Poochie...

Okay yesterday was a heavy post about my dad, it got me thinking about my mom. I'm not on talking terms with her either. After the big episode with my dad happened last year and I cut off ties with him, months later I decided to do the same thing with her. I didn't send her a letter, I just stopped speaking to her.

It became apparent to me that she was playing her traditional head game and not talking to me or pretending nothing happened, she was playing the silence game. I've often heard my parents say the best way to drive someone crazy is to say nothing. When speaking with Alice my mother has never said anything, she doesn't want Alice to think it bothers them. It's a game to her. After 6-months of this, I figured she's just as bad as my dad and the loss of her son is not as important as the support to her husband. They are two pees in a pod.

The sad part is they will never have a large family holiday dinner ever again. We used to have Christmas, Thanksgiving and special holiday events and they will never happen again and it doesn't appear she cares. If it was Alice, she would have immediately tried to heal the situation and became the peace maker. In fact, if it was Alice and I did to Reid what my dad did to me a year ago, she'd divorce me, she told me so.

Looking back I swear my mother was bipolar, I've told her so and she completely disagrees. Growing up she was either the most loving or crazy mad. My mother was a screamer and all the neighbours heard it. She didn't hit us in front of our friends, but she didn't hold back on the yelling. Our friends would hear it and get freaked out and uncomfortable.

My mother was not an early riser, my dad would wake us up for school as we got older. My mother was a rollers and housecoat mother when we were in elementary school. It wasn't uncommon for her to drive us to school in her housecoat and if she didn't have time to make lunch, she'd bring us McDonald's at lunch. That was definitely a perk.

Like I said, she was either super loving or crazy. I have many fond memories of my mother, very few of my father, he was a distant and cold guy growing up. He's come home from work if he wasn't travelling and lie on the bed in his undershirt getting lost in watching his TV programs or if we drove in the car, it was an uncomfortable feeling sitting beside him, no conversation unless he was mad at something or criticizing. Him ever putting his arm on me or hand on my shoulder was most uncomfortable, I never liked it. With my mother, I would never kiss her, until much later in life, I was probably in my late 20's or early 30's.

Although I have probably more fond memories of my mother than not, she was a nutty mother. Aside from bad spankings, her weapon of choice was the electric frying pan cord folded in half, the worst was when she would interrogate you and suck every ounce of life force and energy from you. For example, one time I stole a Vancouver Canucks hockey jersey from Kmart and poorly hid it under a chair in the living room. She found it and marched me down to Kmart to return it and she set up a discussion between me and the manager, I remember he wore cowboy boots and I had to apologize.

When we got home she sat me down in living room and started interrogating, she got me in tears and would drill down on every aspect of me stealing it. God forbid if I didn't tell her the truth, she'd interrogate and say things like, "if you tell me the truth, I won't be mad". It was like a cop, sometimes these interrogations would go on for hours and late into the night. My dad might be there in the beginning and then he'd get bored and go into his room to watch TV as my mother kept up the interrogation.

They all ended the same way, I was a beaten man, I cried myself out and had a headache and my body was empty of all energy. In a weird way it felt good afterwards, I felt cleansed. She'd end off with a hug and tell me to now go to bed, they always happened before bed. It was draining.

My mom and dad would also fight, lots of yelling back and forth. One night I got woken from bed from the sound of plates smashing. I think everyone woke up, including my dad. My mom was had the china cabinet doors open and was smashing all of her fine china on the floor. She was mad at my dad and this was her way of hurting him. When she or my dad yelled, they had a clean mouth, they didn't ever swear, except once I heard my mom use the word F#CK to my dad and she stormed to her room and slammed the door shut, she may have broke it, I can't remember, it was either her or my dad who did once.

The one thing that was our lifesaver was my dog poochie, he was a stray puppy that we found roaming the neighbourhood and I brought him home, he was probably only 8 weeks old. Poochie was a black lab mutt, mostly black lab. This was the smartest dog I've ever met, even to this day.

