on father's day

Father's day is always a bit strange for me. My father is alive but has chosen not to be in my life. Which is fine, really. He hasn't been much of a presence in my life since I was about 15, except as a reminder of how not to treat other people. It's hard because growing up he constituted half of the model I had for how to be and I hate it when I notice some aspect of his behavior coming out in me. He's not a bad guy, really. You'd probably really like him; he's charismatic and can tell stories and be really fun. But god forbid you need anything from him, especially accountability or stability. Or sobriety. Or a reliably gentle hand.

It always seemed strange to me that a person would be able to act as if they had no children or, as my father does, only one, when in reality he has four. Three of whom have been burned too many times to come back to the flame. The other has another parent who is crazier than his dad and is too young to make a choice. Or maybe my father has changed and can be for the brother I have never met the father that he could not or would not do for me and my sister and brother.

Now that I am a parent the choices that my father has made are unthinkable to me. As is the knowledge that my father knows he has a grandchild (two of them actually, and a step grandchild) that he has never seen. And the kicker is that last I heard he lived here in San Diego. I hope I never am in a place where I can empathize with that particular choice, the possibility scares me. Do I have it in me to turn my back on the flesh that I created as if she never existed? I sincerely hope not.

Nina has another grandpa who truly believes that she hung the moon so she is not really missing out. And don't even get me started on what a FANTASTIC father Larry is. But that doesn't keep me from thinking about this stuff in unguarded moments.