be a human.  My father, in true dad fashion, leaned down and plucked it off the ground with his bare hands.  He turned to me with a sly smile and then reached his arm out to try to touch me with it.  I jumped a mile and screamed, “groooooosssss!”.

My father carried the skull all the way home and by the time we arrived, he had determined it was from a deer, even though there were no antlers attached.  By this point, my initial shock faded and I was pretty interested in the skull, with its gaping eye sockets and teeth still attached to the jaw bone.  He soaked the skull in soapy water and cleaned it, while my mother disapprovingly kept asking, “what are you going to DO with that thing?” After the skull was clean, I was so fascinated with it that my father gave it to me.  This is most likely the strangest “gift” I have received. I sat for a half hour just wiggling the teeth, until one popped out into my hand.  I was able to put it back into place with much satisfaction.

I kept that deer skull on my bookshelf for many years.  Once I got my own apartment, I decided that it did not really fit with my decor scheme and that it was weird to have to explain to people why I had a deer skull in my home.  I gave it to a science teacher at the high school where I teach English and he gladly displayed it in a case in his classroom.  Over the years, once in a while, I would pop into his room to look at the deer skull, the memory of that day running through my mind.

Children remember the strangest and most random things.  My niece is only three years old and probably won’t remember anything from this time in her life.  Or maybe she will? My sister and brother-in-law are both unemployed and home with her all day now.  Maybe she will remember making tents out of all the couch pillows, baking cookies with my sister, or helping her dad rake sticks in the backyard?  I have a very poor memory and cannot recall much from my childhood.  And unfortunately, by the time I turned twelve years old, my father was a full blown abusive alcoholic, so there were not many happy memories made during my teenage years. Yet, there are these random moments, burned into my memory, that I fondly remember.  My dad was fun (and cool!) at one point during my childhood and now that he is sober, I hope that my niece will make memories with him that she can look back on someday to remember her grandfather.

My deer skull still is on display in the science lab classroom.  I am sure over the years, many students have seen it and assumed it came from a school supply magazine or they really do not think much of it at all.  Some of them are my students as well and they have NO idea that they are looking at a piece of my childhood…a tangible, albeit very odd, reminder of a happy memory with my father.

Not listening.

My father has been sober for over a year now, since his stroke last October.   This has made holidays and family occasions SO much better, now that there is no longer a real threat of him being drunk, violent and belligerent.  I never in a million years imagined my dad not drinking, so I never allowed myself to fantasize what it would even be like if that ever happened.  Even though it is obviously better, one thing I didn’t take into consideration was him having memory loss.  I have so many vivid, unbelievable memories of things he did while he was drunk over the past 20 years.  Whether it is from the stroke itself or just being wasted, he really does not remember doing the things he did.

Case and point…I grew up in a very big house, throughout which was an intercom system in each room.  The main intercom was in the kitchen, but you could press a button in any room and your voice would be projected throughout the entire house.  Unfortunately, one of the intercoms was located in my bedroom, as well as my sister’s bedroom next door to mine.  My father also had one in his office in the basement, which is where he would sit and drink all day long.  I have so many memories of being in my bedroom, doing my homework or talking to a friend on the phone and hearing the intercom click on with him yelling my mother’s name into it over and over or just being obnoxious.  Even worse, he would yell into it while we were sleeping…on school nights.  So even if we were able to get away from him physically when he was drunk, we could never escape his voice.  It was constant and it was horrible.  Even if the volume of the unit in my bedroom was turned all the way down, you could still hear it resonate throughout the house and there was no “off” button, so the volume would always be on, just very low.  It is truly one of the most vivid things I remember about my dad being drunk and acting like a lunatic.  I have blocked out so many memories from my childhood, but I could never forget that damn intercom system.  It was like a torture device when I was a teenager.

Fastforward to this past week….my sister and I and our boyfriends were all at my parents’ house for Christmas and I called out something to my sister who was in another room.  My dad nonchalantly mentioned I should use the intercom system, but he wasn’t sure if it even worked anymore.  Then he said something like, “I don’t remember ever using it anyway”.  I literally just stood and stared at him open-mouthed.  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  My sister came in the room and I said to her, “dad says he never used to use the intercom”.  We both looked at each other for like ten seconds and then started hysterically laughing.  My dad truly didn’t understand what was so funny.  On the drive back home and in the days since, it has REALLY bothered me.  I mentioned it to my boyfriend and tried to explain why it was upsetting me so much.  How could my father forget something he did day in and day out for years? It is so hard to make someone who didn’t experience it understand.  I am not 100% sure why it is bothering me so much that he said that.  Maybe it’s the whole “forgive but don’t forget” concept?  Not to sound like a baby, but it’s not fair…it’s not fair that he got to act the way he did and do the damage he inflicted on all of us that affected our lives in so many ways that we still have to live with and then he just gets to forget.  I want my dad to be sober, but I also want him to be sorry.  He has never apologized for things he did or tried to atone for them because he doesn’t remember them.  But that’s not fair!!  My mom told me that she will sometimes tell him things he did throughout the past two decades when he was drunk every day and he looks at her like she is crazy…like how could she invent these horrible things??!!  I know he used to black out a lot (like the time he head butted me in the face and then told the police that I attacked HIM), but I can’t believe he would forget something that he did every day, like using the intercom.  It blows my mind.  I can’t stop thinking about him saying that.