Dads.

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So, did you ever have the experience where something happened and you thought, ‘I should blog about that. I want to remember that twenty years from now.’ But then you were so busy living – and too tired for writing even in the small minutes where you had the chance – that you didn’t get around to it? And before you know it, there are like thirty or forty of these minutes that have passed you by and you might just pass out from the anxiety of trying to keep hold of them before they turn into wispy things that float off?

Let alone the topics: weight watchers online, gender in boy/girl twins, injections, big writing contests, friendships with people who pull over to talk to you out of their car windows. There’s some good stuff there, people.

At any rate, by the time the evening comes I have just enough energy to lie in bed motionless and drool in front of Grey’s Anatomy. This evening’s episode (oh, who am I kidding – I have watched multiple DISCS today) jolted me into a realisation: the kids’ past birthday was the first birthday/Christmas where I did not have some sort of crazy anxiety/anger wondering if my ‘father’ would even send them a card. I think, anyway. Maybe the anger has melted away with all the other moments – I vaguely remember saying to someone, ‘Oh, he’ll skip my birthday and I don’t even care. It’s the fact that he skips my kids’ that hurts.’

And all of that statement is just so sad, and I’m just so past caring.

I read a great article in a 2008 Reader’s Digest this morning (yes, really) that a guy wrote about how his step-dad was his real dad. About how step-dads often get the short end of the stick – all of the work of being a father (if they’re good) and none of the recognition. But they keep doing it anyway. They are out there turning up for graduations and fixing your shit and asking you to please post pictures of their grandkids every day to Facebook. That’s a real Dad.

I’m lucky. I have the love of a great guy. So does my mother. (And my sister, and my children.)

Alls well that ends well. I don’t know if I’m ready to stop feeling wounded and angry. But I do know I’m ready to start trying. Again.

Because that’s all I can do – it’s all any of us can do. Forgive ourselves and just keep trying.

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One Response to “Dads.”

  1. Violetsouffle Says:

    Love to you darling. I can absolutely relate to your pain but not your luck, I have none of that and it is okay. My daughter doesn’t have a single grandpa, and in that, she doesnt know she’s missing out at all.

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