Sometimes, I Guess There Just Aren't Enough Rocks
I'm standing in front of the lot where my childhood home once stood, and all I can think of is the scene from Forrest Gump when Jenny and Forrest happen upon her childhood home while taking a walk. Jenny walks toward the house, stares for a moment, then proceeds to throw her sandals and several rocks at the house, before collapsing on the ground, sobbing. Forrest says that sometimes, he guesses there just aren't enough rocks.
That's how I've felt for the last 14 years. That's why I'm here today. My story and Jenny's aren't quite the same. My father never touched me, not sexually anyway. He preferred abuse of the physical variety, although he did threaten my mom, on more than one occasion, that he'd make me suck his dick if she didn't do as he demanded. The terrible part is she believed him.
Jenny and I don't have the same story, but we both had fathers who unleashed their demons on undeserving little girls. I understand why Jenny tried to knock down her father's home with rocks. Thankfully, Forrest had it bulldozed to the ground for her. I stand here where my childhood "home" used to be, knowing I'll never have the satisfaction of seeing the place of my nightmares fall to the ground. The trailer was repossessed and towed away long ago when my father didn't pay the mortgage, after yet another crack binge. Sometimes, I wonder if seeing it fall down would bring me comfort or peace. I suspect, though, that Forrest was right. Sometimes, there just aren't enough rocks.
So, here I am, sitting on the curb of the property that belongs to someone else now. All I brought with me today are a notebook, a pen and a balloon. On the balloon, I've written, "The dad I wish I had." Maybe if I can let go of the notion of that man ever existing, I might just find my own little piece of peace in this world.
The scene from Forrest Gump that I referenced above.