Rocket Power belongs to Klasky-Csupo and "Emotionless" belongs to Good Charlotte, and yadda yadda yadda.
(I have already written a fic to this story, and it did quite well, but it didn't fit to the song the right way. So I rewrote it. Now quit bitching. :- P )
---EMOTIONLESS---
My parents have known each other all of their lives, though their relationship started out as a rough one. I don't know their whole past together since I wasn't there, but from the stories I heard when I was little, I have a slight insight. They met when my dad and my uncle moved next door to my mom and her family. My mom and my uncle were friends, and they hung with my mom's brother and their friend. My father made fun of them; he was a couple years older and your typical bully.
When my dad went to high school, however, he really started to mature. I'm not sure how or why, all I know is that he used to tell us, "Once you get to high school, most people really start to grow up. That's when I did." That's what he said before my twin brother and I went to high school, because we were nervous, just like any other kid. But that's not the point. The point is, my father grew up and fell in love with my mother. Looking at pictures of them when they were younger, they were really happy. The pictures of them skating and surfing, and even the later ones when they had my older sister Jamie, and then my twin Kevin and me, showed the loved that existed between them, and you could just tell that it was a strong one.
My parents are still married. But only because neither of them have signed divorce papers. My last name is still Rodriguez, but I haven't seen Lars Rodriguez in about two years. You see, when I was about sixteen, he left. It wasn't that surprising because my parents had seemed more distant since the year before. Many things became an acid that dissolved the glue that had held them together. My dad lost his job as a mechanic when the company went bankrupt, so his unemployment hit us hard. He tried for awhile to get a job, but it was easier said than done. He'd fill out an application and have the interview, then wait a couple of weeks just to find out that he didn't get the job. They either didn't have enough slots or he wasn't what they were looking for, all that kind of bullshit.
Whatever the circumstance, my father had a hard time finding work. My mom wrote at home for a local magazine, but she wasn't paid a whole lot. So, financial problems hit my family. It wasn't the tight budget or my paycheck going to the family that was hard for me, but it was the fights between my parents at night. I'd often hear them from my room at night, arguing over bills that couldn't be paid and things that couldn't be done. They'd sometimes hash up things from years ago. I heard a lot of "If you had done this" and "If you had taken that job", and it got really old.
My father got moody because of the financial problems and the distance between him and his wife. I had noticed that they just didn't seem happy around each other anymore, and it scared me that they would split up. I thought it silly that a financial rut could split two people up--two people who had been with each other about thirty years. But my fear soon became a reality. One night, when I was about sixteen, I awoke in the middle of the night to my parents fighting. I listened intently, and I wasn't surprised. They were always fighting. My mother was chewing out my father because they got a notice that unless we paid the electric bill by the end of the week, the electricity would be cut off. My father hadn't gotten the job he applied for, and my mother found it funny that he kept not getting jobs. After a few months of bickering, my father stormed into his room and packed his things. I trembled in fear as I heard the last thing my dad said to my mom: "Reggie, good luck and good bye." I never saw him again.
--Hey Dad, I'm writing to you
Not to tell you that I still hate you--
My name is Ryan Rodriguez, and I'm eighteen years old. I was born in May to Lars and Reggie Rodriguez, but my dad left two years ago. I haven't seen him since he left, and I don't know where he is. It's just as well, because I hate him. My family was struggling to survive in a financial rut, so what does he do? He leaves my mother to raise three children of her own. I never got to tell him what a slap in the face his leaving was, but many nights I thought about what it would be like to write to him, despite the hatred in my heart for him. But I wouldn't focus on that.
--Just to ask you how you feel
And how we fell apart,
How this fell apart--
It is a quiet night tonight; I'm alone in my bed, staring at the ceiling. There's nothing else to stare at, since the moon is a new moon, and it can't illuminate my room through my window. I lie in silence as I get lost in my thoughts. If I wrote to my dad, the first question I'd ask him is how he feels now. Is he happy that he left his wife and kids in poverty? Is his life better without us? I really wonder what he has done with his life since he left us. I wanna know if he's struggling to survive or if loneliness eats at his heart every minute of everyday.
