A Man Named Dave

abuse-awareness contest, providing scores of prizes and certificates for all the kids who entered. During Christmas I ran around town, collecting mounds of candy, hundreds of comics, and even a big Christmas tree for the kids at juvenile hall. Since I knew what it was like for some of them, I wanted to brighten their world if only for a day.
    As upset as Patsy was, I knew she had a soft heart. When I ran out of Christmas stockings for the kids in juvenile hall, Patsy not only sewed makeshift stockings out of cloth by hand, but spent an entire day making cookies for the kids and staff. I was fully aware of other influences on her. She hung out with other wives from the block who seemed to complain about everything in their lives and how the air force somehow owed them for all their sacrifices. Caught up in the tide, more than once Patsy had brought up the subject when she was upset. Part of me understood her frustration of being alone while I was away, but she, unlike some of her friends, had family only minutes away, as well as everything she could desire. Once, when I thought she went too far, I adamantly stated, “Okay, it’s not a mansion, but we live in a beautiful home, rent free. The only bills we have are car, gas, insurance, and food. Period. You don’t work; you have a beautiful baby. So tell me; how bad can it be?”
    “You don’t know what it’s like. Sometimes I just go crazy,” Patsy fired back. “You’re … you’re always out there flying or doing God knows what. I support you in your little promotional things … helping the kids, making them laugh, or whatever … but I thought it would be different. I just … I just want something more, that’s all.”
    At the time I simply thought Patsy was bored. Her moods seemed to change on a daily basis, and I didn’t consider she was giving me a vital message. Wanting to get away, Patsy joined me during one of my long drives to the southern part of the state for another series of volunteer presentations to college students. In my heart I believed our time together –without interruptions from the air force, juvenile hall, the scores of agencies I worked for, or from Patsy’s family tearing at her – would give us time to sort through some issues that were simmering below the surface. A part of me also wanted to peel away some of the layers of my past so I could finally be honest and open to Patsy. Maybe, I thought, hiding my past was interfering with my being able to trust Patsy. Due to our leaving at three in the morning. Patsy slept until we arrived at our destination. Moments before I left the motel to go to the campus, Patsy suddenly became ill and remained behind. But by the time I returned that night, Patsy had recovered and was now ready to paint the town. Because of the lengthy drive, the exhausting day, and the prospect of a long drive back home in order to mission-plan a flight with the air force, I was a walking zombie. As much as I wanted some time off to be with Patsy, once again I knew I had disappointed her by declining a night out. Bit by bit, without meaning to, I was adding to our strained marriage.
    Still fuming on the drive back to Beale Air Force Base, Patsy said, “I don’t get it! Why do you do this? This running around with the kids at ‘the hall’, the colleges, collecting toys…. Half the time I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing. I just don’t understand. It’s not like it’s gonna change anything.”
    I sighed as I rubbed my eyes. I knew as exhausted as I was, I would most likely make the situation worse. “Have you ever seen something that was wrong and … wanted to … to do something, anything? You know, just lend a hand and help out? I mean, I’m not trying to save the world, but if I can just –”
    “Just what?” Patsy interrupted. “Hello? Earth to David? It’s not our deal. Besides, don’t you know that you’re being laughed at? Come on, all anybody has to do is pick up the phone and tell you some sob story and boom: you’re off saving the world. The least you can do is get something out of it. I know for a fact you’ve been offered some money.”
    My hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Really?” I asked. “Who’s laughing?”
    “Well,” Patsy said, “my mom, for one thing –”
    “ Your mom,” I retorted, as if she were a factor.
    Losing steam, Patsy muttered, “And there’s more … uhm, everyone on the block thinks you’re stupid. Come on, who else would be stupid enough to drive off in the middle of the night and