Pecker Roots

Certain, confident, arrogant, straight forward, humble, loving, sacrificial, short, common and generic, are only a few words to describe me. When it really comes down to who I am, I mean at the core, I’m lost. It is perhaps the only question that I have no answer for. Seriously, if I was asked any other question, I would have an answer licitly split (even if I had to make one up). As was my father. I remember looking out the car window, and seeing these huge orange balls hanging from the power lines. I looked over at dad and asked him what they was for, (as if a concrete man would have a clue about power lines). To this day, I can’t remember his reply. But you can bet your bottom dollar that it had something to do with elves, and or penis’s. Its also a winning bet, that I swallowed every word. Not because I thought he had all the answers, (we all knew Dad was full of BS) but because he went out of his way to give us an answer/ story. He could have taken the easy route, and replied, “I duno”. But see, that wouldn’t have been Dad.

Who am I? The very question frightens me. I choke on my words and trip over my tongue. I may even answer with,” ah, um I’m, my names Dustin Ray Peck, I’m a Libra who has a skewed view on God.” You’d perhaps reply with an “O.K?”, and go about your day. While the question constipates the perfect flow of thoughts in my ever learning brain, I will clasp onto comfort in the thought that, no one truly knows who they are. The problem with that notion is, I don’t believe it. People all around me walk around so comfortable with their people. In school you had the jocks, the geeks, the spaz’s, the nerds, the rednecks, the punks, the Goths, the preps, and the never ending barrage of new classifications. Regardless of the immaturity of it all, everyone knew where they stood. Outside of high school it’s the same. We may mingle a little better, but we all no where we belong. We all seem to know who we are. With the exception of me.

Perhaps the great vacancy of my identity derives from the fact that I moved around my entire childhood. Although, most kids in that position learn to regret the nomads life, I fell in love with it. Being able to change who I was, and what click I fell into was perfect for me. I thrived in the adventure of it all. The problem with that theory though is, my family grew roots in Indiana when I was in eighth grade. For most of the character forming years I was stuck in one identity. Instead of molding myself to fit, I merely stayed in default factory settings. So here I was in the heart land of America, stuck with a broken persona generator. Doomed to be a wind held captive. Maybe if we kept moving, I would find comfort in the gypsy in me. Or if we never moved I would be a prep, or a Jock. I would have child hood friends, connections, memories, all the things that attribute to a persons worth. Granted, I am a father for now nine years, and I have managed to keep my lovely bride mesmerized by me for a near decade now. But I am dumbfounded beyond that. Not that those are not noble signs of who I am, but that’s just it. I am no one except husband and daddy. I fit every where and yet no where. Blank, and empty, I simply live through the lives of those I love. It reminds me of Harry Potter, where the villain *(though dead) is forced to live through the live of others. A parasite. Is that what I am? Or maybe I’m symbiotic. All the same I guess.

The one consistent thing in my life is my family (mom, dad and my brother). But in terms of identity via family roots, I’m pulling from a very shallow gene pool. I really have no clue as to what it means to be a “Peck” either. For all I know a Peck by any other word is a Pecker, Pecker Head, short Peck, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. I know very little about my Grandfather. What I do know is that he was a drunk that my Dad doest care to speak about. The one source I have, to learn more about him, now has alstimers. My Grandmother doesn’t even remember who I am. My grandfather was an only child, and my father is the only reproducing Peck for three generations. So here I am making it up as I go. As of now, a Peck is what my brother and I make it ( with the influence of our father). In a sense, we have been given the responsibility of an entire blood line. The future of our last name lies solely on the shoulders of a couple of mentally unstable Peck boys, with an indefinite Identity crisis. One thing that I know without a fact about us Pecks is, We love furiously. We protect those around us, those who cannot protect themselves. Though these young impressionable souls, who have been unfortunate enough to be entrusted to us might forever be confused as to who they truly are, you can bet your ass that they’ll be loved, and they’ll be safe.

Thanks Dad.