When I brought him home I had to plead with my mother to allow us to keep him, it took a long time and lots of tears. She finally agreed providing the dog was not allowed in the house other than on the linoleum landing and kitchen floor and I had to feed and clean up the poop out of the back yard. I was probably in grade 4 when Poochie came into our life.

Poochie rarely barked and was the most gentle dog. It was not trained, yet knew not to leave the kitchen floor. All you had to say was POOOOCCCHHHHIIIIEEEEE in a long and low voice and it would look sad and scared and move off the carpet and put it's tail between it's leg. I'm sure it was abused before we found it, we later found out by the vet years later that it at one time had a broken right paw and healed the wrong way. It coming into our house was a god sent for poochie.

Poochie loved running and so did I, I always liked running distance and did it during any outdoor school track events, the 800 and mile was my distance. Whenever I did training runs, I'd take poochie with me. Even once at the cottage I approached the guy who put on the year end fair and asked him if we could have a run with your dog race, he was nice about it and didn't say no, he appeased me and said that's a good idea, he'll look into it. They never did have a run with your dog race.

Poochie was also super loyal and smart. One time in the middle of the cold Winnipeg winter, me, my brother and my friends were walking around the neighbourhood and walked to Kmart and entered the back door of the mall and told poochie to stay, we'd be back. We ended up forgetting about poochie and walked out the front door. Later that night, about 4 or 5 hours later, my mom asked us where the dog is and we remembered we left her at the back of Kmart. My mom drove us to the store and sure enough Poochie was still at the back door waiting, it looked like there was frozen spit on her fur, I guess other kids were messing with her.

The best was when we took a family trip to Disney Land and my grandmother took care of Poochie. We dropped her off at my grandmothers house which is about 5 miles away from our house. Poochie had never been there before. My grandmother let her out of the house and the dog went missing, she couldn't find poochie anywhere and didn't find her that night. The next day my grandmother went to our house to check on it and get the mail. Low and behold, sitting on the front step was Poochie, somehow she figured out her way home from my grandmothers. I had no idea how she did it.

Poochie was my true friend, I can't tell you how many times I'd sit on the back step of the house or leave the house and start crying after I got disciplined and telling poochie, "your my only friend" and I'd her my entire story. When we got poochie my mom wanted to make sure we had no puppies and had poochie spaded. I found out years later that all my siblings did the same thing. My sister told me that she too used to spend personal time with poochie and was devastated after poochie died, it was her friend.

About four or five years ago in the Pig and Whistle me, my sister told me that she was devastated when my mom had poochie killed. What? Poochie was killed? I though Poochie ate garbage and died, that's what my mother said. When it happened I cried and cried. When she said my mother killed or at minimum dropped her off at the human society, it started to make sense.

One time my mother exploded and was mad at me for not taking care of Poochie as I promised I would, I was being a kid. She'd constantly have to remind me to take care of her. One day Poochie was gone and I asked my mom where she was, she said she got rid of Poochie. After crying and freaking out she said she took the dog to the human society, a dog shelter. Eventually, after all the kids started freaking out and crying, she drove us all the the humane society to pick her up. All the while on the drive to the shelter she was telling us we better take care of her this time.

We got her back and as the years passed, I noticed Poochie would sleep on the edge of the living room rug when everyone was a sleep. If I came up to the kitchen I see her creep onto the rug and when everyone got up in the morning she move back to the kitchen floor. Later I once caught her sleeping on the couch, she moved from the rug edge and got to the soft couch, I was actually happy for her. When she saw that I saw her she scattered back to the floor with fear in her eyes.

She was great with little kids. Barret my youngest brother was probably 2-years old and he would jump on the Poochie, pulling she ears and nose and she wouldn't say a word, she just took it, never a nip or a snap and there was times he was really hurting her. The only time I heard her bark or saw her show her teeth was when on of my uncles was playing with us and chasing us in the back yard. Poochie thought we were in trouble and started growling and stopped my uncle dead in his tracks, he was scared. That was the only time I know for sure.

