This echoes in my head. My father wasn’t an addict and he didn’t inflict anything like HIV on me.
Instead, I got the years and years of abuse because he lived in our home and my mother would not get rid of him. He was a pretty mean guy. If he heard noises from us children after bedtime, he was likely to use his belt on us. At least he had the decency to do it on our butts anyway. There was always the threat that he was going to “put me away” in a mental institution. Scary as hell. I don’t know why he had children. He obviously didn’t want them. He was too cheap to give us anything but minimal support. And he would show a jovial and friendly face to the world; people could never understand why I hated him. Guy threw a shoe at my head because I didn’t hear him tell me to move out of his way to see the telly. He couldn’t abide my stimming. Of his four daughters, I was the focus of his anger and hate.
Yet, he mellowed out in his latter years and we reached a kind of detente. He would do us the occasional favor. And the fights with him would occur less frequently. He still spewed racist language when he got road rage but yet he actually treated black folks well when faced with them in person. He lent me money so my hubby and I could get our co-op apartment.
He was a strange man with many creative talents.
But the truth remained that having a convo with him was always awkward for me. I never knew what to say to him and vice versa. I never revealed my innermost thoughts and feelings to him.
When he died, I didn’t feel much. I wrote out a check for a million dollars and slipped it in his jacket pocket. I knew he couldn’t cash it, but to me it was funny because he had been so cheap. He did have a sense of humor. His ghost probably laughed.
Yea, daddy problems. I get that. And it’s clear to me that so many folks had worse daddy problems than I did. The mental institution day program I attended was a good experience that was completely NOT frightening. But my father didn’t put me there. I signed up for it myself.
This is my confession and I’ve never written anything this frank before about my daddy problem. Thank you, Joseph, for sharing and helping me to open up and appreciate what I did have.
Everyone has a story.thank you for telling us some of yours.i found myself laying in bed last night saying the word daddy over and over.dont know why just felt right.im 72 dads been gone almost 40 years.it’s complicated for sure.
Very good. You made me cry. Thank you for sharing.
I haven’t spoken to my parents in 5 years, the only five years that I have been sober since 13. They are alive. I know where they live. I know their phone numbers-they are blocked on my phone. Not my husband’s-they don’t call.
I think your ability to give your father that grace is truly remarkable. You’re a beautiful soul, congratulations on your baby boy 💙
I just saw Joseph Kibler’s documentary about his participation in one of the AIDS Walks. OMG! It’s like LSD for the emotions—I could not turn away. Nor could I rid myself of the lump in my throat and the tears that threatened to fall from my eyes. I was riveted, body, soul, mind, and emotions!
In a completely open and genuine way, Joseph takes us up close and into his struggle with HIV and cerebral palsy. He doesn’t hide. He’s in the light for all to see. And when talking about his father, who was responsible, for what happened to Joseph, his sadness and pain and tears are evident.
Here is a man who literally learned to fall before he could walk. He learned to be resilient, to pick himself up and carry on with whatever he was doing. And this is not just literal, it’s also symbolic because Joseph shows us how to do it. We witness his victories. Yet, he says that he knows that other folks have worse problems.
He is a person after my own heart. He is somebody I can identify with because my own Crisis of Belonging (a Pete Buttigieg term) also began as soon as I was born. While Joseph calls himself a Fancy Walker, I am a Fancy Talker because my CP is around my mouth. Like Joseph, I persisted anyway and had a pretty good career in STEM publishing. I don’t have HIV but I have hearing impairment. So, I’m used to being relegated to the shadows and people thinking I’m dumb and that anything I say doesn’t matter. I’m used to being bullied—all through school and even on a job. No fun. But what the hell?
Walk On shows us clearly why what Joseph has to say matters very much. It exposes the human suffering caused by sheer ignorance and selfishness. In one scene Joseph meets a man who says he purposely got himself infected with HIV because he wanted to get certain government benefits. Joseph is astounded. He cries because he never had any say about whether he would be infected. He has to live with the consequences of HIV because of a decision that was completely out of his control.
