Letter To My Father

It’s Father’s Day; a day that has gone unacknowledged by me since I was a teenager. My childhood being what it was, I “ran away” from home when I turned 18 years old, and can count on one hand the times I came into contact with either of my parents. Since then my mother and father divorced, my mother dropped off the face of the planet as far as the rest of her family knows, and my father got remarried.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that my major is Communications. I believe it’s in part because I grew up feeling like nobody understood me – least of all my family – kind of like being in a foreign country without a translator. You wander aimlessly around, unable to make the people understand even your most basic needs. VERY frustrating.

In reference to my dad, our relationship has been so estranged that my dad and stepmother never got the chance to meet the Bunny… the first time they saw him was when they visited him in the hospital last year, after he had the accident. I never really made much of an effort to have them be involved in my life, because frankly, I was so stinking happy and I was so used to pain and unhappiness whenever certain family members were involved – I just couldn’t bear to expose myself that way.

The pains I refer to aren’t the typical “My parents never bought me a $200 pair of sneakers” type of thing. I needed a lot of love as a child; trapped in an environment full of tension, verbal abuse, isolation… My dad, he was the “quiet” one. He balanced out my mom perfectly, because when she was going ballistic, he was silent. He remained physically and emotionally uninvolved – at least, that’s what I assumed based on his external actions. We never really know what’s going on in someone else’s head. For all I know, he was afraid too.

I called him today, to wish him “Happy Father’s Day”… my stepmother answered the phone – did I detect surprise in her voice? I’m sure that was me projecting, because unfortunately my stepmother has some (not all, but some) of the same personality characteristics as my mom – and handed the phone to my dad. It was the shortest conversation in history, maybe one minute or two? But for he and I, it seemed to last an eternity. He never says much to me, and I forced myself to sound “light” as if calling him on the phone, wishing him “Happy Father’s Day” or anything else was perfectly normal, something I did every week. I asked him how things were going (“Fine”) and if there was anything new (“No”)… I told him about Christopher learning to play the violin, and maybe when he learned his first actual song I would invite my dad to come listen to it.

Part of the problem (in my perception) is that my dad essentially has no idea of the adult I’ve become. How he relates to me, even now, is through the prism of viewing me as a child. As some confused teenager that doesn’t know shit, needs to be told what to do, and is subject to the influence of those more worldly, more experienced people around her. This is tragic because I am proud of the woman I’ve become, and I want to believe if my father really recognized that – really, really “saw” me as the person I am – that he would be proud too.

I haven’t the heart to judge him, either as a father or as a human being. He’s my dad, and despite the fact that I realize we may never see eye to eye or spend happy times together like other families do… I love him. And I think somewhere deep down, my dad loves me. But I am still in that foreign country without a translator.

Of all the messages I would want my dad to receive if it was within my power to communicate, I would tell him this:

“Dad, I know how hard it must have been for you, raising me and my brother. I’m a mom now too, and half the time I feel like I’m screwing up royally myself. I know what’s it like to do the best that you can with the circumstances you’ve got, and leave the rest to God that your kids turn out okay. Dad, I want you to know: I’m okay. I’m okay, and I’m living the life that I want, a life that makes me happy. Thank you for helping make me the person I am today. Everything in my own life, every positive thing that I do that impacts someone else, you get to take credit for because without you… I would not exist.

I love you always. Your daughter, Shirley.”