The night I found out Poochie died was horrific. It was November 1st, the day after Halloween. I asked where Poochie was and my mom said she died a few days ago, she was eating the neighbours garbage and ate poison and died. I started balling, I was mad, who poisoned my dog. My mom shot back, "why do you care, you guys didn't take care of the dog and she's been gone two days and you didn't even notice". That night I went out with my buddy Richard Pater and was in a funk, I was numb, I couldn't believe my dog was poisoned. I was angry.

We ended up in a school yard and it was dark and around 8 pm at night. I found an apple from Halloween lying on the ground, picked it up and through it at a house about 50 meters away. I lost sight of the apple in the darkness and was ready to say "I guess it didn't hit anything" and at that moment all I hurt was a smash, it smashed a kitchen window of one of the houses. We scattered and spent the rest of the night hiding behind a transformer box as a search party was looking in the school yard for the culprit. The eventually found us and we denied with our life that we had nothing to do with it. It was a lengthy interrogation. It turns out we hit the house of a girl that had some pretty tough high school aged friends. We were lucky to get away with our life.

Fast forward to my sisters visit and her telling me that my mom either took poochie to a vet for killing or gave her away to the humane society. I immediately believed it and couldn't believe it, how could my mother do that? Sometime after that I approached my mother about it. I told her I found out she got rid of poochie that she didn't die of poison. My mom was reluctant to admit it, but I asked in a joking kind of way and cajoled it out of her. She then stuck to her position, "you kids weren't taking care of her". She did it, she got rid of our dog. That's my mom.

The one thing I will say about my parents, they care more about being liked by others than being loved by their own kids. I think all of us kids have picked up that trait, we definitely all want to be liked by others. In many way's it's a curse. Over the years I've recognized it. The one thing I work on is that my immediate family, Alice and the kids, are the most important to me, I'd rather be loved by them than liked by others.

One of the reasons I was attracted to Alice was she was unlike my mother, she didn't yell, was honest, didn't need outside approval and had class. The funniest thing about my mother would she'd be yelling at the top of her lungs at us and the phone would ring and she'd pick it up and in the most pleasant and sweetest voice say, "hello". We used to bug her about that, especially as we got older. One day I'll have to blog about how she kicked me out of the house at 18 years old, that was a good one when I arrived home to find my water bed taken apart and sitting at the foot of the stairs. I played her bluff and left home, I think it left collateral damage with my youngest brother, she didn't care, she didn't think of that, she just thought of herself.

I know my parents are thinking they are right right now, that I'm the bad guy. I sent my dad a letter and it was truthfully harsh. They are using that against me I'm sure. To this day and from the age of 13, when my parents started dating, they have non liked my grandfather from my mom's side. They disliked him and eventually stopped inviting him to family functions after my grandmother died. They would say they were disgusted that he was a bad father and didn't spend time with his grand kids, nor even knew most of there names. It never bothered me, that was him, he was a high IQ recluse. My parents to this day speak badly of him and haven't got over it. They can definitely hold a grudge.

Since I've no longer been in contact with them my life has gotten much better. It started when I moved to Toronto in 2004. We got away from the negative Winnipeg attitude and the Vulcan mind melt of my parents. One day I'll write about my dad's business career and how his attitudes and criticisms, I've come to realize, have been drilled into my self-conscious.

I don't blame my parents for me, there's no benefit. My journey is one of shedding the old and living my life to the fullest. My dream as a kid was to get away from them. I remember as a kid in grade 4 looking at myself in the mirror, in tears after a spanking and punching myself in the face for being a bad boy. It was moments like that I wanted to commit suicide. I often held my breath in attempts. I also remember saying to myself, "If I have kids I'm NEVER going to hit them or treat them this way". There was times I fantasized that had my grandfather been alive he wouldn't have let this happen or if he found out he'd be my protector.

