There are times when I can sit down to write my thoughts and they flow so freely that my fingers can hardly keep up with my brain. This is not one of those times. I’ve been sitting here for almost 15 minutes staring blankly between the keyboard and screen, desperately hoping that one will provide the words I am seeking while the other gives me nothing but a blinking cursor laughing at me with each flash and lack of progress down the line. My fingers stay at the ready, resting on the keys…and occasionally a finger will lift off its resting spot thinking it knows something the others don’t, but it quickly returns to its post and waits for a stream of thoughts to come and provide direction. Any direction…sigh.
It’s Father’s Day and while my father is still alive, he grows weary and has become a changed man in his old age. A change that only comes with looking at oneself in the mirror every day, realizing that mortality is walking up your driveway…a change that only comes once all but one of your children still acknowledge your existence…a change that comes when all that is left is humility. The man I now call father is a far cry from who I once called dad all those many years ago, the man I now call father is a much better man in general.
As a child my dad, he wasn’t much of a father to me. There were many times he was my villain, the producer of my nightmares, the fist that left many bruises and the words that to this day still echo in my head devaluing my worth. But there were also times he was my hero, saving me from a rabid dog, rescuing me from a very angry nest of wasps with just one sting, teaching me to shoot a gun, ride a motorcycle, change the oil in a car, replace a flat tire, go fishing and camping…to basically provide for myself. Only later did I learn that he raised me as if I were a boy, because he had wanted a boy since mom refusing the abortion left him no choice than to have a child. But even with that information, it does not tarnish those memories for me.
Of course knowing he wanted to have mom abort me, was something that affected me more than anyone could possibly know. But I carried that hurt and that anger for so long inside me that it became a cancer…a toxin that only I carried, when it was not my burden to hold. So one average college day I drove home, not my home but his home and I confronted him on everything. He abuse, his lies, his emotional tormenting of my soul, his cheating on my mom…we had it OUT. And in the end he says, I don’t remember any of it like that. I was given no apologies; no recompense…nothing but denial.
That’s when I started praying, praying harder than I had ever prayed before.
After everything, after all of it, the pain, the tears, the lies, the ruined childhood, and the family torn apart…I simply prayed to forgive him. And one morning I woke up, and I did. What you don’t know, is that I have 3 step brothers and a step sister, the one step brother that was closest to my father was killed in a car accident when I was in high school and since then I have been the only child left that will speak to him. That humility I mentioned earlier…tends to look one directly in the face when your children refuse you in your old age. Like I said, he is not the man he once was.
It’s been about 15 years since I forgave him…and while it may not have changed him, it saved me. It gave me a second chance to have a father instead of just a sperm donor and bad memories. I will always remember the things that were done both good and bad in my childhood but as an adult, the memories and happiness feel more important, they weight more. And I hope when God is taking score, He sees everything and understands that we all do the best we can with what we have at any given time. And sometimes we don’t have a lot and other times our best isn’t very good. I hope God understands that my father raised me like his father raised him. But I also hope that God sees that the abusive cycle stopped with my father and me.
My dad and I getting ready for a motorcycle ride.
My dad, my best friend Coco (sheep dog) and me still learning to walk.
My dad before I was born, total ladies man. Just like his father.
Dad and me.
My old man...wiser and humbled.
My dearest father, Dwight…you have become a wonderful man and father. Grandma would be so proud of you. I love you more than you will ever know.
-With love your daughter, Debra
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