So today...or yesterday at this point, was Father's Day. And while it's certainly a big deal for some, for people like myself and my brother, it just isn't. My father is...a stereotype. In a lot of ways he didn't start out like that, and in a lot of other ways he did, but at this point, he just is. We have no relationship and but for some sort of miracle or divine intervention (through no willingness of my own), I don't see one coming to fruition at any point. My mother is deathly afraid that my life is going to be screwed up or filled with repeat lessons because of all the familial dysfunction and wants me to some sort of resolution. And secretly I am too, but I feel like I'm standing in a library, with piles and piles of books all around me - burying me almost, and I know that I need to get them all sorted out and stacked away, but there's just so many that it's almost impossible to know where to begin. But that's drama for another day...
Anyway, like I said Father's Day kind of blows. And while most of me doesn't care most of the time, there is a small part that reads the loving tweets from friends to their fathers or a Facebook status with the eternal pledge to be a "Daddy's Girl" and wonders/would like to know what that feels like. But more so than that, what I don't want is for my future children - my future daughter, to have to wonder and want the same thing. So I'm thinking that for both her and myself, however much it's within my power, I choose to forgive and attempt to move on from my own father, so that one day I can take her to the store and help her pick out a card or watch her make her own proclamations of Father's Day love. Something for me to look forward to.
And in spite of all that, Happy Father's Day to the men who standby their responsibilities and earn the rights to such a loaded title everyday, through the love, care and support they provide to their children. You make me smile.
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