Father's Day

 

Trying to come up with an amazing craft for the boys to do for their daddy for Father’s Day (the yearly struggle) and I am once again smacked in the face by how very difficult this “holiday” is for me (the other yearly struggle).  Just to be completely honest and straight with ya’ll—it completely sucks.  I had a father, because we all technically have one, but I didn’t have a dad and I would have been a much less screwed up and emotionally broken person if I had been void of one completely.  It hurts a lot—not every day—but we’ll just say a lot—and this special day generally makes me sick because I can push back and suppress so much, ignore and pack away into neat little boxes marked “past” until this damn day shoves it all in my face with Hallmark commercials, gushing sentiments, and people reminiscing over things I never had.  I had a monster.  That is what I had.  And I really don't care what your opinion is or was on the subject.  We were his children and we lived it.  So unless you did, quite frankly, shut the hell up. 

I try not to be too big of a baby about it all.  I'm alive.  I didn't kill myself or over dose on drugs or alcohol.  I wasn't promiscuous or a raging party animal.  I retreated completely into myself, and I did some other unhealthy things to cope that I'll probably struggle with for the rest of my life and most likely be in an out of therapy forever, but in the grand scheme of things, for what it's worth, I fared pretty well.  I have a few diagnosis with names, but nothing too unusual from the general population.  I managed to get my shit together enough to become a fairly productive member of society.  I am not hubristic enough to think this was all me.  In fact, I know that none of it was.  If it was up to me, I would be nowhere, and other places I care not to think about.  It was all God, moving me, guiding me, sometimes out right lifting me and shoving me onward.  Scraping me off the ground that held my frame too well.  It was all Him--the only father I have really ever known.  For that I am amazingly blessed and remind myself daily that I have never really been fatherless or alone.  He was always there. 

But on this wonderfully magical little holiday where my beautiful boys profess their love to their daddy through cards and crafts and gifts and treats, my mind goes there.  What would it be like?  What the hell would it be like?  To have a daddy?  A daddy that loved you?  In an innocent way, a sweet and caring and respectful way--an encouraging 'wanting the best for you' way?  Or heck, in an "I give a shit about you at all" way?  What would that be like?  I truly can not imagine.  Daddy's little girl.  Daddy's little princess.  To be esteemed in such a way.  How precious that must be.  Instead of being the scum of the earth, a vessel born for the fires of hell, or simply an idiot taking up oxygen.  To be esteemed, respected, valued, even missed.......  I don't know what any of this feels like.  I never will.  And that's really okay.  There is a reason in it all--somewhere a reason.  And I am here, still living, still breathing, and it wasn't my fault.  It just wasn't.  And I have to forgive.  I have to.  Let go and forgive.  Because all that anger and pain is crushing.  The hardest people to forgive are the ones who never ask--but it's not a choice.  It's a command.  And by the grace of God, I can and I must.  

And I am hard on my husband.  I expect much from him.  I expect him to be an awesome Daddy, an amazing daddy--because I know how important that spot in my boy's heart is and how freaking FULL I want it to be--OVERFLOWING!!!  And I know how important my job as their mommy is and how important that spot in their hearts is as well and I want it to be so full they remember that love till they're past 100.  I don't want them to ever doubt it.  They will ALWAYS KNOW beyond a shadow of a doubt that their mommy and daddy will do anything for them and always be there for them and that they are our most coveted treasures from God.  Marty and I will go to our graves making sure this happens.  God gave us miracles.  Such a sacred, sacred honor to be a parent.  It is such a holy covenant between you and God. 

I remember after various "punishments", my father would loom over me while I was in the fetal position crying, but trying not to make any noise, and he would yell at me "You are so lucky to have parents like us!"  I, in those moments, would be in a numb state--numbing my mind and body to try to cope with all the crazy and the pain and to make it somewhat normal--so 'lucky' wasn't a feeling I was branching out to.  I look at my boys and wonder how in the world a parent could ever think like that -- aside from all the other 'how in the world' questions I have when I separate myself from the scenario and look at myself as another individual entity/child in that situation.  How lucky the child is?  No, how lucky WE are.  How lucky I am to be blessed with these beings from God, these blessings from heaven that he deemed my husband and I worthy enough to parent, love, instruct, and be responsible for.  The blessing is all ours.  Such a gift, truly a gift, and I thank the Lord above for my two amazing miracles every single day.

More than likely I will be copying the very same craft we made for our Father's Day gifts in preschool and make it with my boys as well.  No use in inventing something new at this point (and I'm really not in the mood for surfing Pinterest for hours on end).  The boys have a card for Daddy and have picked out some special treats and always enjoy making him breakfast in bed.  He will more than likely golf with his brothers and his dad and have a wonderful day all to himself.  And I will celebrate Father's day for the wonderful father my husband is to my two fabulous boys and try to ignore the rest of the schmaltz that goes with it that is null and void for me.  But, it will be lurking in the background and it will stink--and at some point, it may go away.  And I will thank the Lord for always being my Father, my divine Father--and put on a brave face for the day. 

But, I am truly blessed to see the joy and excitement in my boys eyes as they deliver all of their treasures to their daddy whom they love so much, bring him his tray of eggs and cinnamon and sugar toast in bed, smother him with kisses and tape up  home made signs all over the house.  It is HIS day and they love to tell him all about it.  That is truly beautiful.  And even more beautiful to me is knowing what incredible daddies THEY will be someday--if they so chose to be.  So, there is far more sunshine than gray--and I will keep moving on.  

Much love to you all

and

Happy Father's Day to all of you daddies who make this world a better place for your sons and daughters.  I will celebrate YOU too.