I've never said any of this, but it needs to be said...

“The list of things I used to be is longer than the list of things I am.”

 In saying that, I still realize that my list of current me is quite lengthy. I am Ben Quam; devoted fiancé, obsessive bar manager, storyteller, and reckless friend. I was Ben Quam; the liar, the reckless drunk, excuse teller, and thief. I am The Quammunist; comedian, storyteller, writer, and observer. I was simply Quam; using all of those talents to mask my lack of handle on the out-of-control vehicle that was my life. Hearts, trust, respect, and careers were ground up in the ugly gears of that messy machine, but a DWI changed all that.

The problem is that as much as I realize what I am, there is a small zone of crossover between what I was and what I am. One thing on that list bothers me more than any other. I was, and am, a divorce statistic.

“Look, at this point, I’ve raised you as I could’ve hoped. You are a man now, and if I die I’ll know I got to see you become an adult.”

Those are the words my father said to me over pizza at Carbone’s on Cedar in south Minneapolis when I was twenty. The backstory was that he was refusing treatment for his brain cancer, and wanted, apparently, to let me know that if he died,  20 was as far as he could’ve hoped for his son to grow to. I had a father for five years, and this is what I got. To qualify this story, I need to turn the clock back a little bit:

My father is was a raging alcoholic. He left my mother when I was four, and until I was fifteen and quit drinking due to a DWI-related accident, was at best a weekend warrior…showing up on Saturdays from noon to 4pm, usually buying me a toy or taking me to a movie. My mother put on the yoke of sole parenting, a role that I adored and resented her for. My mother is driven, she is brilliant, she is tenacious, but she is a mother. She is overprotective, obsessive, and at times so solely focused on an issue that she misses the big picture.

Life was unfair to everyone during my childhood. It was unfair to my father, because although he’s never admitted it to me, he missed a lot. Showing up for baseball games and weekend movies do not equal the parenting experience. He took me to bars, but gave me quarters to play videogames while he drank. He picked me up from daycare, but I’m still left with memories of him being an hour late and citing “traffic on 35” as the reason. I drive 35W all the time, and nothing takes an hour. He was getting shitfaced, and then driving me home. That said, he's still the coolest man I've ever met. He dresses impeccably, he tells fantastic stories, his music knowledge is only trumped by mine (Ha!) and he now inspires his step-grandkids and young coworkers the way I ached for so many years ago.

Life was unfair to my mother because she had to be both parents, while dad got to be my cool uncle. This distinction was exacerbated by the fact that my father was disgustingly charming and my mom was focused on business success to the point that it was off-putting from time to time. My mother had to deal with all the hard stuff for 6 ½ days a week, and dad got the best for that half-day. That said, mom delved into work…both at work and at home to hide her inability to relate to an ever-growing mind like mine. I envy no one who spent time in my formative years, which I count up until yesterday. I treated my teachers like parental figures, throwing myself into or out of every class, dependent on whether or not I connected with said teacher. Either way, I was determined not to be ruled by one person, for no real reason except defiance. 

Life was unfair to me because it taught me to be a liar. I’m a good storyteller because I learned to be a good liar. Having a dad that had never checked in and a mom that so desperately wanted to believe everything I said gave me an opportunity to invent characters I so wanted to be. The comedy I write now, at least I hope, is an extension of that lie. I have been afforded a life where I get away with more than most, and continue to obsess over whether I earn the friendships I hold so dearly. I was once told that I don't really fall in love, I just like faking it for fun. I laughed as I walked away, but like a fat joke in Jr. High it sticks in my subconscious. 

 It’s a tough world out there, and if anyone needs a forum to expel some anger about a divorce, a lack of a parent, or just an issue with life itself, holler here. No judging, no anything. Just open up…we all need it.