Playing Fair and Being Kind

MARK MACKENZIE GOODWIN

September 17, 1963 – July 10, 2020

As was the culture of our times I was not present for the births of any of my children with Barbara. Mark was born in a period of time known as the Cold War and I was a career military person in the Navy. When Mark came into the world I was at sea. I was delighted that Barbara and I now had two sons. Scot and Mark. I received a message during a submarine patrol in the Mediterranean Sea. The announcement was contained in one of four allowed radio messages, of a dozen words, for crewmen on submarine patrol during those days. The message was simply a boy was born and his length and weight. Pretty sterile but the word ‘boy’ was all I needed to be as high as a kite. I was proud and happy and the remainder of the patrol was a dream come true.

I have quite a few memories of Mark from those fun filled childhood years and I will relate them here. Scot needs to be mentioned here at the same time because well, he was there too. Our time spent seemed to be, if my memory is correct, filled with Batman and The Rat Patrol. These two T.V. shows dominated our time in the living room. We lived in Navy housing in Groton during this period.

For Batman episodes Mark and his brother wore dish towel capes tied around their necks. Of course, they never sat still during the half hour episodes. When action scenes appeared, they both would jump up and race around the living room and sometimes into the kitchen and dining room area of the house. This reaction would last less than a minute and then they were back in front of the television intent on what was presented on the screen in that moment. Both boys had a neat jump-move that would interrupt their racing about. They would be running and then they would come to a hop-stop and hold an action figure type pose with fists clenched and muscles flexed. After a split second off they would race, one after the other. They got a lot of exercise watching Batman.

Mark’s favorite show was his own favorite. He loved The Rat Patrol. The characters were four Army guys out in the North African desert causing Rommel’s tanks a great deal of irritation. I recall that most of what happened was the four men, two in each of two especially equipped Jeep vehicles driving fast up and down sand dunes shooting machine guns. It was exciting and filled with a great amount of driving and explosions out in the desert. Mark would later engage me in a demonstration of the action using a couple of toy trucks on the hardwood floor. He was intense and he demonstrated a set of skills and interests separate from his big brother. I enjoyed those moments when he would ask me to sit and play Rat Patrol. We shared an appreciation for the story.

There is one specific story that showed me just how sensitive Mark was and just how observant he was. So far, all these scenes I’ve described happened when Mark was just three and four years old. We were living in a different section of Navy housing by this time. Mark was playing by the side of my chair. I was reading. Mark was upset by something and he asked me a question about the imagined scene he’d been involved in. He was visibly disturbed and told me he was worried about the men in an imaginary submarine of his. They were underwater and in his story they were unable to come back up and the men “were stuck down there”. He was now weeping and standing next to me but his eyes were on the pretend submarine at his feet. My heart broke watching his distress. I took him and held him close and described to him how the Navy had a way to rescue the men when this crisis developed. I was able to show him and describe that the men could be saved. He was satisfied but my takeaway was how perceptive and empathetic Mark was to the plight of people in danger.

How sweet and beautiful Mark was as a toddler. I was outside with him on a summer day and he was sitting on the grass next to our house. The sun was bright and I glanced over at him. He was intently staring at something downslope behind our house and the sun was shining through his hair. The hair at the back of his head was a cowlick and had a mind of its own. I saw Mark with the sun shining through his crown of wild hair and all around him in the grass were dandelion blossoms. What a picture! It is still in my mind, that beautiful little dandelion sitting in the grass amongst all the others.

There are so many gaps in my memory of raising Mark and Scot. I made nine extended patrols on two submarines from when Scot was a baby to 1968; about seven years. I missed a lot of events and rarely saw other precious moments of the two boys. The moments became fewer and fewer as they got older and more independent. I recall those few moments with pride and love though. The time Mark announced to me that he’d been going to the library on his own in Chula Vista. He loved reading and he was curious about city government. 

I was still absent a lot on different types of ships. The family was moving along without me and I was noticing how unnecessary I was becoming. Still, I was keenly aware how brilliant Mark was and how smart and athletic he’d become. I was very proud of the boys. Gwen had arrived on the scene by then. The family unit was large. We had pets, bicycles, skate boards, we were living in Southern California and outdoors every day and all the time it seemed. I was on sea duty forever, it seemed. Then I got shore duty and found myself living at home all the time and coming to realize what little I knew of my family and myself. We didn’t know how to express the discomfort of me, the father, being in the scene all the time. It didn’t cure itself and we had no idea what was happening. I regret my decisions. I regret my own failing as a father to know enough to seek help. Recreational use of alcohol took over and it all came apart. That was the end of it. Mark did not do well with the separation that Barbara and I began. I lived on the Navy base and visited, in clumsy fashion, when I could. The family moved further along and I moved some other direction. That was the end of it and the beginning of bad times for all of us.

Mark and I were more estranged it seems, than I was with Scot and Gwen. That was just an illusion though. I was no closer to any of the children. I’d become a stranger to all the family. My sense of separation included the children. I felt their discomfort when we were scheduled for a weekend visit. I gave them the option of spending the night with me and they usually opted out. That became the norm and it supported my own low self-regard. I had no contact with the family during their early teens and I took a move to the East Coast for duty. That was the big goodbye. Barbara was married to another man who had children. I had no idea what Mark and the others were going through. It was a long time before I was able to come back to them. Damage was being done silently without my presence. I didn’t know. I would hear stories one way or another how the kids were doing. My move back East was not a good decision as were any of the others leading up to it.

Mark and I had a few times on the phone none of which were memorable. Years later, in 1985, when my mother died and I was living in Boston, Mark came to visit. He was in the Army. I was retired from the Navy, married, and completely divorced from all of the family. I had no idea what his job was or if he enjoyed himself. We had a brief visit and that was so superficial I was left wondering who he was and why we bothered.

My new wife and I visited California in order to attend Mark’s wedding to a very nice young woman he’d met during his Army stint. Mark was a very handsome and successful young man on his way to becoming all I had failed at. Whenever I felt lost in our relationship and many times while I was alone and reflecting on this bad association that mental picture of Mark sitting in the grass would come to mind. When that happened, I would weep inwardly with regret and grief at what I had lost and couldn’t regain. By this time, I was involved in the chemical abuse counseling field full-time. I had professional mental health workers in my life and I’d examined my wasted life ad nauseum. I was no closer to resolving what the children and I had so destroyed over the years.

Since Mark’s entry into being a family man he and I have made several attempts to reconcile with varying degrees of satisfaction. Something was not quite right though and we never were able to pull it together. We have been ‘touch and go’ for the past forty years. How many times we would agree to try again to be father and son and it would be okay for a while and then fall apart. With and without professional help. Nothing was working. In the meantime, Mark was sinking into substance abuse and cycling through successes and failures on a regular basis. I’m not privy to the details of those episodes. I’m only certain that Mark had collected his own gang of demons and drug related problems. He had become a stranger to me who I could not fathom nor relate to. We had reached the end without knowing it.

Mark died a few days ago. His death is a result of those ravaging habits that drug addicts collect over years of abusing their bodies and minds. Mark died of a heart attack. His beautiful, giving, well meaning, empathetic heart broke and stopped suddenly. It had had enough. It could no longer support his way of coping. Gwen called me early in the morning to tell me through her sobs and tears that beautiful Mark was dead. He was gone. We would not have to work on our relationship any longer. Time had run out.

For two days I have been wondering what happened. My only sensible moments have been those when I picture Mark sitting in the grass intently watching something of great interest while the sun plays in his hair. That’s all I have to show. Mark, I am so sorry. I love you. Please forgive me.

Da