Is this Peter’s father? I’m not sure. I met Peter’s father once when he was much older and he did not look at all like this, but he was much older. This picture was posted by Peter of his past, I think it must be his father, but I am not sure.
Regardless of whether this man is Peter’s father, the man I met in 1993 was a brute. He was the cruelest and most ego destroying father I have ever met, and I have met more than a few who did not deserve a good father of the year award.
On this particular meeting, Peter came from Montreal on the train. He had asked me to pick him up at a certain time, let us say 7:30 pm, at Oshawa train station. It wasn’t that time, but something like it. I had never been to Oshawa train station before, it was a little more distant and a little more complicated to find than I expected. Thus, instead of arriving at 7:30 I arrived at 7:35. Peter was nowhere to be found. I searched, I waited till about 8:30, but he was not there. So, I left.
I don’t know how I contacted him, this was pre-cell phone days, and actually pre-email days for the most part. I was one of the few who had a cell phone and email account, but I do not think Peter contacted either of these. Somehow or other I contacted him, and left him a message and he called me back.
He said, I was late, and so he caught a taxi to his father’s place. This might be true, and probably it was not. It was certainly typical Peter, he was always agreeing to meet at a certain place at a certain time, and not there. He often said he had become impatient and gone somewhere else. Or he came at a different time, either earlier or later, and expected me. wherever I was to just be there. Yet whenever I visited him he was rarely ever where he said he would be. I knew his friends and his haunts, so I would usually find him.
In this case, he called me. I was late he said, so he had taken a taxi to his father’s home. More likely he came on an earlier train, did not bother to inform me and took a taxi to his father’s home.
The next day, a Saturday, I went to Peter’s father’s home to meet Peter. His father seemed to me a short over weight bald-ish man. Perhaps he was not so short as overweight. Regardless, he was savage and cruel.
Peter was not just visiting He was at his father’s for a reason, which I o nly later learned. His computer programming business, that he had embarked on with high hopes, a year earlier had failed, for I do not know what reason. It had seemed professional enough. He had rented an office, and advertised, but not enough businesses hired him.
He said he went to the office every day, even when there was no work, but instead of admitting it was failing, or telling the woman he was living with he was not succeeding, he went to work every day and pretended he was working, and got drunk. “Vodka is good,” he said, “because you can’t smell it. I learned that from John.” (John was a mutual friend who really was an alcoholic.)
I don’t know if it is true you can’t smell vodka. But whether or not it is true Peter said, “I became an alcoholic.”
I am not even sure that is true. Perhaps eventually, but maybe not then. I know more than one man who was not an alcoholic who became one because his wife or girl friend insisted they were. It was as if they said to themselves, if I am going to be labelled and blamed for it, I might as well.
I don’t know if that is true. I don’t know if he really was an alcoholic. What I did later learn is that, Kimiz, his partner insisted he go to a therapist. He did, “And the therapist gave me pills. They made me impotent.”
That was an extremely embarrassing thing to hear. In the category of too much information, this was something I did not want to know.
I had always admired and looked up to Peter, and now to find him stumbling, broken, caused me pain and confusion.
Whatever the reason for Peter’s impotence or whether or not he was an alcoholic, his business, which he every day was going to work and pretending was successful had failed, by virtue of the fact, he had no customers and could no longer pay the rent. Once his wife to be, Kimiz, found out, he had to give up the business and the office, and go see the therapist.
But also, since I think it was one of those “equality” relationships, Kimiz said something like, “If you can’t pull your own weight I’ll have to dump you.”
He was expected to contribute financially dollar for dollar. Therefore, if he wanted to keep Kimiz he had to find an immediate way way to pay his share of the monthly rent, grocery bills and utilities.
Obviously, since he was not working he did not have the money. I suspect he applied for welfare in Quebec, and received it. But that alone would not have been enough.
He then applied for welfare at his father’s residence in Ontario. I do not really know for certain if Peter had applied in Quebec. I do know for certain he had applied for welfare at his father’s address in Ontario, because his father ridiculed him for it.
