I decided that since my dad sees me all week, I’d let my sisters spend the day on Saturday with him. I stayed at home and worked on my truck. That truck belonged to my dad for 10 years so being with it is like being with dad in a way. He has always taken great care of everything he’s owned, so doing the same thing is very important to me.
Dad's mom came back down to stay on Saturday, and his brother came to visit, so he had a house full. I guess I felt a little lost not being there, but I'm discovering a balance with my time with dad. I don't feel that sense of urgency that I did earlier on. I can’t really explain why that is. I feel like he’s in very capable hands and I feel confident that our relationship is overflowing with love and respect for each other. I guess what I’m saying is this, at first I was afraid that dad would leave during the night and I wouldn’t have felt like I had said or did enough for him. I think the daily visits that have accumulated over a span of a month has given me more than plenty of confidence that I have done everything and said everything. I still go over every day, with the exception of one.
I sat with dad on Sunday morning and had a good visit with him. I like Sundays with dad best of all. It's the only time that I can be by myself with him and it's a day that is very sacred to him and I get to share in that. Sundays have always been an awkward day to me. Most people go to church and get to be with their church families, which must be like having a room full of special friends that you just look forward to seeing each week. Then most people go home or go out to eat lunch with their families and their friends. For me Sundays are reminder of what I don’t get to experience. I know, faith and spirituality is a choice that we all make. Some of us take to it easier than others, some of us live lives that make it near impossible to have the luxury of that choice. Those of us who do live those impossible lives didn’t choose that, who would choose that. Anyway, Sundays with dad gives me the feeling of what Sundays should be like, and at least creates a stronger bond between dad and me.
This particular Sunday morning dad slept a little more than he usually does. I watched him from time to time, his chest rising and falling, comforting me. When dad was awake we talked about my childhood. I’m not sure how the subject came up, but he must have needed to talk about it. I constantly catch myself reassuring him that he was and is a wonderful father. I explained to him that my problems weren’t really from him and mom, but from external experiences. These included being harassed and bullied in elementary and middle school, to struggling with my sexuality at too early of an age and not being able to ask for help with that. It also didn’t help that I at an early age what being gay was and knowing that my parents and my church thought that being a homosexual was an abomination to God. Of course I never told my parents about that or went to them for help because I was too ashamed of who I was and what was happening. If I had of told them that I felt like I was a homosexual at 10 years old, they would have shipped me off to one of those camps where they make you straight. Of course I’ve told my mom and dad my feelings about that now, and they feel just awful that they couldn’t help me with that. I told my dad that as children we don’t understand why our parents do the things they do, or why they react so harshly when they shouldn’t. I told him that when we grow up we come to understand why they did things the way they did. When we, the children, grow up we are able to see the bad things that happened to our parents when they were children, and we see how that affects their ability to love and prevents them from nurturing us with positive mental health. Hopefully when we see that we can forgive and embrace them and reassure them that they did the best that they could. Still that doesn’t take their guilt away for being harsh and angry parents.
When dad and I talk about his past parenting to me and my sisters, he always cries remorsefully. I can’t take that away from him, I’ve tried. I think he feels close to me now because I reflect genuine compassion and acceptance and love upon him and that’s all one can do.
So as the morning progressed dad slept more. It wasn't long before mom was back from church. I said my usual goodbyes to dad and squeezed his knee like I always do, and headed home.
No comments:
Post a Comment