I'd also ask him about what happened. Yes, I know that financial problems ruined his marriage. But how could something like money tear apart what was once a happy marriage? How come money problems didn't make them stick together even more? Sometimes I wonder if there were more things that my parents fought about than I knew of. When I was asleep, what else did they fight about? As the son that my father left behind, I feel I have the right to know. I wanna know every reason that was behind my broken home.
--Are you happy out there in this great, wide world?
Do you think about your sons? Do you miss your little girl?--
Something I learned early on is that this world we live in is cold, and it only gets warm when you're surrounded by people who care about you. And everyone has at least one person who cares. My Uncle Twister told me that when I was ten and the other kids made fun of me at school. But anyways, if being around your loved ones makes a person happy, than is my dad happy? Not only did he leave my mom and my siblings, but he left the whole Rodriguez clan. My grandparents, my aunts and uncles--no one had seen him in the past two years. He probably left the area. Where did he go, and is he happy there? Has he started a new and better life?
I wonder if he ever thinks of us. When Jamie, Kevin, and I were little, he was always playing with us and getting us ice cream and toys. My mother used to accuse him of spoiling us, but all in good fun. But he went from taking care of us to leaving us. We hadn't done anything to fuck up the family income--no one did. The financial problems just happened. Shit happens. But my dad never took it out on us--he was good to us even when he and Mom started fighting. He was a good father until the night he left. But now that he's gone, I wonder if he remembers the good times he had with us. Does he miss us? Does he wish that he had taken us with him? Does he wonder what kind of men Kevin and I turned out to be? Does he wanna know how Jamie, his little girl, turned into a woman?
--When you lay your head down, how do you sleep at night?
Do you even wonder if we're alright?
But we're alright. We're alright--
If I got married, then left my wife in the situation that my dad left us in, I know that the guilt would consume me. There'd be no way around it. The guilt would be like a tiny virus in the pit of my heart, growing and spreading until it tore my insides apart. Even if I died, the guilt would go to my grave and I would never rest in peace. If I wrote to my dad, I would ask him if he felt that way. I'd ask him if the guilt kept him awake at night. I'd ask him if the guilt invaded his dreams, causing him to wake up in the middle of the night, screaming straight from his heart.
I'd ask him if he worries about us. He knows the situation he left us in. He knows damn well that he left Mom to raise three teenagers on her own on a dangerously tight budget. But does he care? Does he wonder if things got worse? Does he wonder if we're still alive?
Despite my father's leaving, we are alright. We were even poorer when he left, and we were evicted from our house only four months later. My mother took a second job as a waitress at a restaurant, and when we weren't at school, my brother, sister, and I were working. Yet, we could barely afford to live. Not to mention, Jamie was just going off to college when Dad left, so she's had trouble paying for that. Sure, my grandparents and uncles tried to help us out, but it's a lot of money these days for four people to even exist. And Mom doesn't want to mooch off others for things; she's never been the type to do that. She wants to take care of us herself. But as hard as things were, even she accepted some help. My family did help. A lot of nights, I remember that the power would go out because we couldn't pay the electric bill. It'd be a week before my mom could come up with the money, so my Uncle Twister would take Jamie, Kevin, and me until the power came back. Hell, sometimes he'd even help out with the bills. Uncle Twister definitely helped us out the most, whether it was helping with bills or just being there when I needed someone to listen. But even if my family hadn't been there, we had each other. Kevin is not only my twin, but he's probably the best friend I'll ever have. With him, I'm alright. We're alright.
--It's been a long hard road without you by my side
Why weren't you there all the nights that we cried?--
If I wrote to my father, I'd tell him how hard it's been without him. Not just financially, but mentally. I am a teenage boy, I go to high school and get tortured almost everyday. Yet, I have no father to help me. No father to give me advice. No father to share with me his wisdom. No father to ask me, "How was school?" or to just listen to me rant and ramble about a guy who did this, or a girl who said that. Yes, I had Kevin to listen to me, and if I needed an older man to talk to, my Uncle Twister was there. As much as I appreciated them, they still weren't a father. A father is something sacred to a person--they only have one, and no uncle can stand in his place. Of course, my uncles in no way tried to replace Dad--there only concern was to be there if I needed them.