I do also know welfare in Ontario would not have been enough to pay his share of the bills. Therefore it seems likely to me he had also applied in Quebec.
Regardless, he had applied at his father’s, which is the reason he was visiting his father.
His father lived on a farm with his second wife. Rather surprisingly he was an extremely coarse and brutal man who demeaned his son at every opportunity. He mocked and demeaned Peter’s education, by virtue of “Look where your education got you, begging your old man for welfare”, he mocked his intelligence, “If you’re so smart how did you get here.” His sexuality, “You can’t even get it up no more, no wonder your woman doesn’t want you.””I cut the pig’s balls off. Then the females don’t expect anything of them.”
I had the feeling he was really talking about his son’s. It was no wonder Peter’s mother left her husband. A sensitive artistic creative personality would find him unbearable.
He offered Peter and I moonshine that was 90% alcohol knowing full well Peter was not supposed to drink it, being considered an alcoholic. (I did not know that then.)
But his father said, “If you’re a man you’ll drink it. Or are you a pussy?” Peter drank. Then I. It was certainly strong, but i would not say it tasted good.
There were many ongoing comments demeaning Peter’s intelligence, virility, manhood and independence. “You need me to collect welfare! You can’t even support yourself! What kind of man are you? What woman would want you? You think you’re so smart. What good has your education done you. Even the woman you’re with doesn’t even think you’re man enough.”
I had always wondered why Peter never mentioned his father, why he escaped as soon as he could, and never looked back, why his mother left. Now I knew why.
Years earlier I had become lovers with a woman from Peter’s home town, as well I also knew her sister and 4 or 5 of their friends also from the same town. Whenever I asked one of them about Peter Sobotkiewich, who I held in high esteem, or his family, they just shook their heads.
Peter’s father did not respect intelligence, sense of humor, sensitivity, creativity, or artistic nature, or any of the things I valued. He considered anyone who had these qualities a challenge or personal affront against him , or at the very least a denial of who and what he was. No wonder Peter had left.
After more abuse on this day we departed. I could not get out of there fast enough.
Peter came to my house, where he stayed in my son’s room. He used my son’s apple computer to write up his resume. I have his resume to this day. My son was dyslexic and his school had asked me to buy him a computer to help with his disability. Peter was a Microsoft programmer. This Macintosh computer gave him great difficulty. I was not sure why it was so urgent for Peter to write a resume that he had to write it at my home on a weekend but that is what he did. I suspect he was trying to please or demonstrate for Kimiz.
At this point in the weekend I still did not know Peter was supposed to be an alcoholic, that he was taking medication, that he was impotent, that his wife to be was unhappy with him. I did not know any of that. Therefore, he and I, in the evening went to my favorite club, the Bamboo, a relaxed, multi-racial club, where black bands performed reggae music. As was the norm in this club we had a great time.
Just before the Bamboo closed, we migrated to another even larger club, which operated both before and after hours, called the Real Jerk. I was a regular there, they knew me, and this had the advantage, last call was at 1 am, I could order 4 or 5 drinks, and pay for them, and save them in their cooler, and they would give them to me later in the evening, as I requested.
What I really liked about the Real Jerk, aside from the fact that they also had a band performing live Reggae music, was that they also served good Jamaican food, and stayed open til 4 or 5 in the morning.
This suited me. Bars in Toronto at that time had to legally close, or stop serving alcohol at 1 a.m. But the Real Jerk stopped serving alcohol at 1 a.m., but stayed open till 4 or 5 a.am. (without alcohol). This gave me and the other patrons the chance to eat, drink water or other soft drinks, and dance the alcohol off, until we were almost sober and could safely drive home.
On this particular occasion that is what we did. We ordered Jamaican Oxtail with rice and peas and plantain, which Peter did not like but I found quite good, and danced until 4 or 5 in the morning.
