That's a difficult thing for me to say, but it's true. He was by no means perfect, and I held resentment towards my dad for many years. I felt abandoned by him growing up, and as an adult, I still felt like I was not important to my father. He died a few years ago, and our relationship was, sadly, still strained. I missed his funeral and was excluded from it in every way. I don't even know where he's buried.
But my dad was a good dad. And not many prisoners can say that about their fathers.
My dad provided for our family and was a hard worker. My entire childhood, my dad had a decent job. He never shied away from his responsibility of providing for his family. We didn't have a lot when I was growing up, but we had enough. And my dad is the reason.
We didn't have fancy cars, expensive vacations, or big houses. But I have fond memories of camping together, roller skating together, fishing together. I even remember when he defended me in my first neighborhood fist fight. I still smile when I hear him say, "Get up, both of you! Okay, now it's a fair fight. Continue." I'm not sure if that was the right way to parent, but it filled me with courage that my dad believed in me. I chased that bully all the way out of our neighborhood.
My dad never abused me. He was a kind man who hated to even spank us kids. He was emotionally sensitive, and I used to think his quickness to cry was a weakness. But I see now that it was a strength. He had a heart for people, even if at times I wished he noticed me like he did others.
My dad taught me to love The Three Stooges. He let me watch baseball games on WGN Saturdays in the garage. I'm a big Cubs fan today because of him even though I don't think he was a Cubs fan.
Dad wasn't a materialistic guy. I never learned from him that things defined me. He was content with simple things, and I credit him for teaching me the same. I also credit him for teaching me to serve others. Mom taught me that, too, but Dad would drop everything to help a neighbor.
Dad had his flaws, for sure. He didn't like conflict (neither do I), so he taught me to avoid it by leaving. I've had to unlearn that. He also had trouble connecting with people in deep ways. I inherited that from him, too, but I've now discovered that authentic living helps me connect more easily with others. I wish Dad had learned that, too. Maybe he did late in life.
So many emotions flood me when I think of my Dad. Longing, loss, regret, sadness, gratefulness, happiness. When I hear the horror stories of terrible dads from other prisoners, I'm so grateful that my Dad was a good dad. But I'm also overwhelmed with sadness and regret that I failed to be the dad I always longed to be.
A lot of prisoners are dads who are filled with regret and pain over their failures as dads. I'm constantly overwhelmed with the pain I feel over my failures. I wish I could talk to my dad about what I'm feeling. He probably wouldn't know what to say, but I know he'd listen. He'd probably cry, too, and I'd not get any answers--he wasn't a fixer like me. I'm pretty sure, though, that I'd feel better having talked to him.
I wish I had been a good dad, too, like my dad.
<3
ReplyDelete