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Like Father...Like Son...

People say a lot of things about why people are the way they are. It's how you grew up, or it's who you're parents are, or it's who you hang around with. I've always wanted to believe that I was who I chose to be. And then there are days when I can barely stand to keep breathing knowing I didn't.

I just sit here, nothing much else to do in Ad-Seg except sit and think. So I thought about my father. And I thought about my brother and my son, whose blood I share, who I raised. And I wonder if we ever had a chance. And more, I hate myself because I know that it's my fault if we didn't.

I stood there in that garage listening to him spout off his excuses. His reasons for failing us and I hated him. I hated him for all the years when it was all I could do to stay sane and keep Michael away from the bad things. I hate him for thinking my life wasn't worth it. I hate him for bringing all of this down on my son and my brother, for ruining the lives of everyone I've ever loved.

But it was too much hate, and I know myself too well. Maybe he left. Maybe he could have come back when we needed him. But I was always there. And of all the things I've seen, it's the people who are around who do the most damage. The people who screw up and fail and take when they should give; not the people who are never there.

I think of the last time I saw my father when I was a kid. I barely remember him, and I wonder how much of that is the truth and how much was because of all the lies. We'd all had dinner, Mom took Michael to bed and Dad tucked me in. He looked down at me with this grin and said something about teaching Mike to ride a bike. I laughed because Mike was just a baby. He said good night and I didn't seem him again until I was strapped into that chair.

I think of the look in his eyes before he disappeared behind that fence and I wonder what my face looked like every time I left Michael or dropped LJ off with his mother. If they ever felt abandoned like that. Part of me always looked at the people I loved and thought the sacrifices I made for them were worth it. I felt worthwhile because of them. But even though I will never regret a single thing I did for them, I know that it's my fault they are where they are.

For a long time, when I didn't have anything in my life I was proud of, I was always proud of Michael. Proud to be his brother, proud to see what he had become. I was always proud of LJ. Proud of his honesty and his heart. I was proud to say that I was a part of someone so great. And I was always comforted that someone like V could have looked at me and found something worth loving.

I was proud to call them mine. But sitting here, wishing it was all over, I realize something. The best thing I could have done would have been to die my first week in. I can't make myself wish away the years before that, can't make myself regret the memories. But if I had died before all of this. Before Michael got himself sent to prison, before LJ became bargaining collateral, before Veronica left her life behind to save me. If I had done that, maybe they could have remembered me fondly once and awhile, but they would have led wonderful lives.

When Michael first showed up at Fox River and when LJ told me what happened with Kellerman, I realized something most fathers crave. These two were like me. But unlike most fathers I was horrified. I was horrified to learn that I somehow managed to lead them straight into my own tragedy. I had somehow managed to undo all the good in there lives because I didn't have the good sense to give up.

And what was hate for my father became curiosity.

Resourceful, Michael was in my cell a few hours ago. I wasn't surprised to see him, just dismayed to see again what he could do and how he was wasting himself in such a hellhole. But as I talked to him, as I watched him twitch and whisper under his breath as he processed everything under his breath I knew there was something to fading away.

I told him to give up. I told him to get out. And even though I could tell he heard me, I'm still afraid that he won't listen. I'm still afraid that I'm going to die knowing that I really did destroy him and any hope he had for a life.

And I wonder if that's what my father was thinking when he left. If he didn't want the guilt of our lives, however we turned out, on his soul. I wonder if maybe he didn't make the smarter decision.

But then I remember. I remember watching Michael sleep when we were kids. I remember holding LJ in my arms after he was born. I remember sitting with Michael and LJ and Veronica watching a movie once. I remember seeing Michael graduate from college, and when I called him from jail the day he finished his Master's. I remember playing catch with LJ and cheering at Little League games before he told me he liked watching the game more than playing it. I remember all the times when they looked at me and smiled and I know.

They belong to me and they always will. And belonging isn't something you walk away from. If there's anything I know, that's it. And if there's anything I can be proud of, it's that no matter what happens, I belong to them too. And they know what that means.

So even if I could never really choose who I wanted to be, I know that I never belonged to the man I called Dad. And even if I can't help loving him little anyway, I know that he didn't make me into who I am either. And even if all of the bad that's happened to Michael and LJ is my fault, so is a lot of the good that they became. So if the saying goes 'like father, like son…'

I don't know who I'm like, but I know two wonderful people who somehow came out a little like me. And even if things don't work out, at least I have my memories and at least I know that when I go, I have something that was mine that I can be proud of. And I could never have left them. I can't even leave them now. Not even on days like today when I find it hard to breathe and I know that I'm not who I wanted to be.

So tonight is a night for hope and a night to remember. And really nothing can go wrong tonight. Because maybe Michael will be able to be who he wants to be, and if not at least I know that he'll be free to live and free to take care of my son.

What else could a man ask for?