With what is left of the paintings I find the words written on the back of some of them burning their way into memories of my father. My grandfather introduced us to the actor Ian McShane back in the 80’s with the show Lovejoy. I watched him occasionally in small roles after that, a character actor mainly. Then my dad told me about the show Deadwood. He was obsessed, especially with Ian McShane’s character Al Swearengen. I read the back of the painting and I’m struck by my dad’s wish to be the man he imagines Ian McShane to be. By this time in his life, my dad was sixty-one, suffering from heart disease, and only painting rarely. He was not the same man he once was, but was still a hard drinker, sexually promiscuous, a force to be reckoned with. He was still the man he imagined Ian McShane to be. I can understand how he didn’t feel that way though. In his younger years he was more of an out-of-control whirlwind, unstoppable, more verial, more vital. And while that presence he had in his thirties and forties died down with age, he lost sight of how he was still “a man’s man” in all its outdated connotations. Times changed. My mom used to have a consulting firm for when companies would do layoffs. My dad worked with her as a social worker and psychologist. However, she was continually losing clients, unsure why, unsure what she was doing wrong with the work. She found out it wasn’t her; it was my dad. Apparently, he was hitting on staff at these companies, saying how he and my mom had an arrangement, that he was free to have sex with them. They would say no, but my dad would continue to pursue. They reported my dad to HR, and for ease the company would cancel my mom’s contract. Mom heard about this from one company, followed up with other past companies, and found the same story being told. He was always aggressive in his pursuits of potential conquests. But the world was starting to look down on those types of tactics of persuasion, of getting young women drunk, of continuing to pursue a person even if they said they were not interested. To add insult to injury for my dad was his advancing age. He continued to seek young partners in their twenties who now looked at him as too old. Where once he lived in a time of always getting those he wanted, now he was striking out more than succeeding. But when he was younger, it seemed no one said no to him. He was charismatic, speaking to people as if they are the smartest person in the room, that they would become his muse. He often acted inappropriately with my friends when I was a teenager, flirting, drinking alcohol with them, talking about them sexually. Then when I was in my twenties he actively pursued them, having sex with some. I hated him for that, for putting the doubt in my mind that they were my friends. How could my friends have sex with my dad I thought. I blamed my friends at the time, but did they really have a choice? He was very good at seduction and manipulation. I was also jealous, truth be told. My dad had always treated me like I was the special one, the smart one, the only person who’s opinion mattered to him. Now, with other girls in the room, he treated me like I didn’t exist. Where once I was his confidant about art, philosophy, life, I was no longer worth his time. I would invite him to come out to the bar or come over to my place for a get together. At these events, he would pick one of my friends and spend all his time with them. He treated them like they were his world, ignoring me for the rest of the night. I had obliviously outgrown his affections. for longer section titles and descriptions. It gives people access to all the info they need, while keeping your layout clean. Link your text to anything, or set your text box to expand on click. Write your text here...