There are many things that I put out here and write about. There are thoughts, feelings, observations, hurts and successes. I talk more here than I do to most of my friends, which means either I am hideously repressed or – more likely – you are my friends in some kind of way. I talk about things I would be paralytic about telling others about.
Here is such a thing.
When I was 7 years old, we were living in Washington and my family was already fracturing. I don’t have a lot of memories from then and I don’t know if that’s usual or not – all of my memories tend to consist of snapshots that I know reside between the adhesive pages of albums in my mother’s home. I do remember this event and it’s not the event itself I remember, but feelings around it. This in itself is unusual because I don’t have a lot of emotions from the past, they’re all wrapped up in my former 8mm feelings.
Back then I idolized my father, I would’ve done anything for his affections. I had a shoebox that I duct taped shut and had cut a slit in the top to keep items. I don’t remember much of what was in there, I just remember a heavy chunky silver identity bracelet that was my father’s (well this was just over the ridge of the 70′s, after all). I kept it because it was like having him there – my father was an Air Force pilot, and as such it meant he was always gone. TDY would beckon and I’d wake up in the morning and he’d be gone. I knew better than to bother him when he was home, too, because he would be tired from all the flying. Moments with my father were few and far between and, likely unhappily for my lonely mom, I had my dad on a pedestal. I just wanted to spend time with him, even though I was the firstborn and I was a disappointing girl, even though I couldn’t in the long haul sustain interest in the things he was interested in.
My local school was having a father-daughter day. Father-Daughter Picnic it was. It was a day to bring your dad to school and have a crappy little picnic at the crappy little school. And the funny thing is, I knew my dad had a terrible temper and could be incredibly anti-social, it wasn’t a good idea to have expectations. But I did. There it is, I did have expectations that my father would go. He committed to going, too, my dad did. Father-Daughter Picnic would have him there.
I was so excited. People would meet my dad and I would have a day with him. This is the funny thing, I remember this feeling. I don’t remember a lot from the past but I remember that. I remember thinking that my dad would be coming with me to the school, to see my friends and my class, to actually spend time with me.
Just before the Father-Daughter Picnic my father disappeared. He had chosen a voluntary trip somewhere doing god knows what. I don’t know why I remember that but I do. My memory is fragmented and missing but I remember the events around this perfectly. An optional trip came up and my father went…instead of coming to my stupid picnic. My best friend at the time, her dad felt so sorry for me that he offered to be my pretend dad for the day.
And this is where my memories go into the third person and I see myself. I don’t feel anything anymore, I just see it. I was jilted by my dad and another dad took pity on me. I even remember his jaw working as he offered to be my fake dad. My real dad didn’t want to deal with this pathetic picnic, so someone with a heart and some sympathy would do. I turned him down and skipped the picnic. I remember acting indifferent. I am sure that’s not how I felt.
My parents split shortly afterwards.
I threw my shoebox, with its precious ID bracelet, into a dumpster.
In life, an afternoon school picnic doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t and it’s petty and embarrassing even writing about it now, nearly 30 years on, when my mouth tastes of corduroy and dust and my heart is nothing like it ever was. But it’s like that, isn’t it? Life, I mean. It’s part and parcel for the small events that you need to hold on to, in order to change the future instead of needing to repeat it.
My father was a terrible father. He was absent, he was angry, he was painful. I was never quite enough to be loved by him I felt, I just wasn’t right. I was awkward and stupid and clumsy and unathletic and bookish and, above all, a painfully white female. He was a dreadful father.
Then.
He was a dreadful father then.
Now he is one of the best dads in the world.
It’s not his money or his access or his travels. It’s not the estrangements in the family or the torn loyalties or the assumed “I’ll show you” feelings. It’s not his stigma or his style or his airplanes.
It’s him.
My dad is sometimes still emotionally unavailable to me – you can talk about sensitive things for only so long before my military dad has to switch off. He is stubborn and set in his ways (note: Dad, if Nick wants to wear a “pretty princess dress” then in this house, he can!). He is occasionally stuck in a fog of anti-socialness.
But he holds Nora with a light in his eyes that you wouldn’t believe.
He gets on the floor with Nick and plays with cars.
He insists on being part of every feeding and every bathtime and every book-reading bedtime.
He has changed and so have I and if my sister is reading this then you should know that you should let him in, because he is wonderful.
My dad has become like this dad.
Even if my dad’s advice might not always be brilliant. I know my dad would be there for me now. It’s like a grown-up version of a Father-Daughter Picnic, and my dad would show up this time in his flightsuit looking tired but handing out the Oreos all the same.
I took my past and I changed the future – on Thursday I took the afternoon off of my hectic work schedule and Alastair took a few hours off and the two of us went to the children’s nursery and helped with their Barnardo’s pirate-theme Toddle for Tots and being there doesn’t make me better, it doesn’t make me different, it just means we all walked an insignifcant pirate-themed walk (our second of such walks) and that we will be there for them through walks and picnics and school fundraisers. I want them to consider our presence as a given, not as the exception.
