Ultimatums, The Simplest Of Decisions.

The conversation was probably meant to be private, however given that he had taken the call in a restaurant, seated with six co-workers, was in the vicinity of eight other patrons, and was shouting into his cell phone, that wasn’t very likely.

Nick has been a single father for as long as I have known him, that didn’t necessarily mean he qualified for Dad of the year. It merely meant that he could take full credit for the mess he had created. The conversation taking place was a familiar one, although I was only hearing one half of the verbal exchange it didn’t appear to be going well…  again.

“Anthony”.

“Anthony”.

“Anthony”.

“Anthony! I told you I’m not doing this again”.

“Anthony… okay.. Anthony, I can’t talk right now, we’ll talk about it tonight”.

The argument had been lost to a thick skull, but Nick didn’t know it yet.

He sounded like that twenty something parent, putting his three year old into time out. The difference being Nick is 61, and his son nearly 30.

I recall similar struggles with my Dad, as he sought out control mechanisms that he could use to hold me in check. When I moved out of the house there was little he could do about the way I lived. It was the late 70′s early 80′s; cocaine was treated like a party condiment, a double Gin and Tonic was a sports drink. My parents, like most could see the train wreck on the horizon. They raised the red lantern and waved the red flag, but could only stand by and wait for the deafening crash.

I Never Saw It Coming.

I entered a Pipefitters Apprenticeship in the summer of 1979 I was 19 years old; I moved to Denver to be closer to the oil refinery where I was placed for my first job. A refinery under construction is like the wild wild west; travelers, the hired guns of the industry, came from across the United States and Canada working to rebuild the Conoco Oil Refinery. An explosion in the summer of 1978 that registered 3.5 on the Richter scale had all but taken it out.

I was on the demo crew, working side by side with men using note worthy names like Earl the Squirrel, Steady Eddy, and Jack Garrison who’s claim to fame was documented in black Magic Marker on the San-O- Let walls.

Paydays were on Friday at 3:30 p.m. On Friday mornings, and only on Friday mornings, at 6:45  sharp, a  shinny black Lincoln would pull up to the construction gate; with his wife behind the wheel, Putt Putt Povitch would get out. Putt Putt was a Pipefitter who stood 5′-6″ with his Red Wings on, and weighed about 150 pounds, he towered over his wife by three inches, but she out weighed him by an easy 100 pounds. The razing and heckling from the 150 or so Pipefitters, Boilermakers, and Ironworkers on site, would follow him into the break shack, he never said a word. Every Friday afternoon at 3:15  the same shinny black Lincoln would pull up to the gate. At 3:35  Putt Putt would walk out of the construction gate, up to the driver side window of the gleaming black sedan; it would slowly roll down and he would hand over his paycheck. The window closed as he walked around to the passenger side door, waiting until the door locks had made their familiar thump, he would open the door and climb in. Everyone snickered, some made off color remarks as she pulled away, but in reality the only one laughing was Putt Putt, or at least his wife, all the way to the bank. I had been making more money than I ever had, and not a cent to show for the effort. I didn’t have a checking account or savings account, hell I didn’t even know where a bank was.

On each payday about twenty of us would get into our vehicles and drive to the other side of the industrial wasteland, Dino’s Nightclub and Lounge at 6 & 85. It was an oasis, the closest bar in the area, they cashed payroll checks, and they were my personal banker. The policy was, if you cashed your check at Dino’s you received a buy one get one free coupon for any beer on tap. With my coupon in one hand, and $175.00 stuffed into my wallet, less the $75.00 I had stuck in my sock, I walked out of the men’s room ready go. The sock was my security system, a drinking man’s version of a safety deposit box. Thinking was, if I held out $75.00 dollars I should have enough to make it through to next week, even if I drank the rest up, or lost it playing Liars poker, I was a terrible liar.

What seems easy to see now, but lost in the fog of the past, was my steadfast determination, to do as I damn well pleased. Try as hard as a parent  might, there will never be an argument so shrewd, or a plea so heartfelt, to cut through a thick skull.

It took two years and an ultimatum to finally brake through. Not from my parents, or from a court of law, but from my future wife who left the choice to me. A life of that, or the one with her, but not both.

The only one bit of advice I have for my kids…. never call on seven aces, when you’re holding three.

Talk to you later.

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