A bipolar man and reformed alcoholic kidnapped his son while his wife was at work one day. He didn’t get too far, though.
Driving home, his wife saw their car parked on the side of the road. In the passenger seat was their 2-year-old son. Underneath the driver’s seat was a bottle of bourbon, empty.
Finally waking him from an alcohol-induced slumber, she tersely told him to clean up his act and took her son to her mother’s.
Sometime later, the phone rang. He was on the other end — a pay phone. He told her he could turn right, go home and continue attending Alcoholics Anonymous, or he could turn left and be gone from her life forever.
Love supersedes reason. She told him to go home; they could work it out.
He went home but never made it to another AA meeting. The last thing he knew was the taste of cold metal and the click of a firing pin against a bullet.
It’s been 19 years since my father killed himself. My mom still has the gun in her closet; I’ve seen it. I never understood why she kept it but remain as unsure of how she could throw it out in the first place.
Love supersedes reason.
For a long time, I harbored hatred toward my coward father. With time, I’ve realized he was no coward, and I have no hate left to give. In fact, his actions taught me everything I know about love.
My mom lost her dad to cancer a week later. She lost her job not long after that. They tried to force her to work overnight, even though that was impossible for a single mother with a toddler. Even when she was losing so much, she still gave me everything. She bought a house in a nice area with good schools, she read to me every day and loved me more than I can fathom. She still does.
Mom taught me love is giving.
A couple of years went by, and my mom found a new man.
He stuck around a while and moved in after a couple of years. By the time I was 7, I was calling him dad.
My dad, not my father, taught me about being a man. He played catch with me. He taught me how to fish. He loved me. By the time I was 7, he was calling me son. I was not a responsibility or burden or anyone else’s.
Dad taught me love is accepting.
My dad wasn’t to remain childless for long. My brother was born when I was 8 and a half. I didn’t know what to do. Then, I realized he didn’t either, so I went to work. I read to him, played with him and helped him learn to talk.
As he got older, he got a little more annoying, as siblings do. I’d get frustrated with his persistent insistence on playing with me 24 hours a day. I hated that I was stuck with chores he was too young to do.
One day, it hit me. He read all the same books I did when I was his age and played the same games as me. He would steal my too-big-for-him clothes to look like me. I was his role model. That helped me look at who I was to make sure I was becoming the person I wanted to be and someone he could look up to at the same time.
My brother taught me that love is teaching and learning.
Rationality and evolution dictate humans to act in self-interest. And yet, parents often sacrifice everything for their children, resulting in a lower quality of life for themselves. When you love someone, you won’t stand outside a burning building while they burn. You go in and save them.
Love supersedes reason.
[Justin Jones is a UF journalism senior. His columns appear on Thursdays. A version of this column ran on page 6 on 2/13/2014 under the headline "Lessons about love rise out of tragedy"]