And they were. Not just my Uncle Twister, but my Uncle Otto as well. Several times. When the dog died, when the electricity got cut off, and even the morning after Dad left, the family cried. I'll admit, I cried. Kevin cried. Not as much as Mom and Jamie, but yes, we cried. A lot of incidents went on that affected the whole family, and we had each other, but it would have been nice to have a father around to comfort us. A lot of nights I just cried because of something that happened in school. I remember one incident, where I found out that my "girlfriend" only dated me because her friends said that if she dated me for a week, they'd pay for her manicure. That hurt like hell, and I didn't feel comfortable talking about it to Jamie or Mom because, well, they were girls. I needed a man to talk this over with. Kevin, unfortunately, got a throat infection and couldn't talk, so I couldn't go to him. My Uncle Otto happened to be over that night, and it was a good thing because I remember turning to him. I remember him comforting me and telling me that if I just waited, I would find the right girl in time, and yadda yadda. As much as I appreciated it, I still needed a father. Only Lars Rodriguez, the man that I hated, could be that.
--You broke my mother's heart, you broke your children for life
It's not OK, but we're alright--
I remember the morning after my dad left. You see, every morning, my father sat at the table and read the comics while my mom cooked breakfast. Well, Jamie and Kevin looked confused when he wasn't there. I wasn't, because I had heard him leave. I had a grave look on my face, and I was very quiet. I was still appalled at what happened, and I didn't wanna tell them because I felt it better if my mom told them. My mother stood over the stove, wiping away tears as she cooked the pancakes. I came up behind her and hugged her, then told her I'd cook the pancakes and that she should sit down and relax. I already knew what happened, and I didn't need to hear it again. My mother gave me a half-smile, then sat down at the table while my siblings asked where Dad was. I heard her take a deep breath, then choke out the story. In her words I could hear the pain that she was feeling in her heart. Jamie and Kevin cried with her, and I felt the tears stinging my eyes as I flipped over the pancakes.
My mother's heart is broken. The man she had loved with all of her heart had left her, like an old toy that a kid grows out of. She has no husband. When she falls down, she has no husband to pick her back up. When she cries, she has no husband to hold her and tell her that things would be OK. When she dies, she will have no husband to be buried next to. She has no husband to love her even after death has parted them.
Jamie, Kevin, and I are broken too. We have no father to advise us, no father to shape us into the people we will turn out to be. Kevin and I don't have an old man to completely show us how the world works. He's shown us some things that we won't forget, and Mom has shown us how to truly be men, but there are things that only a father could pass on to his sons. And Jamie, she won't have a man to love her unconditionally until she finds a husband. And when that happens, who's gonna walk her down the aisle? Who's gonna dance the "Daddy-Daughter" dance with her? One of my uncles or maybe her best guy friend could walk her down the aisle, or maybe even Kevin or I could, but we can't replace a father. There are things that only a father can do and only a father can be. It's not OK what my dad did. I personally hate him for it. But my family is OK.
--I remember the days, you were a hero in my eyes
But those are just a long lost memory of mine--
Back to when I said my father was a good father until the night he left. He was. In every way, he was. Ya know, most kids start seeing their parents as villains when they're about thirteen or so, but I only saw my father as a villain when he left. I still see him that way. But I thought he was a hero for sixteen years. You see, I have a long history in school for being the kid you bully. Kevin does too. We are the twins that all the kids have to pick on in order to be popular, and since people have such a hard time thinking for themselves these days, my brother and I were shown no mercy. Every damn day, one of us would be made fun of for liking this or wearing that, or shoved in a locker, or tripped in a hallway. If we asked a girl out, she'd say no. If we made a new friend, a popular snob would always find a way to get them against us. If I went into more details, they'd flood the story and the point of my story would be lost.
