Pissing Into the Wind

My stepdad is a birdwatcher and an artist, and he taught me a lot about nature and birding when I was a kid. Every summer we used to go to Pawley's Island, South Carolina, and I vividly recall him being excited about the brown pelicans sailing in single file lines over the surf. He told me that they had been nearly extinct from DDT weakening their shells, and their comeback was nothing short of a miracle.

Last week I saw a brown pelican, and I thought of him. I haven't spoken to him since Mom died in December. To say our fragile relationship was damaged by the way he treated me at the time of my mother's death is an understatement. But Mom loved him, and in my own way, despite everything, so do I. I know Mom wanted nothing more than that her family stay intact even though she had to leave us.

I also know there is nothing to be gained by nurturing fear and hurt in my heart; it's not the kind of man I am or want to be. It was a struggle to extend an olive branch when I was so hurt, and am so doubtful there is hope to rekindle a connection between us, but I decided to send him an email.

Dear Lucius,

When I was walking at the pier in Pacifica on Thursday, I came upon a brown pelican sitting very calmly watching the waves. He was posed so well, and seemed so unconcerned about the people on the pier that I was able to get quite close to him and take several photos. They're not the best pictures in the world, since I only had my cell phone camera, but they are still pretty cool. His feathers were amazing, the way they shaded together in the sunlight, and the pattern they made.

Seeing him made me think of you, as brown pelicans always do. I hope you are as well as you can be, and that you are finding some things that bring you happiness even in your sorrow. I know Mom would have loved the pelican, and I wish I could have shared it with her, too.

Love,
Zach

It's not much of a letter, and to be honest, I'm not sure he'll even answer it. I'm pretty convinced he just hates me now, or again, I suppose, for he hated me when I was a child, and despite the superficial truce we'd managed to establish in the intervening years since I moved out at 14, when the worst was happening and my mother was dying, it seemed that hadn't changed.

It was a little heartbreaking, too, to address the email. He never really had his own email address - Mom was the correspondant in their family — so to send him an email I had to address it to her. I steeled myself, then went and changed the entry in gmail's address book to his name rather than hers. It felt like I was somehow erasing my mother from reality, but I can't face sending emails to her name, or, should he answer me, seeing them come in with her name attached.

I hope, if Mom's spirit is still lingering, paying attention to us, that she's at least happy I sent him this small thing. I hope he'll accept the peace offering. I hope I'm wrong, and he doesn't really hate me.

How tragic that as a grown man I still crave parental affection from a man who never wanted to be my parent, and never hid that fact from me.