They’re not only my chance, they’re his second chance. And if now or in the future there’s a Grandparents’ Picnic Day, I know my dad will be there. I know he won’t miss this one. It’s ok now that he missed all of my events growing up. I regret things in my past (and present) and I know (he has said) he regrets things in his. But he loves his grandkids. They love him. My dad loves me. And I love him.
My dad has become one of my best friends. It only took 36 years to get us there.
To which I just want to say to this*:
Sometimes it’s never too late, Dads.
Happy Father’s Day.
-S.
*From this magnificent site.
That touched a nerve. It would be forty three years ago that there was an open day in nursery and everyone’s parents came except mine. It hurt then and it hurts now. I know that my parents both worked, I know that in reality other children would not have had their parents there but I still have the knee high viewpoint, looking down the hallway to the door, waiting for that familiar step that didn’t come.
That is why I turn out for sports day, workshare and all those other things that I find monumentally boring. My husband doesn’t see the worth in “wasting” a half day’s holiday to go up to school so I’m guessing that he always had someone there for him when he was small.
I’m very lucky that it didn’t take me past the day I left to go to college to really see how much my dad loved me. A mere 5 years later, he was gone.
There is nothing like the father/daughter relationship. Its reach is surprising.
I must confess that I did not go to the Christmas festivities at the daycare…and my daughter was disappointed. But, it was a middle-of-the-day event, and she would have been confused to not leave with me. Next time, I’ll know better, though.
Beautiful, moving post. You have broken my heart with that picnic story though- totally tearing up here.
My parents divorced when I was very young, and I didn’t see much of my Dad. The older I get, the more I realize how much this affected me. I consider one of the greatest achievements of my life to be choosing the right father for my children. He is wonderful to our daughters, so wonderful that- even if I majorly screw up as a mother (which I try really hard not to do), I think they’ll still be just fine.
Such a beautiful post. I am so very glad that you and your dad have this second chance.
Great post. I have the opposite situation. I had a great dad, he’s a horrible grandfather. And I only hope that no matter what happens in my family, both my wife and I are always there for our kids, from now through their adulthood.
<3
Such a touching evolution of your relationship. I’m glad for you and your dad. Thank you for sharing. This was beautiful.
Thank you for this. My daughters father has choosen not to know her and he is the poorer man for it.
My dad was a drunk. Plain and simple. He was late or missed more than one important event in my life, that’s for sure. He also made it to a lot of them. He also quit drinking when I was in 9th grade, and that’s all I’m going to say about that.
Postsecret is a site that really haunts me. One of them was written on the back of a grocery list, simply asking “Is this all there is?”. That one always resonated with me, and to be honest, bothered me just a wee bit.
Wonderful post, Shannon. My dad was a workaholic and seldom home, and when he was – he was working on the house. But I finally came to realize it didn’t mean he didn’t love me, he was just acting the way his dad had with him. I’m glad your dad has become a good father. I worry about two of my granddaughters, whose dad essentially abandoned them 6 years ago and never contacts them now. They are better off without him in their lives, but I’m sure they don’t feel that way.
It’s easy to say a father-daughter lunch was/is insignificant; but it’s not. Maybe we can’t make everyone, but dads NEED to make some. Some of the greatest events I remember with my dad are probably things he thought was insignificant or unimportant. Playing sports together, giving me advice on soccer (even though he knew nothing about soccer…the advice was right) and showing up at a future-changing doctor’s appointment even though I was 22 and didn’t “need” him.
Not sure he remembers any of those, but I do; and they’re what makes my 76 year old dad Super Man. You never know which “insignificant” moments are going to mean the most to your kids, so I say have millions of them.
I grew up with a dad-sized hole in my heart too. I did have an alcoholic stepdad for awhile, but…square peg, round hole…whatnot.
It has taken me 36 years as well to come to a place of forgivness with my dad. He wasn’t the dad I wanted him to be. He wasn’t the dad I needed him to be. He is who he is. He loved me as well as he was able at the time, and although that wasn’t enough, it’s past. We had a good chat yesterday, and that’s enough now.
I’ve tried to make excuses for the fathers we grew up with…that the emphasis was different for them. THey weren’t expected to do the things we CHOOSE to do with our children…but I did have friends whose fathers did. I also had a friend’s dad offer to stand in as my dad once. Hard. The thing is, I can’t imagine not WANTING to be with my kids at the things that are important to them. I want them to take for granted that we’ll always be there.
What a wonderful post. I’m so glad that you were able to come to a place of understanding and love with your dad and get a second chance on having a good relationship.
What a sweet, beautiful post…brought tears to my eyes! Second chances are a wonderful thing.
Aww, blast it. You went and made me cry (again). I haven’t seen or heard from my dad in 15 years, and before that it was another decade. He just doesn’t care, I think. Ah, well. Such is life. I try to attend as many picnics, parades, and events as I possibly can to make up for the lack of parental attendance at my own such events as a child. It makes me feel good to be there, a part of things. I’m so glad you and your dad have a second chance. Thank you for sharing this.
