Today was Father's Day. It's a holiday I've never really celebrated, and certainly not ever with any enthusiasm.
My father was not a nice man, still isn't for that matter.
I have spoken to him very little in recent years and, now that I think about it, not at all in well over a year.
My father is an active alcoholic and a drug addict. He has been mentally, physically, emotionally, verbally, and sexually abusive to myself and others. From what I hear from time to time in various circles, he is still much the same.
As a child, I watched him beat my mother senseless on more than one occasion. I saw him belittle, demean, abuse and assault many people that I cared about. I saw him terrorize all those around him, especially those poor souls who were unfortunate enough to care for him. And still, having been trained from an early age in the ways of enabling, I took care of him when he was too drunk feed himself or put himself to bed. I made excuses, I lied, I kept the secrets.
There are great gaping holes in my memory of my youth. There are terrible things that I remember happening, and then blank spots for weeks or more after such events. With all that I do remember, I don't think I want to know what was bad enough for my mind to have blocked it out.
Today I went to visit my mother. She has health issues and I try to visit with her and help her out when I can. She informed me that my father had been released from prison. He had called her. He wants her to intercede on his behalf with my sister and I. He wants to try to (re-)establish a relationship with us. (Oh, did I mention he was drunk when he called?)
I politely and civilly decline. I don't have to explain that decision to anyone, not even my mother. (She chooses to focus only on the abuse she suffered at his hands, with a nod to with the neglect my sister and I dealt with, but cannot acknowledge any more than that.)
I am growing beyond my past, though I will always hold dear the experiences that have shaped me into the person I am today. I no longer feel any obligation to those who have, and would continue to,do me harm. Today I break free of that.
My wife calls me "Daddi", so today was my day.
I have, for many years, been the only parent to my 2 biological children, so today was my day.
To all the Dads and Step-dads, regardless of gender, physical sex, race, religion, sexual orientation, or proximity to their beloved children of any age, if you are doing your best, if you want the best for them, if you try to protect them, educate them, and love them unconditionally...
Today was Your Day.
(**And as a side note, to those biological fathers out there who can't be bothered to support their offspring, be it financially, emotionally, morally, or otherwise, I don't care how many times your sperm donation has resulted in a live birth, you are not a Dad, and today had NOTHING to do with you.**)