Anyways, my school did nothing about what happened to me. Nobody ever saw anything, and the principal would always say that when we told, "It was your word against his." The staff of my fucked up school didn't feel like dealing with the parents of these kids, and most of these kids were also athletes or academic scholars or just anyone that made the school look good in competitions, be it a football game or a debate tournament. Anyways, then I always saw my father as a hero. He would go up to the school repeatedly, and so would my mother, and they would just raise all kinds of hell over the laziness of the staff. One time I saw it, I was called in the office during gym class to see the principal, and before I entered the office, I saw my parents in there. Yes, my mom put in her two cents just as well as she could, but I think my father put two extra cents in. He did most of the talking, and he even got really fresh with the principal. My parents spent a lot of time in the principal's office. One day, my father said that he had had enough, so he walked out of the office, took me by the hand, got Kevin, and took us home, in the middle of the school day. We were home-schooled for the rest of the year, and we moved to a different part of the city that summer. I was fourteen then.
Yes, my father was a hero in my eyes. Even before we moved. I remember for years, after a day of being made fun of or beaten up, my father would sit next to me on my bed and listen to every word I said. I could tell him anything; he would just listen intently and would say whatever it took to make me feel better. He would give me advice (and since he was a former bully, he knew that they acted from their own insecurities) and would just give me hope that things would get better. He was always there, he was never too busy to listen to me and hear what was on my mind. Even after he and my mother started fighting, he was still there. Lars Rodriguez was a good father who, in a lot of ways, showed me how to be a man. But now he's gone. He left. He always seemed so strong on the outside, but he was so weak when he left my mother. When he left me. When he left us. Lars Rodriguez was a hero, but when he left, he became the villain.
--I spent so many years learning how to survive
Now I'm writing just to let you know I'm still alive--
The past two years have not been easy. My father was a villain. His leaving pushed me into the adult world before I was even ready for it. I mean, most sixteen-year-olds got jobs so they could have some extra cash in their pockets or to save some for college, but my siblings and I got jobs just so we could pay the bills. A lot of times we couldn't do this, and we'd end up getting the electricity cut off or having to walk everywhere because we couldn't afford gas money. Especially now, since our "intelligent" President bumped the gas prices up...Anyways, the point is that I couldn't watch my parents take care of grown up stuff and learn from it, then leave home when I thought I was ready. I had to take care of grown up stuff in a flash, and learn how to do so along the way. Between the ages of sixteen and twenty, most teens learn from their parents how to make their way into this world, but I had to learn in the process, learning from my mistakes. Which isn't a terrible thing, that I learned how to survive firsthand, but survival isn't always an easy lesson to learn, mainly when it could have been easier. If I wrote to my dad, I would tell him the lessons that I learned the hard ways in the past two years. I would tell him the struggles he put me through. But then I'd tell him that I'm holding on. I'm still alive.
--The days I spent so cold, so hungry
Were full of hate, I was so angry--
I have been through a lot of struggles. I can't tell you how many winter nights we had frozen our asses off because we couldn't afford heat, and then how many summer nights we were cooling our heels because we couldn't afford AC. It was absolutely horrendous, especially in the winter. The four of us would curl up under every blanket in the house, in a dark, cold living room. We'd light candles since the electricity was out, and they provided the little light that was in the room. So we'd lie there every night, almost in pitch darkness, shivering underneath several layers of blankets. Sometimes, we couldn't afford a lot of groceries either. It's as simple as that. A lot of those nights we spent in the dark, our stomachs also growled, because we had to ration out what food was in the house until someone's paycheck came. Also, if the electricity was cut off, any food in the fridge went bad and we couldn't heat up anything, so we were limited on what we could eat. A lot of nights, I went to bed thinking about things that normal teenagers didn't think of. Instead of thinking of girls and who I was gonna go to the mall with after school, I wondered what was in store for the next day. I wondered if we'd get electricity back, or if it would be shut off again. I wondered if I was gonna get to eat the next day. I wondered if I would be stuck in this situation for the rest of my life.