This documentary is kind-of like what an LSD trip must be like—it expands our consciousness into a realm that so many people avoid. People don’t want to deal with the fact that many people have disabilities—AND that we have hearts and minds and souls. We are not just stupid idiots to be shoved into the shadows so abelists can pretend we don’t exist.
No! We are emerging from our endless night and coming into the light. We are the next big movement. I always said: “It not that we were on the back of the bus; we can’t even get on the bus.” Think about that.
I’ve been on so many marches for so many causes. Like Pete Buttigieg said, I used my own experience to empathize with other marginalized and oppressed people. But I wondered: “What about us? Why don’t we matter?”
Why indeed is it a source of shame to have parts of our bodies that don’t work perfectly? We didn’t do this to ourselves. And it doesn’t make us worthless.
Indeed, if Joseph Kibler can Walk On, we can certainly follow. What are we waiting for?
You are very welcome. What you are sharing with the world is pure alchemy and I feel so privileged to witness it. I’m spreading the word about the film everywhere I can because everybody should see it. <3
I like your comparison of the conversation to the ticking time bomb. It was very effective. Congrats on your baby. You are in a very special place right now. Savor every minute. They pass so quickly.
Amazing way to write about this painful relationship. I’m so sorry you had to endure this. This man seems so clueless but also all he is capable of giving. You are blessed to have such a rich life. Your mom must be amazing!
This echoes in my head. My father wasn’t an addict and he didn’t inflict anything like HIV on me.
Instead, I got the years and years of abuse because he lived in our home and my mother would not get rid of him. He was a pretty mean guy. If he heard noises from us children after bedtime, he was likely to use his belt on us. At least he had the decency to do it on our butts anyway. There was always the threat that he was going to “put me away” in a mental institution. Scary as hell. I don’t know why he had children. He obviously didn’t want them. He was too cheap to give us anything but minimal support. And he would show a jovial and friendly face to the world; people could never understand why I hated him. Guy threw a shoe at my head because I didn’t hear him tell me to move out of his way to see the telly. He couldn’t abide my stimming. Of his four daughters, I was the focus of his anger and hate.
Yet, he mellowed out in his latter years and we reached a kind of detente. He would do us the occasional favor. And the fights with him would occur less frequently. He still spewed racist language when he got road rage but yet he actually treated black folks well when faced with them in person. He lent me money so my hubby and I could get our co-op apartment.
He was a strange man with many creative talents.
But the truth remained that having a convo with him was always awkward for me. I never knew what to say to him and vice versa. I never revealed my innermost thoughts and feelings to him.
When he died, I didn’t feel much. I wrote out a check for a million dollars and slipped it in his jacket pocket. I knew he couldn’t cash it, but to me it was funny because he had been so cheap. He did have a sense of humor. His ghost probably laughed.
Yea, daddy problems. I get that. And it’s clear to me that so many folks had worse daddy problems than I did. The mental institution day program I attended was a good experience that was completely NOT frightening. But my father didn’t put me there. I signed up for it myself.
This is my confession and I’ve never written anything this frank before about my daddy problem. Thank you, Joseph, for sharing and helping me to open up and appreciate what I did have.
Thank you for the like, Joseph. <3
Everyone has a story.thank you for telling us some of yours.i found myself laying in bed last night saying the word daddy over and over.dont know why just felt right.im 72 dads been gone almost 40 years.it’s complicated for sure.
Thank you for your generosity to your dad and to yourself. The world needs nuanced stories like this, Joseph.
Very good. You made me cry. Thank you for sharing.
I haven’t spoken to my parents in 5 years, the only five years that I have been sober since 13. They are alive. I know where they live. I know their phone numbers-they are blocked on my phone. Not my husband’s-they don’t call.