PS: I think I had that same halter top as a little girl. :-D
Wonderful and moving tribute to your dad. Especially since he has obviously let you down in the past but you have forgiven him and he has done his best to mend things with you and try to be a better grandfather than he was a father. Which is almost exactly what I’m doing right now. I don’t think I was a very good father (not horrible, but I definitely dropped the ball too many times) but I think I’m a pretty good uncle and I’m trying to be an even better grandpa. And we’re even getting the second chance to raise a little one in our household.
Our fathers could pass for brothers. And girls get so much of a percentage of their self-esteem from their dads, it’s easy to see the consequences of an absent father. Fathers are important! I’m glad your dad came around. Mine is trying to, but it’s almost like it’s too late. I guess this is because I had a wonderful stepfather who adopted me and my sis. He worked a lot, and wasn’t able to attend most of our stuff, but we knew he was doing what he did for us, so we gave him props for that. Anyway.. that postcard thing made me cry.
A painfully lovely post to read I liked the ‘our presence will be a given’ how fortunate your children are :)
I’ve also been able to give my dad a second chance. It started a week or so before wedding v1.0, when he wanted me to invite people I didn’t know to the wedding because that was the most convenient weekend for them to come visit him. I blew up and said he’d been a really rotten father and all I wanted was one stinking weekend of him at least PRETENDING to be a good one.
“You’re right,” he said. It’s gotten better since then.
Where it goes from here is up in the air–he married a woman no one in the family likes…and we *have* tried. It’s just…well, we’re a pretty big family, and not one person likes her. That’s sort of against the odds–I’ve never seen it happen before. I’m just hoping it doesn’t come down to some sort of “us or her” thing. We wouldn’t do that, but I don’t know yet if he would. It’d be a shame, though, as he’s the only parent I’ve got left.
I’m betting my sister would say a lot of the same things as you. Among my many memories of the way our father disappointed her I can remember watching her when she performed in plays, or dance recitals, and her eyes would scan the audience looking for the father who had promised to be there that night.
Fathers influence their boys in different, yet equally important ways. That’s where they learn to be fathers themselves.As I got older and learned more about my grandfather, I gained insight to my father and realized that he was doing his best, even if that was still woefully inadequate.
I also saw how profoundly my father’s behavior affected my sister, and they way she dealt with men. Early on, that was a conscious decision I made regarding my daughters. This is why I traded money for time 15 years ago, and I’m a huge part of my girls’ lives.
I’m not perfect, but one thing my girls know is that I’ll always be there for them. I’m very glad that you can now feel that way too.
My dad walked out when I was three years old. He came back for my fourth birthday to drop off a present and I never saw him again after that. I remember making a Father’s Day present in kindergarten and giving it to my mother, just in case my father ever came back. To this day, my mother still has that old painted hand print beside her bed.
My mom met my stepdad when I was 12. He was never Robert Wagner from Father Knows Best, but I always knew that he loved me. Even when my mom kicked him out a few years later (he deserved it), he remained there for me. And now, all these years later, he’s still there for me. When Father’s Day comes, he’s the one who gets my love and attention.
I discovered long ago that biology isn’t what makes you a father. And I’m putting all of that information to good use raising my own kids because I don’t ever want them to look back and say “I wish my dad had done more things with me” when they have kids.
I’m glad that you and your dad have made up, Shannon. The change in your relationship over the years has been lovely to behold. Thanks for sharing it with us.
Again you bring tears to my eyes.
Mother of my children and I divorced when daughters were 6 and 2. Often wondered if all the ice shows, swim meets and ice skating events I made were even noticed. I know now they were even if did not seems so at the time. Thank you.
BTW the picture of your dad with Nick and Nora – superb. And pic of you looking at your dad by the water- I can feel your love for him.
I am happy for you, your children and your Dad.
Of course, this post reduced me to rubble. I feel for your past pain, but I’m really glad for your happy ending. My dad split at a time when I was old enough to know exactly what was going on – 17. When you’re a teen, even if you have well intending parents, they tend to not shelter you as much from the details, so I knew it all. It was for the best and my Mom has a great husband, who has more than stepped into the position that my bio-dad was never quite suited for. My bio-dad died before we ever got the chance to straighten things out (not that he ever wanted to…) So…I read this post and I am sincerely thrilled that you and your Dad are solid…very, very wonderful.
This is beautiful. I’m still working on my own forgiveness. Anyway, this line struck me from your post: “I do remember this event and it’s not the event itself I remember, but feelings around it.” I have loads of “feeling-memories” too – plenty of things that I thought were actually dreams (or nightmares) that I used to have until hearing my sister telling them as events that actually happened. Today I read the following line in a novel, and that line of yours instantly made it even more poignant: “One of the pitfalls of childhood is that one doesn’t have to understand something to feel it.” I almost wept when I read it. From The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón. Read it, if you haven’t yet. You’ll love it.