I was cold and hungry a lot. Not only literally, but also in my heart. Because I was struggling so badly, my heart just raged with pessimism and hate. I hated my father, and the hate just took over me. I was always angry with him. Every morning, I'd wake up to an empty stomach, then remember that chances are, I wouldn't be able to satisfy that empty stomach. I'd think of what he did, and I'd be angry the rest of the day for it. If he hadn't been such a damn wuss, we wouldn't be in this situation. I still think that, and I still hate him to this very day. I long for a better life, but I can't have one until I get out of college and get my dream job as a computer animator. I'm hungry for a better life, I'm hungry to get out of poverty. I'm hungry for a normal life.
--The scars run deep inside this tattooed body
There's things I'll take to my grave
But I'm OK, I'm OK--
What my dad did is hard to forget. To move on isn't the easiest thing to do when you're struggling to survive. I still hate my father and I'm still angry with him, but not as much as I used to. But the scars are still here. Like a tattoo. You get it and it never comes off. Except that with the tattoo, you get to choose if you get it and what it is. A scar, that results in some random thing that life has thrown at you and you can't choose how deep it is or how visible it is. I'm eighteen now and I've cooled down about the situation and I would like to forgive my dad and put it all behind me. But I can't. I've learned how to survive by now, but I'm still struggling with it. I'm eighteen, I need to go to college, and so does Kevin, and we've really had to work hard just to pay for that. Of course, my uncles chipped in a lot, and it makes me feel bad that we had to mooch off of them. But all this wouldn't have happened if my father had stayed. I can never forget the plight that he put us in. But it won't ruin my life. I'm still feeling the effects of his leaving, but I know in my heart that it's gonna work out OK. Yes, the scars will never go away and this will stay with me until the day I die, but I'm gonna be OK.
--It's been a long, hard road without you by my side
Why weren't you there all the nights that we cried?
You broke my mother's heart, you broke your children for life
It's not OK, but we're alright
I remember the days, you were a hero in my eyes
But those are just a long, lost memory of mine
Now I'm writing just to let you know I'm still alive
Yeah, I'm still alive--
If I wrote to my father, I would want to tell him every struggle that he has put us through, but if I did, would he think that he had one? Common sense says that you don't tell an enemy how much they have hurt you, because then they know that they have done what they wanted to do. Then they'll do it more. A lot of people are that way--if you tell them what ticks you off, they'll use it against you to tick you off even more. Maybe I should tell my father our struggles. Maybe I should tell him that we are fighting for our lives and that I hate him, but that we're still OK. That he can't knock us down, because we will only get back up. That we are still alive, and that things will get better for us while he drowns in his tears. My father will probably lead on that his life is so much better without us, but I know damn well that he is no happier than we are. He's miserable, and it serves him right. I'd tell him that too. That's right. I'd tell him, "Dad, you fucked everything up for us. Mom's heart was broken. We struggle just to make it in this world and you shattered everything for us. Even though I used to look up to you, I hate you and I hate what you did. But I'm still alive and I'm gonna be OK. You can't shoot me down." But I don't know my father's address. But I don't need to pesture him about what he did--the guilt itself will do that.
--And sometimes I forgive
Yeah, and this time, I'll admit
That I miss you
Said I miss you--
Yes, my father will feel the guilt. Even though he was a bastard to do what he did, he'll still feel the guilt. From my memories of him before he left, I know that the guilt has to eat at him. My father, before he left, was a pretty caring person and he loved us. He was good to us. He would always make sure that he spent time with us and he was there when we needed him. He worked his ass off at work so that we could have the things we needed and some of the things we wanted. When I was kid, I played with my father more than I played with the kids in the neighborhood, for many reasons. No matter what we played, he made sure that each one of us got our turn and sometimes he'd give us an extra shot or another spin just so that we could win. He didn't take it so seriously and he wasn't concerned about winning, nor was he very competitive with the games. He was more fun and fair to play with. Besides, sometimes he was the only one who wanted to play with us. Unlike the other kids, he wasn't too "cool" to play with us.
