Happy Father’s Day, to all you fathers out there.
Father’s Day is not a day I appreciate all that much because of my relationship—such as it is—with my father. Mom likes to call him “the sperm donor,” and unfortunately this is often my attitude (and my siblings’ attitude) about him too. Dad is simply one of those people who never should have had kids.
Fortunately, I never confused my relationship with my Father in heaven with my relationship with Dad. Many have, which is sad. But I always knew the two weren’t related; I suppose it’s because the contrast was so great.
To be fair, Dad had terrible examples as his parents. My grandparents had kids because “that’s what normal people do,” and Dad largely had that same attitude. But we kids were obstructions. We had to be clothed, and raised, and have shots and orthodontics, and smacked around if we got annoying or embarrassing.
Whenever I exhibited typical goofy kid behavior, Dad’s response was to “fix” me so that I’d “be normal, goddammit.” Once, when I was 10, I made the mistake of experimenting—in Dad’s presence—with swinging my arms together while I walked. I was just goofing, but the unfortunate result was that Dad spent the remainder of the evening on “walking lessons” on the back patio. (We didn’t know yet that I was bowlegged, which is why it took so long.) “Point your feet straight, goddammit,” he’d yell, and I would just cry in frustration, which made him more angry; and if he lost his patience then beatings would follow. Ah, quality time with Dad. Fortunately, the Air Force took him away a lot.
So you can see why I wouldn’t necessarily feel up to honoring him with Father’s Day. There’s not a lot to honor. He sucks as a father. To be fair, he doesn’t know any better; I can’t blame him for repeating his own lousy upbringing. I can learn from his mistakes and thank him for contributing half my
And I can appreciate that he still makes an effort to stay in touch with me: that he’ll still do quid pro quo favors for me sometimes; and that he’s given up trying to “fix” whatever habits I have that annoy him. (He also avoids drinking and saying “goddammit” in my presence, which I appreciate.) I’ve forgiven him for all the insanity I grew up with.
But I still don’t feel anything special or festive or nostalgic about Father’s Day. You can see why.
If you’re astounded because you’ve never heard Kerry mention any of this stuff, it’s because my parents separated when she was six, so she saw relatively little of it. Thank God.
I also realized this entry might invoke a lot of pity-responses. Please don’t offer one. As I’ve said before, I don’t rant to get sympathy; I rant to get things out of my system. It’s out. I’m done. Rant over.
But you can discuss all you like.