Date: July 8, 1988
Age: 11
It rained all day yesterday. Today looks better. However, it will be crazy--I spend the whole day with Brian.
Love, Dad
Love, Dad
Brian was one of my dad's colleagues. He has been dead for at least fifteen years, I think. I remember him vaguely--remember him looking fat and slovenly, but a nice guy. But I guess he was "crazy," too. I do know that he used to have a heroin habit, and I think a lot of my dad's colleagues had one addiction or another in their pasts--guess it was an occupational hazard. My brothers and I are convinced my dad has had in recent years too much of a dependency on prescription painkillers, but we sort of laugh over it. I know that sounds callous--and I think we laugh because we don't know what else to do. Dad would show up at a family event looking a little buzzed. He was never bouncing off the walls or anything, his eyes just looked a little glazed, he'd be a little quieter than usual, seem comfortable with the disinterest in his surroundings. I don't think we ever confronted him about it because we have never believed this dependence would ever consume him whole; we've never thought the Codiene and Percocet would ever kill him.
My dad doesn't have many friends, because he isn't very social and is one to keep to himself. (His wife is the same way, which makes them the perfect couple.) The people he would call his friends, however, were invariably his colleagues, because, as everyone can relate, these are the people with which you spend most of your time, making it easier to be comfortable around them quickly. And, unfortunately, my dad has seen a lot of these lifelong friends and colleagues pass away. His best friend passed away a few Decembers ago, and when my dad called to tell me, the pain in his voice was palpable, and I felt so bad for him.
As for other friends who were junkies--my dad created a therapeutic community in a maximum security prison, once upon a time, and he put a colleague/friend in charge as director. I think he met this man, however, when my dad was his parole officer decades ago. He felt this man was the right person for the directorship, despite his prison record and (recovering) drug addictions, and I do trust my dad's decision--he's very professional, intelligent, and knows what he's doing when it comes to his research and programs. Appointing this man as director is one of the few times where I can remember my dad really helping someone out to get them right, and keep them that way, to the point that he let this guy live with us until he found a place of his own. And he was really a nice guy, and the faith my dad had in him was shared by my mother and me as well.
Unfortunately, the job proved to be too much for this man, I guess--he was accused of sexual harrassment as well as returning to heroin (all this after he was no longer living with us). It was a black mark for the university's reputation, as well as for my dad, and from then on the two never really got along. I don't know what happened to this guy--he left town, and my dad struggled to re-establish the prison program (I don't know the fate of that, either, but if it's still around, I'm sure it would be listed on the prison's website--I'll have to see). My dad put his trust in someone and was betrayed, and for that I feel for him.
My dad doesn't have many friends, because he isn't very social and is one to keep to himself. (His wife is the same way, which makes them the perfect couple.) The people he would call his friends, however, were invariably his colleagues, because, as everyone can relate, these are the people with which you spend most of your time, making it easier to be comfortable around them quickly. And, unfortunately, my dad has seen a lot of these lifelong friends and colleagues pass away. His best friend passed away a few Decembers ago, and when my dad called to tell me, the pain in his voice was palpable, and I felt so bad for him.
As for other friends who were junkies--my dad created a therapeutic community in a maximum security prison, once upon a time, and he put a colleague/friend in charge as director. I think he met this man, however, when my dad was his parole officer decades ago. He felt this man was the right person for the directorship, despite his prison record and (recovering) drug addictions, and I do trust my dad's decision--he's very professional, intelligent, and knows what he's doing when it comes to his research and programs. Appointing this man as director is one of the few times where I can remember my dad really helping someone out to get them right, and keep them that way, to the point that he let this guy live with us until he found a place of his own. And he was really a nice guy, and the faith my dad had in him was shared by my mother and me as well.
Unfortunately, the job proved to be too much for this man, I guess--he was accused of sexual harrassment as well as returning to heroin (all this after he was no longer living with us). It was a black mark for the university's reputation, as well as for my dad, and from then on the two never really got along. I don't know what happened to this guy--he left town, and my dad struggled to re-establish the prison program (I don't know the fate of that, either, but if it's still around, I'm sure it would be listed on the prison's website--I'll have to see). My dad put his trust in someone and was betrayed, and for that I feel for him.
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