I don't know why he just did what he did. The morning before he left, he was still that good father to us. He was a good father until the moment he left. Maybe he wasn't thinking. Maybe he meant to come back but couldn't find us. Or maybe he changed in a heartbeat and doesn't care anymore. I may never know. All that I know is that we're all miserable because of what he did. Even he is miserable. But that doesn't make me happy. I hate my dad, but I need to forgive him for my sake. Being brought up the way I was, I never took pleasure in someone else's misery. My dad is no exception. I have no choice but to wish the best for him.
But when I think about what we used to have, sometimes I'll admit that I miss him. I miss the father I had before he left. I miss having an older man to go to whenever I needed him, I miss the relationship that I had had with him. It's a funny thing when you break off a relationship with someone. You can hate their guts until the day you die, but sometimes you miss what you had with them and you wish that things had never turned out the way they did. You know that you and the other person can never share what you used to have, things could never go back to the way they were, and you acknowledge that, but you can't help but to miss them. You miss the person they were before everything went downhill.
--It's been a long, hard road without you by my side
Why weren't you there all the nights that we cried?
You broke my mother's heart, you broke your children for life
It's not OK, but we're alright
I remember the days, you were a hero in my eyes
But those are just a long, lost memory of mine
Now I'm writing just to let you know I'm still alive--
It is now about ten o'clock at night, and I hear the doorbell ring. Who could be at our door at this time of the night? Well they must have a pretty good reason. Kevin obviously heard it too, because I see him stirring in his bed. I look at my twin as he looks back at me and arches an eyebrow. We get up out of our beds and creep into the hallway. My mother steps out of her bedroom and looks at us. She must be wondering the same thing.
"Guys, I'll answer the door," she tells us. But we still follow behind her. We are curious to know who it is. She goes up to the front door and opens it. All three of us gasp at who it is. So many questions are going through my head right now. Why is he here? What does he want? What made him come? How did he know where we are? What's he gonna do?
The man grins at us. He pulls something out of his pocket and hands it to my mother. It is an envelope. As she opens it, he speaks up. "Those should cover the bills, and there are more to come." My mom is looking through the checks and she smiles slightly, but then looks at the man; she looks a little angry. The man then speaks again. "I've been trying to find you guys since last year so I could help, but I was too slow." My mother continues to look at him, and she doesn't look like she's buying it.
"Thank you," she says simply, then begins to turn around. But the man protests.
"Wait, Reggie," he says. She stops and looks back at him.
"Yes?" she asks.
"I will never forgive myself for doing what I did, until the day I die. I'm willing to spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. I won't ask you to forgive me, but just hear my apology and know the sincerity of it. I'm really sorry." He looks at my mother, then at Kevin and me. He looks so upset, like he's about to cry, but he's holding it in. Then he looks at me and grins, but I don't grin back. Not yet. But deep in my heart I want to grin back at him. Just like I used to do. Then, he looks at my mother. She looks at me, then at Kevin, and I can see her heart soften through her eyes. She looks at the man, and grins at him. She sees what I see. She sees the pain this man is feeling and the love that he still has for us. It would take awhile to build back up what we had with him, and maybe we wouldn't even be able to at all, but maybe we should try. Tonight I would take the first step. I grin at him, and he grins back. I look in his eyes, and say the two words that meant more than anyone would think they did.
"Hey, Dad."
--And sometimes, I forgive
Yeah, and this time, I'll admit
That I miss you
I miss you
Hey Dad--
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Yes, I rewrote this one because the last one didn't fit with the song. This one is better. I'm rewriting "The Young and the Hopeless" too, but I NEED to update my Hey Arnold! story before the readers perform voodoo spells on a doll with my name on it. lol. Please R/R! Thanks to those who review.And PULEEZE visit my GC site on my profile page!!! I'll give you cake!!!!!!!!!!!! lol.