Sunday, June 19, 2011
My own father died and had been dead for sometime before I was made aware of it in seventh grade. For years he had been absent, living off of rum and making other children after my mother gave him what had been their sailboat and a divorce.
So when I was told of his passing, it was a mixed bag of feelings to say the least.
The dreaming of going to college near him in Florida to reunite and ignite the relationship that stalled during my toddlerhood with him - the nanosecond I graduated high school - was over.
The intrigue of his existence and wonderment of a future with him, died with the news of his death.
And sadly that, that loss of a dream, was really the most crushing part.
I even felt ashamed for not crying more.
I struggled to feel the pain of losing someone I loved.
But I've never loved someone I didn't know (then or now).
So for the next coupla' years I struggled with my Daddy issues and puberty and middle school.
And I took it all out on my poor mother. Daily. For years.
O! The mouth on me.
I worked really hard at thinking of the meanest things I could say when I didn't get my way.
I seriously don't know how she had the self control not to throw me against the wall and run away.
And on this Father's Day 2011, I just want to thank my dear mother, Diane, for being there when I cursed and huffed and puffed and looked at her with eyes of fury. But more seriously, I want to applaud her for being the mother who nurtured and supported me no matter how lame or insurmountable my endeavors may have been and for being the ballsy, outspoken, admirable, persistent, authentic, beacon-of-strength-'father' that I never really had.
Happy Father's Day, Ma.
Oh - and I gotta give a giaganto shout out to my partner in crime of 9! years, Ken:
your the bestest freakin' Dad in the whole universe.
A real man.
A real dad.