... since I last saw my father. I'm ~34, and after finding MGTOW - and the philosophies from which it draws some of its core principles - I have decided to reach out to my father. My mother divorced him when I was about 12, for alleged physical abuse (which I never saw any evidence of), and verbal abuse (which I never saw any evidence of); both accusations do not appear to have any police reports to support her claims -- in any of the towns we lived in.

She told my brother and I how bad he was, and how equally abusive he had been to both of us. Truth be told, the only person I remember abusing me, was her. But, that's a story for another time. Today, at noon, I've invited the old man to a hole-in-the-wall sandwhich shop for coffee.

I am hoping for the best...whatever that may be.

[Update]:

It was about twenty of twelve, when I walked into the shop. There was a decent crowd, but I snaked my way to a cup of espresso relatively quickly, all the while keeping an eye out for the shape of the man that would be my father. As the server handed me my cup, I glanced back at the entry, to see a thin, grey-haired man sitting on a stool.

Sitting with his back to the room, he was hunched over a long narrow serving table, by the storefront windows. The man tilted his head slowly, from side to side; his mess of dark grey hair, bobbed and followed. He looked like an old mouser, as his gaze steadily swept across the street beyond the glass. As I drew closer, I watched his head sink between his shoulders. He clutched his phone tightly with both hands. 11:53.

"Dad?" I asked. His fingers loosed their grip on the phone. Had it been in his lap, he might've dropped it, instead, it clattered harmlessly to the table. The man tried to straighten his posture, as he turned to face me. The grey I thought I spied in his hair was sparse. Most of it was white. Much of it was missing.

His gaunt, leathery cheeks curled his thick mustache into a smile as he called me by name. He clapped his arms around me in a bear hug; it's a moment that I play over, and over. I was - if only a moment - a boy, again.

He opened with an apology, saying how "...things just didn't work out -- I'm sorry ... how is your mother? ... I'm so grateful to have you and your brother ... how is he? Is he enjoying college?"
I answered him as best I could. At some point, I think you come to realize that your parents are just as flawed -- just as human as you are. And it really hit home for me, when he asked about my mother.

I get along with my mother, about as well as my brother does: very well, and from a distance, unless it's the holidays -- in which case it's a grueling 8-10 hour experience, 3-4 times a year.

He wanted to know how she was doing. Was she happy? In good health? It contrasted very heavily with the dark portrayal of a man I had been fed my entire life. I gave an honest, but brief reply to each. I could see he wanted to ask more, but when he caught wind of my discomfort he quickly relented and changed the topic back to my brother.

My younger brother - it sounded like - had been in some sort of contact with him, over the years. He even sold Dad one of his cars, on the cheap. I had always thought he "hated" our father as much as I, or our mother. But, being 5 years the younger, maybe he didn't really know how to feel. My brother had a fierce adoration for me, growing up, as I would take him everywhere with my own friends. We'd spend whole days, roaming the back forty, playing video games, or with Lego(?). Maybe he didn't want to choose? And, why should he?

A thought formed in my mind: maybe he had kept up a sort of well-meaning correspondence with him in secret. Everything felt like it was clicking into place.

My father continued--asking about my health, asked if I still taught/practiced martial arts, asked if I was still writing, asked if I was eating okay. Before I could reply to the last, he nearly interrupted himself, saying "We should get something to eat while we're here, come on ...!" The thin, frail looking, grey man I had approached earlier was gone.

He strode to the counter with surprising confidence, and we battled it out for a few moments as to who would pay. Eventually, he conceded, when I said that it was I who had asked him to lunch. We sat back down with our soups and sandwiches, and he asked every conceivable question an absent father would ask. Eventually, he got around to my now ex-fiance. When I told him what had happened, he leveled with me and said that he too was single now. The woman he tried to fill the void my mother had left, he explained, had left him and history had repeated itself. He seemed sad for a moment, but then he continued "...it's better to have the extra time to yourself," a long pause followed. "...life can be hard when you spend it trying to make other people happy."

I saw my opportunity, and pressed forward. "Dad?" I asked. "What happened between you and Mom?" He appeared to look at me, perplexed by the question, and then he seemed to look past me. And, after the longest minute of my life, he replied with "We were too different. Things were different in my country*, and the time your mother and I spent there - before moving to The States - she went along with all of our customs. When we moved here to be married, she expected so much of me. I didn't know what to do."

[* my father is originally from a country in Asia. My mother met him while doing volunteer work, and she brought him back to be married and live here.]

​

He pushed the food around his plate.

"I had no family, nowhere to go, and when ..." he seemed to take a moment to weigh his words. "... when you and your brother came along, I didn't know what to do. I couldn't just leave. I didn't know, but I had to try -- and so I tried ... but, all she did was pick fights. When I started to yell back one night, she threatened to call the cops ... but, I beat her to it ... I called them first ... told them she was a danger to herself ... to you ... "

After that he went on to explain how that was the incident which had pushed everything over the edge. She said that she owned him, and that if he didn't do as he was told, she would have him sent back overseas (even though he had obtained citizenship, through the proper channels). In the end, he refused to capitulate, she then called the cops, claiming he had poisoned the family pets, in act of revenge -- kicking off the whole divorce.

The conversation changed gears many times over. But, after some uplifting banter on politics and economics, we decided to call it. Both agreed to meet again at a local ramen joint two weeks out. In the meanwhile, we've decided to pick up playing chess to pass the time.

[Note: I did not expect this post to get so much attention, and I appreciate all the kind words of support. Today was easily the best day I've had in many years. I'll do my best to work through the comments, tomorrow, when I get to the office. I am absolutely bushed! Thank you, brothers!]