Rite of Passage

Seven days and a few hours from now I will be flying to NYC with my daughter for a rite of passage in the true meaning of the word. It will be a complex and adventurous trip that I will be updating about on here as I can.

It always comes down to fathers…

My father was born David Benton Young in Eastham, Massachusetts. He changed his middle initial to X when he became an artist. His mother, Christine, was a romance novelist. His father, Nelson, was a jazz saxophonist. Two days after my father was born, his father decided he wasn’t up to the responsibility of being a father and committed suicide.

In May of 2001 my father passed. We had been estranged and was five years since I had seen him. Yet I came right away when I heard the news. I came and I stayed, for months, as I wrestled with the memories of a complicated past in my father’s loft, the love of NYC, and the responsibilities of being the sole heir. I stayed and I was there, one mile away on September 11, 2001. I saw it all. I had to flee.

With my father’s death I inherited a massive collection of drawings, painting, photographs, slides, films, over 10,000 pieces of art I estimated. Most of it was in storage. Mixed in with all of it was some of my childhood artwork, my diaries, my father’s scrapbooks which were mostly photographs of me, and his journals. After 9/11 I was ready to leave NYC so I spent the several month process of clearing out the loft and moving the storage outside of the city.

It always comes down to fathers…

In 2003 I moved to the Dominican Republic — too long a story for this post but suffice to say that I always wanted to live in another country so took the chance when it presented itself. In the DR I continued to pay on the storage unit that housed my father’s legacy. Time passed and children came. The financial burden got too much. My father had been abusive to me when I lived with him. In some way it felt like he still was abusing me. I had to consider my children. I could not go broke paying to store my abusive father’s art. I decided to relinquish it all and let it go to auction. I saw no other option. I did not seek assistance.

Then, my half-brother (different father and barely knew mine) saw a business opportunity and said that he would take over the payments and market the work. He really did think he could sell my father’s art and not only make money himself but for the entire family. But, for some reason, he did not do this in partnership with me but rather competitive. I didn’t really understand why but I didn’t worry about it. I had relinquished it after all.

Now my father was 100% an asshole but he was also very talented and had a wonderful eye for color and form. I knew a lot about him as a person, as an artist, and also about his work. I was present for quite a bit of it. Yet despite all this, my brother chose to exclude me from the marketing of my father’s work. I felt bad but for years I still could not consider taking over the storage payments so I had to let the whole situation go. I just always helped with any information that my brother needed in hopes that the work would sell but no matter what, none did.

It always comes down to fathers…

Homfort, Watercolor, painted in Haiti by David X Young.

For the last three years I have been writing my autobiography. That is what this site is dedicated to after all. I am close to completion but for the last year or so, I have been wanting to get my father’s journals and scrapbooks out of the storage. My brother has always been difficult but I was able to ignore it. Now, however, I needed something from him, storage access, and for some reason, he chose to make it really difficult. I know I’m the sole heir and have the legal right, etc. but I did not want to start a family war so I waited. While I have been waiting over this year, I have tried different tactics — from being pushy to friendly to diplomatic — to get my brother to let me in. Finally, as of June 1st, he did. The entire unit is now in my name.

Now I don’t know exactly what is left. I haven’t seen the contents for a while. I know my brother has some of the art and has donated or sold some pieces but all in all I don’t care. What I do know, is that I want to get up to the unit as soon as possible.

So next Saturday night I will take an evening flight up to NYC with my daughter. We will Uber to a hotel in Chinatown, just a few blocks from the loft I shared with my father. The first day in the city will be Father’s Day. The irony does not escape because not only is this trip about my father but my daughter will get to see her father in the city and I will get to see a dear friend and former teacher who is a major father figure for me.

We will spend three nights in the city and then take the train to upstate NY where the storage is located. There we will taxi to the rental van location, drive that to the storage unit where we will meet some guys I’ve hired and they will load up the van. I will drive it down to Florida, with my daughter, over the next few days. It will be an adventure and also a physically challenging trip. I am going to try to pace myself. Stay tuned as I will document this rite of passage…

It always comes down to fathers…