Confronting a Painful Past

The day I finally summoned the courage to tell my father of the damage he had caused the family. But would it lead to closure?

I did not like sitting in his house. He kept it dark, the old musty front curtains drawn tightly to keep the sun out. It was almost as if he chose this self-imposed exile as some punishment for past misdeeds. In essence, it seemed as if he could no longer enjoy the world around him. He could no longer bask in the bright sun to warm his skin or to energize his soul, after a life of drinking and incarceration. Perhaps the joy and the thrill of living had passed him by and the alcohol had robbed his brain of any ability to enjoy anything. And now, he was just biding time, rotting in the dim, dingy and dusty home in East Oakland, waiting to die.

Some might ask: Why, exactly, should he be allowed to enjoy life? Had he not caused enough pain and turmoil? As an alcoholic, he showed no open signs of remorse or of reflection for ruining his marriage to my mother — a 12-year torturous trip through hell for both of them. Or for robbing me of my childhood, stripping me of any sense of self or security. Or for beating a man to death after a heavy night of drinking when I had just hit my high school years.

This last violent act, the bitter culmination of a life of pent-up anger and rage, led to a five-year stay at Soledad prison for manslaughter. As with all his numerous arrests and incarcerations, this relatively short sentence — sliced in half for good behavior while behind bars — seemed much too lenient considering the crime at hand. But he was Bill Mays, and he always managed to weave a crafty sob story for the judge and jury, convincing them that it was uncharacteristic of him, that he would never think of doing such a heinous act when sober. That if he were only sober, that things would have turned out much differently. But something would just come over him. This intense, psychotic anger. It was like Jekyl and Hyde, he’d tell the courtroom.

Despite the relatively short sentence, the hard time seemed to complete the utter destruction of his ego and of his personality, transforming him into a lifeless soul just getting by with the bare minimum. From that point forward, after he walked out of that prison…

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