I think your ability to give your father that grace is truly remarkable. You’re a beautiful soul, congratulations on your baby boy 💙
Our Time is Now
Disability Awareness Is the Next Movement
https://substack.com/@msbilliemspaigh
By Billie M. Spaight
I just saw Joseph Kibler’s documentary about his participation in one of the AIDS Walks. OMG! It’s like LSD for the emotions—I could not turn away. Nor could I rid myself of the lump in my throat and the tears that threatened to fall from my eyes. I was riveted, body, soul, mind, and emotions!
In a completely open and genuine way, Joseph takes us up close and into his struggle with HIV and cerebral palsy. He doesn’t hide. He’s in the light for all to see. And when talking about his father, who was responsible, for what happened to Joseph, his sadness and pain and tears are evident.
Here is a man who literally learned to fall before he could walk. He learned to be resilient, to pick himself up and carry on with whatever he was doing. And this is not just literal, it’s also symbolic because Joseph shows us how to do it. We witness his victories. Yet, he says that he knows that other folks have worse problems.
He is a person after my own heart. He is somebody I can identify with because my own Crisis of Belonging (a Pete Buttigieg term) also began as soon as I was born. While Joseph calls himself a Fancy Walker, I am a Fancy Talker because my CP is around my mouth. Like Joseph, I persisted anyway and had a pretty good career in STEM publishing. I don’t have HIV but I have hearing impairment. So, I’m used to being relegated to the shadows and people thinking I’m dumb and that anything I say doesn’t matter. I’m used to being bullied—all through school and even on a job. No fun. But what the hell?
Walk On shows us clearly why what Joseph has to say matters very much. It exposes the human suffering caused by sheer ignorance and selfishness. In one scene Joseph meets a man who says he purposely got himself infected with HIV because he wanted to get certain government benefits. Joseph is astounded. He cries because he never had any say about whether he would be infected. He has to live with the consequences of HIV because of a decision that was completely out of his control.
This documentary is kind-of like what an LSD trip must be like—it expands our consciousness into a realm that so many people avoid. People don’t want to deal with the fact that many people have disabilities—AND that we have hearts and minds and souls. We are not just stupid idiots to be shoved into the shadows so abelists can pretend we don’t exist.
No! We are emerging from our endless night and coming into the light. We are the next big movement. I always said: “It not that we were on the back of the bus; we can’t even get on the bus.” Think about that.
I’ve been on so many marches for so many causes. Like Pete Buttigieg said, I used my own experience to empathize with other marginalized and oppressed people. But I wondered: “What about us? Why don’t we matter?”
Why indeed is it a source of shame to have parts of our bodies that don’t work perfectly? We didn’t do this to ourselves. And it doesn’t make us worthless.
Indeed, if Joseph Kibler can Walk On, we can certainly follow. What are we waiting for?
#OurTimeIsNow!
What a very lovely review. Thank you so much for sharing this with me and I’m so glad you liked the film. It truly means the world to me. ❤️
You are very welcome. What you are sharing with the world is pure alchemy and I feel so privileged to witness it. I’m spreading the word about the film everywhere I can because everybody should see it. <3
I like your comparison of the conversation to the ticking time bomb. It was very effective. Congrats on your baby. You are in a very special place right now. Savor every minute. They pass so quickly.
Amazing way to write about this painful relationship. I’m so sorry you had to endure this. This man seems so clueless but also all he is capable of giving. You are blessed to have such a rich life. Your mom must be amazing!
That’s a lot to share. And that’s a deep and wise understanding to share as well. And your story is so vividly told and well crafted. 🙏
Thank you for sharing this piece, Joseph. Post this then reading it again.
Thank you friend ! ❤️
Thank you for choosing to share this with us.
❤️❤️❤️
I love it
Terrific !
Painfully lived; brilliantly told. Kudos.
Thank you for a snapshot of your life, Joseph. I enjoyed how you unveiled the conversation.