I was an awkward kid. Hell, I was awkward all the way up through college and beyond. I was so self-aware, self-absorbed, introverted, and painfully shy that I had brain scans in 4th grade because I was getting headaches all the time and they wanted to make sure I didn't have a tumor, and it turned out to just be from self-created stress.
I have a relatively vivid memory of an afternoon at a Family Fun Center in Clairmont Mesa with my dad at the full bloom of that awkward self-consciousness.
The Family Fun Center was one of those go-to places for bored kids. Mini-golf, arcade, go-karts, and baseball pitching machines, it had a little bit of everything (sounds like they are bringing it back . . .). I remember going there up through my teens to kill time.
My father and I probably played a round of mini-golf, maybe grabbed some pizza. Then my dad wanted to do the go-karts. Or maybe I wanted to, but then backed out. I don't remember anything up until this point.
All I know is that I got intimidated by the go-karts. Maybe it was the underlying aggression of the activity, or maybe it was some deep-seated fear that I would not be able to do it right or to "perform" in the natural, fun way everyone else seemed to be able to. Maybe it was because everyone would be watching me, waiting their turn, judging my moves.
All I know is that I balked. I refused to do it.
Wait.
Another buried detail just resurfaced as I began to relive this retelling.
This must have been 5th grade, because I'm now remembering that I was wearing glasses for maybe the first time out in public, and I was incredibly embarrassed about wearing them. All I could think was that people were looking at me and making fun of me.
So I was in an especially precarious state of self-consciousness that day, and for whatever reason, I decided that I just couldn't do the go-karts.
My dad must have paid for it already or something, I don't remember that part. But I remember that my dad went ahead and did the go-karts himself, as I stood on the side and watched, feeling miserable, awkward in my glasses, hating myself, watching my dad bump into and get bumped by other kids, all having a blast.
I felt abandoned. I felt like I wasn't the kid who my dad really wanted -- like the kids who he bumped into in the g0-kart, just having fun, being normal.
I must have been a royal, sorry pain in the ass that day. It would have been really hard for my dad to understand just how embarrassed I was by my glasses, and why I was being so lame about go-karts and who knows what else. And he probably was hoping that by pushing forward with the go-kart, I would suck it up and decide to do it at the last second -- but I was so petrified (for whatever reason lost in time) that I still refused.
I doubt my father would have remembered that day. He wouldn't have known that I was getting bullied by an older kid at school that year. He wouldn't have known that I was so mortified by wearing glasses that I went through my next few years in school not wearing them and somehow getting by in class even though I couldn't see the board.
I must have held that moment against him for a long time without being aware of it, since I hadn't really aired this memory until now. My father and I weren't very close until much later in my life, when I let things like that from my childhood go.
After my father died, I found out from my mother that it wasn't until late in their marriage that he began to share some stories of his time as an adolescent during high school years in Los Angeles, when his family was moving a lot and he didn't know anyone. He was painfully shy and those years were really hard for him.
He probably would have understood what I was going through back then, if I'd had the courage to tell him. I suffered with loneliness and depression for a long time and went through what in hindsight were unnecessary struggles and stupid decisions as a young adult before I found my way.
I think we expect our parents to know what is right for us even when we don't tell them anything -- hell, I see my 3 year old expecting me to know what he needs when I have not a clue -- and we hold it against them when they don't. My dad would have gladly been there for me if he could, but I didn't understand that until much later in our relationship. It took getting older and seeing how he kept showing up for me for life events -- like getting married, having kids, and so on. He showed up whenever my plane landed when I came to visit, ready to drive me home.
I took things like that for granted for most of my life, until I finally saw it clearly upon his death. I took him for granted.
He always showed up for me, no questions asked, and he would have showed up for my internal struggles, too, if I'd ever shared them with him.
I know my son and daughter will have hard times ahead of them. Discovering yourself and forging your own identity can be hard. I hope I can help my kids through it, and that they won't hold too much against me for my inevitable misunderstandings.