So I was recently asked to write a blog around Father's Day.  If you know me, you know that a: I don't celebrate it b: my dad died when I was 17, and c: my feelings SURROUNDING my dad, and this "glorious day" (taste my sarcasm) are NEVER discussed. EVER.  But, a true glutton for punishment, I obliged my dear friend. And truth be told, she is probably the ONLY person that I would have agreed to do this for.   So I agreed to do this unzipping of my soul, and this is what came out as I tried and tried and tried and tried and tried and tried....well...you get the point....After all was said and done, my friend pointed out that in telling her WHY I might not write my post for her, I had actually WRITTEN my post....damn you stream of conscious thought...ya got me again...read on....

​

Dear Friend, ,​

So I have to tell you...I currently love you and loathe you at the same time in the most amazing and blessed of ways. let me explain. I hope this makes sense, but I will preface it by saying that if anything offends, it is because I am not having a way with words tonight. It is NOT something personal. I promise you.

So I love and loathe you equally right now because June is in 4 days, and I have been given the charge of writing blogs surrounding fathers and fatherhood. I have been avoiding this topic like the Bubonic Plague,  I open my computer everyday, and I stare at a blank word document. I type a couple of letters, and I delete them. I try again and type a few more, and then delete again. You see, I love my father - posthumously, but I loathed him in the flesh. And if I was telling the truth, I would have to tell you that part of me loathes him posthumously as well. It is one hell of a crux to be in - loving the man that I've learned about in stories from family members, loving the man that unknowingly and absently influenced my taste in music, and my deep love for real rock and roll (think Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Three Dog Night, The Rolling Stones and early Aerosmith), loving the man who somehow, in his invisible influence allowed me to keep an open mind to the unknown, a healthy respect and curiosity for other cultures and religions.. It's ridiculous...absolutely RIDICULOUS that I can love a man I quite frankly did not know, but is such an integral part of the woman I have grown up to be that I unknowingly bought an exact replica of a coat that he owned when he was 15. Yet given all of this waxing poetic, I loathe him. I loathe him because he died before I had a chance to have questions answered. Because I will never see the cards he supposedly left for me for every birthday he ever missed, but were apparently hidden from me. I will never get to ask him if that story is true. I loathe him because he is not here to share a "look" with me when my mom goes on a rant.  He is not here to hold my daughter, and tell her she is an incredible reflection of me, and I of him. He is not here to tell me what I'm worth, who I am, where I belong, or where I'm going. He is simply not. here. And for this I loathe him.

So, I say all of this to say that if some of my blog posts surrounding fathers come late, or not at all, please do not take it personally. It is with no disrespect. It is with no malice or ill intent. It is simply this - I am struggling in a way that I don't ever remember struggling with Father's Day in the past. And I'm trying to make sense of how I can honor fathers this month, when for such selfish reasons, I struggle to honor my own.

I hope you understand. I want to tell my story. My whole story. And I know this is part of it. However I just don't know how to do IT, and HIM, justice.

​