I hate Father’s Day. There I said it. Not quite without reservation, but I said it. I’m starting to refer to and even search for things that I refer to as asterisk things; days, events, situations, in which the way I experience things or have to do things deviate from the normal. Not because I want to be different or difficult. I swear! At least 90 percent of the time that isn’t the case here. Ok, 85 percent. I’m searching because I feel like this has been a huge theme in my life, and I’m out to hunt them down. Perhaps not eradicate them or the feelings associated here, but at least to verify, yes, Korie, these experiences happened and continue to happen for you. It is not just victimhood or paranoia. Most of the time. At least 80 percent, no, I’m sticking to being only 15 percent difficult for the sake of being difficult.
Growing up I had only a vague idea of the time of year when Father’s Day was celebrated. Honestly, I think I recall having the realization that Father’s Day was actually a thing. So for a while, I didn’t even have the vague idea of its existence, much less the time of year it occurred. I was only aware of Mother’s Day, and then even when Father’s Day entered my orbit, I still considered it the secondary and less important parental celebratory holiday. Shhh, I still believe this, but no longer out of ignorance, quite the contrary actually. But I will put the absolute painful hells of motherhood on hold for now. It is, after all, Father’s Day, and it’s time to give this day its due.
My father died when I was old enough only to be left with a few brief, yet thankfully, vivid memories of him. This small collection was eclectic enough to give me a feeling of security a father can provide as well as the pang of rejection to make things complex. One memory is of laying across the front seat of a car, falling asleep with my head on his lap as he drove me home from my Grandparents (it was the early 80’s, car seats and seatbelts were either not heard or optional at best). I can still feel the comfort and security I experienced on that night, drifting off to sleep, protected, however false it was I now realize given my current knowledge of automobile safety. My memory of being rejected, I believe, was truly a one off and not a regular occurrence. I was trying to crawl up on his lap for our evening ritual of sitting and reading the evening paper, but that one time I remember, he said, “No, not tonight.” Thanks brain for holding on to that one. Father’s Day may have eluded me, but daddy issues would not. You’re welcome men I’ve known in my life.
I had four Father’s Days while my Dad was alive. I remember none of them. When my Mom was recently cleaning out her house, she gave my husband a few mugs that were my Dad’s, which said things like “World’s Greatest Dad”. This blew my mind in a way I had not expected. Father’s Day happened in my family, just in a pre me and pre memory time period. It happened for my sister 10 times. My brother, 7 times. All without an asterisk!
Memories of Father’s Day for me all include the asterisk, which often felt like and still feels like a lump in my throat. Anxiety. Preparing to explain myself. Doing things differently than everyone else. Explaining why my Dad wouldn’t be home soon. Parents nights at sporting events walking out with just one parent. Every newspaper clipping or accolade including the words “and the late…” Anxiety, reservation and anguish spent wanting to and forcing myself to, while also not wanting to, reachout and say Happy Father’s Day and thank you to the several other father’s in my life who were there for me. Truly amazing people, but damn. This felt so much harder than buying a mug. All while walking around with a discomfort due to the sheer differentness of myself.
And then I had children. I had a real live father in my house. One who needed to be and deserved to be celebrated. But, this didn’t make the other stuff go away. So it was organizing ways to celebrate him, with an asterisk next to my heart. I smile on my face, that he always saw through and understood. Which evoked guilt as this day isn’t supposed to be about me.
Today, for a change, I’m celebrating this asterisk day as I desire to do. I’m indulging in the sadness today. No guilt. I said Happy Father’s Day to my husband. No additional calls. No guilt. I will just be in my kitchen reading, writing, and perhaps sipping coffee from my “World’s Greatest Dad” mug.
