Yesterday morning, I made a wish that Father’s Day would go away. I wish I felt good about this day, and didn’t have so much hurt and anger and distress over the concept of “father”. I used to look to my heavenly father to heal that, to find grace, but could never quite reconcile the church.
After a day of angst and anger, I softened. Of course I’m angry at my own father. Of course I’m angry at my children’s father for not being the kind of dad who is present and supportive, for modeling fifty shades of asshole to his children. Of COURSE I’m angry.
And then I saw the sweet pictures of the loving dads I know, the ones who show up and pay child support and would move heaven and earth for their children and I wished them well. I spoke with my friends who’d had terrible fathers and married really great men, men who are in every way real fathers.
It allowed me to hold my anger at the hurtful fathers while holding possibility that there are caring, loving men out there.
My one friend was especially good because she kicked her dad out of her life when she was 18. She spoke about how hard he’d made her mother’s life financially, and about her grandfather who was rich and could have helped them but refused to. My children have the same situation. I reminded myself once again that their family will not and cannot see the big picture of their lives, and would be happy if my children were homeless and starving in my home. For them, that would be some kind of victory.
On Facebook all the stories of deadbeat dads started surfacing. All the stories of abusive fathers started coming to light. Women were mad on Father’s Day.
So after a time of “fuck father’s day” I held even stronger to my image of the loving men, and realized how very rare and precious they are. I hope they had a wonderful day where they were celebrated.