Fathers....

A rather odd subject that is never very far from my mind at all times filled my head completely today while at work. It brought tears to my eyes to remember, to feel my fear, my anger, my loneliness come back to me when I had been trying my best to hide it away for all these years.

It went like this.

While folding the motley colored towels at work, I over heard a father, talking lovingly and incoherently in baby talk to his daughter, holding her and smothering her in kisses.

The mother was walking behind the two pushing the stroller and just smiling and shaking her head at the sight.

This guy, must have stood over 6 feet, had a shaved head, and looked as if he had a Harley parked outside.

I imagine his wife had never seen him act in such a fashion before.

She kept on suggesting that their child be put back in the stroller,

but he kept on refusing going "No, its fine. Besides, I want to hold my angel" and kept talking incoherently and kissing her.

This made me think about all the relationships I have been in and the one thing all of them have in common without fail. 

The fact that if it ever came down to it, they would make a good father.

That whether or not I would want a child, or that it was something unplanned, every guy I have dated, I know would be there for their kid, loving them every day, even if things between us did not last.

I suppose I find this extremely attractive in a male figure, namely because I know what makes a horrible father and because of that, I can avoid those traits at all costs.

Thinking about this, watching that young new father at work, thinking about my past, it made it hard to keep working and not just break into tears, sit on the ground and hide my face in my hands.

I started wondering, what it is going to be like for that little girl, growing up with a dad whose love you could see emanating from him.

I wonder, why was I robbed of that? I know I must have had something like that at one point, didn't I?

If I did, where did it go? 

And then came the question that always came into my mind when thinking of things like this.

"Am I ever going to experience that?"

That is a sad question for an adult woman to be asking. It is almost as if I revert into being a 5 year old. I just keep continue hoping that someday, I would have a dad like that. A dad who gave a damn, a dad who knew what was going on his daughter's life, a dad who would be there when I needed him.

Then I started thinking to myself....about the situation that my father is currently in and how it is very possible that he could be dead tomorrow....that I don't even know if he is alive now.

Would I be brave enough to confront him on his death bed? Would I say the words he never said to me if I knew his death was eminent? Would I forgive him....? Could I even face him?

It is kinda funny, this reminds me of an episode from Metalolcalypse, when Toki's dad is dying and he has to face him, despite the horrid past with his dad.

(who the hell finds morals in metalocalypse episodes??)

anyways. The point is that he eventually goes and confronts him, even though everything gets fucked in the end and he actually ends up killing his dad, he atleast tried.

That is more than I can say for myself.

I remember what days used to be like for me when I was in elementary school.

I was always late because I would have to wake my dad up from a hangover, then I would go to school and feel alienated because I didn't have very many friends and would get made fun of because of how often I would cry.

Then I would come home, and feel very alone because my father would be passed out drunk soon after picking me up, I didn't have anything to do, and I wouldn't have anyone to play with because the only other person in the house was my baby sister whom I had a very hard time understanding since she is mentally disabled. That was my routine 5 days out of the week. I would wait by the door like a puppy for my mother to come home (and she always arrived home late) because she was the only other human contact that I had who would talk back to me, or hug me when I hugged them.

So for most of my childhood I was alone...

I remember one day swinging out side on the swing set challenging an imaginary friend (my simba doll) as to who could go higher on the swings. Of course he was just sitting there so I proceeded to try to challenge myself. Eventually the chain rope broke and as I fell, the end of the chain, which was shaped into a sharp hook now from breaking, hit me straight in the eye.

I was bleeding.

Deathly afraid that I must have blinded myself, I curled into a ball and started sobbing loudly.

I was curled up in that ball for at least a half hour....continuing to cry outside my dads bedroom in the backyard where he was asleep.

I soon realized that he was not going to wake up, he was not going to help me up, he was not going to fix me up and cheer me up.

It is a very devastating realization to a 7 year old, that you are the only one who is going to care for you. It was me who had to pick me up, clean me up, cheer myself up.

I got up and went to my bed and continued to sob....not because I was still bleeding, not because my face was bruising up.

But because of what was running through my head.

"I could have stayed there til nighttime and he would have never realized, I could have really blinded myself and he would have never noticed, I could walk outside right now and keep on walking and he wouldn't get up to find me.......I could die right now and he wouldn't even know"

These are rather alarming thoughts for a 7 year old to have, I remember it was the first time I thought about dieing, and the first time I thought about killing someone else.

I knew where his guns were, he's showed me thousands of times when hes drunk, I knew what they did, I knew I quickly went from being depressed to being horribly angry, I knew he wouldn't wake up from his drunken slumber if I creeped into his room, and I now knew that there was no point in actually having him around, if he wasn't actually around.

That was the first time I pointed a gun and my dad's head, I wanted him to go away so badly. All he ever did was yell and scream and curse and threw things and broke things and smacked me upside the head when I told him to stop. He wasn't doing anything else besides that and sleeping. What was the point?

I knew at that moment that I hated him. I didn't even know how to use a gun, nor did I know if it was loaded, or how to cock it, I just knew that it would end him.

I aimed....I pointed.....

And then once again I burst into sobs...

I couldn't do it.

I can't count how many times I have tried to, and how each time something inside me couldn't do it if my life depended on it.

Today at work I realized what that something was. What that something is that still lives inside me, refusing to die.

Each time I pointed that gun, I was secretly hoping, that would be the time where he would wake up...

Where he would turn around....

Where he would hug me while I sobbed,

and told me that I was important,

that I was wanted,

and that he loved me.

That hope stopped me each and every time, and now, even as an adult, I'm still pointlessly hoping.

Hoping that I could get back what I never had.

Even now I break down into tears when I think about all I ever wanted from my dad....

It wasn't much to ask for, but still....I never got it.

I suppose this is why the people I date, are really just people who would make excellent dads. 

I guess I'm still hoping to experience the love of a father in someway, to see it, to know it.

But the only way I will ever know anything like that is if it is coming from the father of my own children.

I may not be able to face my dad, or receive from him the love I was always seeking,

But I can make sure that a good father is in my future.

It is a comforting thought, yes.

But still, on nights like these,

I still cry myself to sleep with the lights on because I am still that little girl, holding a gun in her hand, cuddling her simba doll in her arms,

and just hoping that my dad will come in and say

"I love you....goodnight...."