For the longest time I felt I was truly adopted, I wasn't like them and I wanted my real parents to come and get me. I remember that some nights I'd wake up from my bed to the sound of a screeching buzz, I'd jump out of bed and the only way I'd get it to stop was to pull the sheets on my bed straight like I was making it, my heart was pounding and the sound was hurting my ears. It was like a low frequency sound that you see in the movies that people have to put there hands over their ears to protect themselves from the pain.

I don't know why I'm writing about this stuff at this time. Perhaps it's because I've told Reid these stories when we sit at the Pig and Whistle and he can't believe them. He thinks that if Eric, my sisters kid who seem to idolize my dad (he's the exact same age a Reid) found out, he wouldn't believe it. I'm actually curious to see if they show up for Reid's graduation from middle school this year. Not that it matters, Reid's idol was Alice's dad. Alyssa is very close to my mom.

Like I said earlier, my mom is whacked, but she was also very loving and I have some very found memories or doing mother son crafts with her and I she was very protective of her kids. That's why I think she was bipolar. The said part is her true colors are coming out, even though I had it out with my dad, she didn't try to keep our relationship going and she's taken sides. As far as I'm concerned they both deserve each other. They aren't asking what did we do wrong, "our three sons are not talking to us", they are thinking we're selfish and ungrateful, poor me. We did everything for them.

The one thing I keep asking myself is "if they were so bad, why did I have a relatively good relationship with them over the past 20-years? It sometimes makes me feel like I'm not seeing things for what they are. I often wonder if the have some sort of "Stockholm Syndrome" or that I've been brainwashed or thought it was nothing. Had my dad stood up for me when our business was sold, I think things would have continued to be normal. Because he didn't and that summer there was not a moment that I trained that I didn't think of WHY? and then all these old feelings came out and I saw the trends. He was no longer beating me physically but was trying to dominate me mentally still. He hadn't changed, he cared more about being liked by others than loved by his own.

In retrospect, I should have cut it off much earlier, my brother Bob did. He shut him down early in life, probably before the age of 10. My brother hated him then and hates him now. He'll be cordial to him but thinks my dad's a loser. Bob recently told me, dad's was a nerd growing up. It stuck with me, every kid wants to think there dad was cool. Is it possible I was raised by a nerd? Is he so insecure he can't be happy for his kids success? Why does he constantly criticize? Why do I feel like I'm constantly being judged when I'm around him? Why can't we even have a beer and laughter together without arguing or judgement? He does with others.

I have so many questions. I do think I'm finally coming into my own. My next challenge is to prove that I can be much more financially successful and happy without him. For 20-years I forgo personal financial gain because he felt we should pay others first before ourselves. If I was paid for sales what competitor salesmen were paid, I'd be near retired right now. I was one of the top in the industry. Instead, I'm not near that position.

Do I think it's his fault? No. I've got this far and overcome a lot of crap that him and my mom drilled into me and on many levels have been successful. Do I still have a ways to go? Yes. Am I happier now that I don't have their negativity in my life? Yes. Does it still bother me? Yes. Do I want to get it completely out of my mind? Yes. Are they still playing head games with me with their silence and not even talking with Alice? Yes. What is the solution? Time I assume. Do I ever want a relationship with them again? My mom - maybe (big maybe), My dad - definitely not. I often think my dad is a sociopath and maybe even a psychopath. My mom is loving, but whacked.

Training wise, I'm currently a fair weather trainer. I'm not lazy, if it was warmer out, no rain or snow or cold I was looking forward to doing my long ride. I may still do something today if it warms up outside. If not I'll keep the schedule alive tomorrow. I'm not worried about it, I'm in great shape, I'm racing IMSG to finish and spend time with Alyssa. I want to finish as sore less as possible so I'm not complaining and hurting as we do stuff together. So long as I keep in shape and keep my weight in line, I'm cool. If I wasn't training and overeating, I'd be depressed.

