Paternity

When Mark and Kristen visited us back in January, they brought along a bunch of books for me. I’ve read Why Girls are Weird by Pamela Ribon three times now. The parts where Anna K deals with her father’s death always makes me cry. First time I read it, I just about bawled. Subsequent times I shed a few tears.

We all know my father is an arsehole. After he ran away, my sister and I talked a lot about what it meant to us, how we felt about him.

I don’t feel anything but disgust for who he is and what he’s done, but I am heartbroken for what my life has lacked.

Someone I care about very much lost their father this year, and in their pain I saw a good husband, father, and friend who people cared about enough to travel long distances, to fill his house with flowers and notes, to say goodbye. I told them they were, in a sense, lucky they had someone they could mourn.

I can safely say that when my father carks it, his family will probably not be there, and we will probably never even know.

I wish I had memories of my father playing with me, reading to me — instead, I remember him being hungover and extremely grouchy in the mornings, the only time I really saw him. If he was ever at home in the evenings, his word was law. We were inconveniences who got in the way of him having a good time.

I wish I had memories of my father taking an active role in my school life — instead, I remember him coming by only when he wanted to tell a teacher off. He was the man who exacted revenge. He still is. If you ever meet a man who swears to “fix” those who cross him, that’s my father.

I wish I had memories of my father taking the time to talk to me, getting to know his daughter — instead, he was a great uncle to my cousins and friend’s kids, and we were all but ignored. He had no interest in my daily life, but felt entitled to know all my teenage secrets and angst.

My greatest regret is I will never know what it’s like to have a father, a decent person who at least tried their best. Even if he felt remorse (and that would only be for financial reasons, i.e. he needs money), this bridge has been so long burnt that not a trace remains. My sadness is by no means the most heartwrenching father-daughter story in the world; I got off fairly lightly because I never had his influence to corrupt me. I am probably a better person for it.

You don’t miss what you never had, but you can be sad about it.