A Tale of Two Christmases, Part 1

Another Christmas has come and gone. Another chance for the ex to do something nice for his kids. Another fail on his part.

He managed to get a card and a gift card in the mail. For Rock Star only. Apparently, he doesn’t have his son’s address either. Hmmm….

It was a sappy card; there was a handwritten message inside where he tells her he adores her and that he hopes only for the best for her.

My son doesn’t know his dad sent something to his sister and nothing to him. I’m not planning on telling him either.

There is a part of me that says this is the hand he was dealt and he’ll just have to deal. I can protect him as much as possible but aside from that there’s nothing that can be done. His father’s an ass and he’s the one missing out. It’s his loss. End of story.

There is another part of me that is so fucking angry at him. How dare he treat my precious son like he doesn’t exist? That boy is amazing. He is sweet, thoughtful, funny, and smart. He’s quirky and so very literal. He’s an amazing musician and artist. He still loves hockey although he isn’t able to play anymore. He likes classical music and music from the 80s. He likes quirky t-shirts that mean something in his life. He’s a big Bob Ross fan.  Anyone who knows him is lucky to be included in his life.

For the last three years he’s gone hunting with my brother; he never got anything. In fact, last year they didn’t even see a deer. This year he finally shot a 17 point buck. My brother has been bragging about it to everyone he sees. The people at the processing plant were oh’ing and ah’ing over the size of it. Guys that had paid thousands of dollars to hunt in other areas were impressed with the size of it. The mobster showed it off to people who hunt and they commented on how it was “a kill of a lifetime”. They even went on to tell others about it. He showed it to his son who also hunts; he said it was a beast and was also quite impressed with it. My brother has warned him that he probably won’t get another deer like that again.

His father has no idea. He wasn’t there to take him hunting. He wasn’t there to hear about it afterwards. He wasn’t there to congratulate him.

For whatever reason he has completely disowned his son. Picasso no longer exists for him. I have no idea why; I only know it breaks my heart.

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