I can't avoid thinking of our dad when June rolls around - his birthday is this month and of course, the Father's Day golf and fishing displays, greeting card aisles and television commericals scream out out for notice in the weeks preceding both of these events. The past few weeks have made me wince when the event was brought to the surface. And not just because our father is no longer around to receive the obligatory card either.
In the past when I would read the verse on the cards, I resented that the lovey-dovey lines about the dad always there for you - words not applicable to the type of relationship we shared.
I always wanted to ask Hallmark if there is a card that says - "Hey dad, Mom did a helluva job raising us all by herself - we turned out great in spite of you being voluntarily absent from our home. Aren't you proud?? Happy Father's Day" ??? There are many other angry, bitter, and sarcastic questions that could easily be posed but I'll stop with this one - it all comes down to underscore this same point.
It wasn't until I became a parent that I realized the mistakes that parents make aren't on purpose - it's a learn as you go process. That life is full of decisions and you don't always make the right choice. As a parent your strengths and weaknesses seemed magnified in the eyes of your child - you would rather die than let them down - however, your child will overlook them just to be loved by you. Maybe our father thought his transgressions were so great that they were unforgivable.
On the other side - just to be in our father's presence meant the world to me - when he showed up for the birth of my daughter and came to see her after the surgery she had as an infant - his absences at my dance recitals, performances at football games, car wrecks, heartaches, awards night and even at my wedding were instantly forgiven.
Every time I make a mistake in a life choice that inadversely affects my daughter - I wish I would have had the chance to talk about this point with my dad as an adult, but I never reached that level in our relationship. I never had the chance because it was hard for me to talk to him without reverting back to that little girl afraid of her father and I would always break down and cry.
The night we came home from the hospital and stood over her on her changing table the enormity of the responsibility of having a child hit me like a seismic wave. My parents did this three times - oh my gosh - how did they do it?
Even though my father's absence in my life was hard to live with - I knew he was out there on the periphery - if I had a need - I think he would have come through for me. I kept telling myself because his father died when he was so young maybe he just didn't know how. He had to be father figure to his three sisters - when his three daughters came around - maybe he was just tired of it all and knew under the tutelage of our mother - that we would survive it somehow.
A few years before he died, I was walking in my backyard in Kingston Springs and I heard an unfamiliar noises - silent-like screams and peeps and little mini-hubbub going on. Hanging from a tree was a birdhouse he had given me and it was filled with the sounds of a young little family - three little birds ready to eat - waiting for their parents to come back to the nest. A beautiful blue-jay approached and warned me away (dive bombed me more like) - I quickly backed off as to not invade the sanctuary of their home and watched from our deck as the parents flew back and forth bringing sustenance to their little babies.
The birdhouse was one that he had built - one of the few gifts I had from him at my home - and I cherished it. I was thrilled that the birds had finally made a home in it, so I picked up the phone and called him and told him how fitting it was that the day was Father's Day - and the little bird family was literally thriving in a house. Just like my sisters and I thrived in the house built by our parents - the baby birds had shelter, they had food, they had love and protection -and they were gonna be just fine.
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