At that point something happened that had never happened before. Women can generally pick up a man’s signal, once you get the hang of it. My signal was, not available. I would dance with anyone but my signal always was “not me”. I don’t know what Peter’s signal was but suddenly there he was with 2 black women and he wanted to know if I could give them a ride home to Oshawa. I didn’t really mind so I said yes, but I wondered how were they going to get home if we weren’t there? Oshawa was at least 40 minutes away and a very expensive taxi ride.
Anyways it wasn’t a problem.
I drove, with one woman as a passenger sitting beside me in the front. And Peter and the other woman sitting in the back.
I wasn’t paying attention, to what was going on. I came to the address as directed and dropped the women off.
Peter all excited said, “I was sucking her tits in the back.”
This totally disorientated me. It would perhaps have been acceptable, if we were younger, if it was a date, if we were on the make, but we weren’t. I had met Kimiz, his wife to be, almost a year earlier. We liked each other and she liked me. I have recently realized the women that were attracted to me, were also attracted to Peter and vice versa. I did not know that then, but looking back now. Even though I had only met her twice I was friends with Kimiz. I didn’t like being put in the position where I had to lie or conceal and keep secrets from her.
The weekend continued, the next day, my wife, always a nosy person, called Kimiz, to get all the details. It was through that communication I found out many more details about Peter’s business failure, his alcoholism, he was taking tranquilizing medication, and that he was completely impotent. He told me all this himself in more detail after he figured his wife to be had told mine.
During that weekend my wife’s sister came over, she had, unknown to me been a sexual partner with Peter, they had hooked up after my recent marriage. She also was on medication. She took out her pills, and she and Peter began to mock fight over them, as if they were both real addicts. It was play, as if not serious, except it seemed that it was. They both ended up sharing, over doing each other’s medications, which was considerably disturbing for me.
Later that night my wife, after her sister left, my wife cornered Peter and got him to admit he had been sleeping with my former girl friend, Susan, who was also the mother of a child who Susan claimed was my son. It was not impossible. Susan and I had split up, but one morning she came over while I was asleep and let herself in. I woke to her at the end of my bed, saying “Fuck me, you’ll fuck everyone else so why won’t you fuck me.”
What she stated was untrue, I was seeing one woman. i did not want to have sex with her but she would not leave, and kept badgering me. Eventually I said, “If I have sex with you will you leave.” She said yes. We did.
I said, “Will you go now?”
“I thought you didn’t want to have another child?”
“I don’t”
“Then why’d you have sex with me when I’m ovulating without using birth control.”
I jumped out of bed and said, “Jesus Christ Susan, do you want to be a single mother?”
Afterwards she said she was pregnant and that it was mine. I was furious but I believed her. I didn’t want another child with someone I was not going to be with, and Susan knew this. But Susan had threatened the life of my son. This meant I could not be with her even if she did have my child.
I never guessed that after that Peter and she were involved, but I should have suspected because Kimiz had complained to me, “Susan keeps calling Peter in the middle of the night.”
I thought Kimiz was blaming me and wanted me to do something about it, since Susan was my ex. I didn’t know she was hinting.
I thought Kimiz meant Susan, always unstable, was calling Peter for ongoing emotional support.
My wife continued to zero in. “What about this child, Brett, that Susan had?”
Peter said, “He’s not yours. He’s nothing like you. Susan was screwing some other guy who disappeared when she told him she was pregnant. She thought you would make a good father.”
This was a shock. I wasn’t even sure if it was true. I knew there was only that one time. And I knew Susan had been seeing someone else about a month before, and I knew the baby was born a few weeks early, but I did not suspect the baby might be his, and that she might have come to my house demanding sex, then claiming she was ovulatinig, deliberately.
And I still did not know for certain. Was he my son, was he not? DNA tests are inexpensive now, but at that time they were many thousands of dollars. Some time later Susan called me on the phone and began to threaten me. Several years later I left Canada and lost any contact.
When I drove Peter to the train station after that weekend was over, he said, “Your wife is really hard.”
After Peter left I was very upset and distressed. I had always admired and looked up to him.To see him broken like this, possibly an alcoholic, an addict, helpless out of control, was completely unnerving . I identified with Peter. How could this happen? I was upset and worried for him.