Back Then
June 17, 2007
Well, all through the blogosphere I'm sure there are tons of posts about how great Dads are. This isn't exactly one of those posts.
Father's Day is a really hard time for me. I want to be supportive of all of the excellent fathers out there. And there are a lot of them. But this time of year people keep talking about giving thanks to their fathers and I can't help but feel left out. I've had people tell me how even if my Dad could be a jerk, that I should be thankful for all he did for me. I've had people tell me that I should send him a card for father's day. Or call him.
But the fact of the matter is, it's just hard for me to even talk about my dad. You see, I completely idolized him as a little kid. He did so many cool things. He worked with computers (at a time when they used punchcards and took up a huge room) and I thought that was cool. He had the coolest board games (like his Parcheesi game). He had a train set and built cool little buildings and painted toy trucks and such. We watched sci-fi movies, planet of the apes movies, voyage to the bottom of the sea and, of course, he took me to see a little movie called Star Wars.
But, by the time I was about 6 or 7 he went missing in action even though he still lived in the same house with us.

I wrote that in 2005, and it's still very much true. But despite the missing dad, the abusive dad ... it's getting easier ... finally ... to remember playing soccer in the backyard whilst he was drunk ... and him acting more like a gleeful little boy than the tyrant he'd mostly become by then. That was a good afternoon for us and one that I cherish. I remember the glee with which he and I opened the train set that grandma had given to both of us. The fascination I had for watching him (I wasn't allowed to touch it) as he painted figures, painted the trains, built and painted and placed the buildings. The utter joy with which we would watch Logan's Run and the rest of our shows. Even the looks he and I would exchange when my mom would do something particularly "girly" ... we'd share that "ugh, girls!" look. I think of all the things that Dad and I loved and how much alike we could be. He got me my first model airplane, an F-15. And then he taught me the difference between the look of the F-16 and the 15. I was about four or five at the time and I was fascinated by the double tail fin.

Another year.

Posted by Red Monkey at June 17, 2007 6:34 PM | Struggles | | StumbleUpon Toolbar Stumble |

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