In many respects I think I'm finally coming into my own with the training. The last 4 years from Fat to Kona has been an incredible experience and confidence booster. I remember when I started back I got into a conversation with my dad and somehow he responded to something with "I remember you did them years ago, you weren't that good". That blew me away, I remember being excellent for the amount of training I did. Gord Brauer recognized it, I did a 12:22 Ironman on only one 80 mile long bike ride and I'm sure I didn't do more than one 20 mile run. My dad didn't even recognize that.

I don't mean to keep talking about daddy issues. There is one story that he told me when I started getting back into triathlons. He remembered the first Ironman I did, the entire family, except for Bob and Alice went. It was sad about Alice not going, we were living together and my parents wanted to go and poo pooed the idea of Alice going. It was one of my regrets not having Alice there.

When I started back my dad told me that the scariest moment of his life for me was when I crossed the finish line at Ironman Canada, I was so happy and manic it scared him, he feared for my mental health. He told me that about 4-years ago, I was in disbelief. I told him that the reason I was so happy was because for my entire childhood I started things and never finished, this was the first thing I finished, it was a major accomplishment, I was happy. He said, "he didn't know that". It was the first and last time I was crying and emotional as I was coming up and across that finish line, I miss that. I aspire to have one of those moments again, almost had it in Kona this year, it was close.

Also when I dropped out of IMCH last year and decided to do IMSG he was apparently worried for my health, he didn't think it was a good idea me doing it. He told Alice that in Palm Springs when came back from China and Alice and the kids were vacationing in Palm Springs with my parents. My mother was supportive, he was negative. He says it was his "worry" for me, I'm not sure that's the motivation. I think with me working as a partner with him, he'd rather I work and not train so much. I'm not sure if that's true, it's just speculation on my part. Who knows maybe he was concerned for my health? The one thing I know, in my case, father doesn't know best. I always prove him wrong. He couldn't hold my jock strap when it comes to accomplishments.

Whenever he starts exercising he quits. I remember in 1978 he bought a pair of yellow Nike Waffle runners and started running, albeit briefly. I knew the year because I've been trying to buy the shoes off eBay and learnt the date. At that time I was 13 years old and started to wear them and run in them as well. He stopped running soon after starting and I kept it up, I loved those shoes. I need to find a pair of 10.5's and put them in the Pig & Whistle.

Last night I found the Canadian TV show "The Pig & Whistle" record off eBay. It's the show that my man cave is named after, I got the idea from Jamie when we were hanging around the bar this past summer and he asked me what I was going to do when my contract came up and I said I want to do what I'm doing now, drink and talk. He said, "just like the Canadian Variety show The Pig & Whistle". It was kind of like the Lawrence Welk show except in an English Pub setting and the host had a unique hat. The show ran from 1967 - 1977. I also ordered a little pig ornament blowing on a flute and have been thinking of someone making me a Pig and Whistle stained glass window to hang in front of one of the windows in the basement.

Anyways, taking a day off may not be a bad thing, near the end of yesterday's run my calf was slightly bothering me and it's really tight today. I think the problem was all the intermittent walking to keep the heart rate low. It may be the very mildly explosive start up from walking to running.

I'm also extremely tired today. I woke up and then had a 2-3 hours nap, the kind where you can't open your eyes if you want to. Obviously my body needs recovery, I'm hot, the body is burning up and I'm not sure if it's the training or the beers and cigars on Friday night.

Another long blog post. That's what happens when I don't have a long ride to do. I'm glad I'm doing it, it will give my future generations some history to read about and myself too. It's also therapeutic, I'm starting to realize that there may be some good reasons I have demons. In all fairness, this is just the tip of the iceberg, I have many, many more traumatic stories, my childhood on so many levels I don't think was typical, even parents aside.

Training - Rest day.