Let me start off this new Tumblr page strong.
Fathers Day is, of course, a day created to honor those men who helped to raise us, who shaped our development, and influenced who we are- good or bad. For some people, it’s a day to say, “thank you for being there for me”, or “thank you for being there for my mom, and my siblings, and our family.” There are so many people who adore their dads almost unconditionally— I like to think that this is a given. For others, however, Father’s Day is almost meaningless, or worse, it brings confused, mixed emotions, or bad memories. Some people love their Fathers deeply, sure, but others can barely stand to be around them. For me, it was always a mixture of both.
When I was younger, I had a lot of troubles with my dad. We got along a good amount of the time, I’d say, but do some of my problems, we often clashed over things like medication, and he’d say things that would really hurt me. It wasn’t necessarily traumatic, but it was enough that the majority of the time, I didn’t like my father. Besides that, my sister didn’t have the same problems as I did, so he seemed more fond of her, and, I feared, favored her. My brother was his only son, so of course he adored him, and I’d just always felt kind of out of the loop.
Eventually my parents started fighting a lot of the time, I’m not going to get into the details of this, and I was able to accept the fact that it was probably going to end in divorce a lot quicker than anyone else did. In fact, I desired it, I didn’t like hearing them fight, and as a stupid little kid, I had this lovely mental image of both my parents remarrying, and having two new families, and new siblings, and new privileges that I didn’t have as a child with parents who were still with each other. Don’t get me wrong, it hurt and I was still terrified, but, like I said, I’d been expecting it to happen a while before anyone else. When my parents told my siblings and I that they were getting divorced, I was in the only one in the room that didn’t cry. My siblings held it against me, and, I’m sure, so did my dad. I told them all, when they asked, that I wanted to live with mom. Both my brother and sister bawled about how they couldn’t decide, but to me, it seemed like the logical choice. We ended up staying with my dad for a good while, but from that moment, I felt like he hated me. That made me believe that I hated him, too.
After our mom took us, we started seeing our father during holidays and summers. Many events, as well as me just getting older and wiser, had led me to realize that my dad didn’t hate me after all. Other things came to my attention. I’ve tried to run away from home twice. The first time was when my parents were still together. After they’d found me, my dad was really kind, and told me I could always come to him about anything. I’d felt safe, and loved, and I didn’t want to go away again. (For the record, I wasn’t gone long- less than an afternoon. Same the second time.) The second time, I lived with mom and her boyfriend, and my parents were divorced by this point. When the cops took me home, my mom screamed at me and said cruel things that only made me want to do it again. I figure she was just concerned and showed it in a different way, but after that, I just remembered how my dad handled it so much differently, and I was just blown away. Either way, things changed, and I was getting along with my dad great, and seeing him brought so much joy to my life. I realized back then he didn’t really show his emotions right, but that was okay. I love my father.
Dad is an ex-Marine, and he was in Australia when I was born. I think that also caused some of the rift between us. He’s a Democrat, and he’s strong, and he’s afraid of heights and bridges, though he’s really good at hiding it, at least in front of us kids. He’s silly and he’s funny, and he’s had such an influence on my life. Dad likes video games, and he likes to hunt and fish, and he likes motorcycles and unions. I think he’s proud of us, he never hesitates to tell people that we are his children when they inquire and we are with him. If it weren’t for him, good and bad, I wouldn’t be who I am today.
My dad has showed me some of the most amazing things. My siblings and I, we used to jam out to his favorite tunes together, with him, and they’ve become some of our favorite tunes, too. He showed us the shows that we love, Greatest American Hero, Land of the Lost, Doctor Who, Fringe (well, in my brother and sisters’ case for the last one.) He knows exactly the type of thing I like. If he hadn’t given me my first Harry Potter book back when I was tiny, I’d be a significantly different person right now. He read them, too. Dad used to scare me by telling me that him and mom were both Slytherins, and I was gonna be a Slytherin, too. He tells me now that he thinks I’d be in Hufflepuff. Dad took me to Star Wars and X-Men. Dad intimidated a girl so she would leave my little sister alone. He bought my TARDIS and Dalek earrings, he let me read his Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy books. He said I’d love them. I love them. Dad told me eighteen years old means freedom, and I don’t have to be an insanely successful author out-of-college to make it in life. He told me things I could do, things no one else ever suggested I consider.
That man is a a Hogwarts alumni and a Timelord in disguise, and nothing you tell me will convince me otherwise. Happy Fathers Day.
3 years ago