Belated Feelings

**This was originally written in June, right after Father's Day. It was actually what inspired me to start this blog, but I've been putting off posting it. If you know my dad, please don't mention it. Writing this is part of my healing process, if I want to share it with him, please let it be my choice.

I’m going to tell you a secret, but you’ve got to keep it on the down low. I’ve got a reputation to uphold here. I can’t go sullying it already. The secret… is that I like country music. I know! It’s terrible. The songs are mostly about the same things, they’ve all got that funny country twang to them, and most of the musicianship is pretty average. Nonetheless, I like country music. I went through a phase in High School when I hated it, now I think I was just pretending because that was the thing to do. My parents loved it, in fact my whole family loved it, no one my age liked it, and I just plain didn’t want to like it. So I decided I didn’t. You’re going to hear this at least one more time in this post, but I was lying.

I like country music. I can’t help it. Now, follow me to where the blacktop ends for a second, make sure you’ve got your four-wheel drive, and I’ll tell you what country music has to do with anything.

Sunday, as I’m sure everyone knows, was father’s day. You want to know the one person who didn’t realize it was father’s day? Who planned a meeting for after church on father’s day? Who didn’t realize Sunday was father’s day until she was told in the staff meeting this morning? Me. Yes, me. A Youth and Family Ministry director had no idea it was father’s day.

This wasn’t because I’m out of the loop. It’s not because I don’t have a father. My father is alive and well, and working up at our cabin in Hale, MI with no phone service. Part of why I didn’t call him, and he doesn’t know hardly what a computer is, let alone have a facebook I could comment on. I did send a card with a gift certificate. I sent it about a week ago. Another reason I forgot. However, the biggest reason I forgot father’s day is because for years I didn’t care.

It’s not a secret that my father and I have a rocky relationship. Until about three years ago he was an alcoholic and a workaholic. When I was living at home I never saw him, and when I did I wished he would leave again. He paid the bills, put food on the table, got me birthday gifts, and did all of the monetary things that people often say make a man, or a “good” father. Well, no matter how “good” he was it didn’t change the fact that he was absent in my life. That he yelled at me all the time. That he drank and got angry. It didn’t change the fact that, quite honestly, I could not stand him.

My father retired when I was a senior in High School. I spent a lot of my time either away from the house or hidden in my room, and when I went off to college I didn’t look back for a very long time. Oddly enough, the first year I got away I think was the worst year for my relationship with my father. Things had gotten so bad that year, I asked a very close friend, old art teacher, and mentor of mine to walk me down the aisle instead of my father. This is something I hope my dad never finds out.

But I did say three years ago, didn’t I? Three years ago my dad stopped drinking. I wish I could say this changed everything, that my father and I are best friends now. We’re not. We still hardly speak, I hate talking on the telephone and quite frankly we have very little in common. But last year, for maybe the first time I can remember, I was able to say that I loved my dad. I was able to reconcile and forgive a lot of things that happened in our past. It helps that I know for all the wrong things my dad did, he was a million times better of a father than his was. That for all of the people who have hurt him in the past, his first wife cheated on him, his father was abusive, his sister steals money from him all the time, that for all of this I truly believe my dad is the best man he could be. With all of the hurt in his past, with the person he could be because of it, my dad is a good man. He is smart, he is funny, and he is way better at picking on my mom than I am.

Last week I went out to buy a father’s day card. Buying cards for my dad has always been an ordeal. I mean a dreaded, nerve wracking, anxiety riddled ordeal. For years and years I would only buy humor cards for my dad. Ones that make a joke and nothing more, because I felt I had nothing nice to say to him. I had a hard enough time signing *love, alaine* let alone getting him a card saying how great he was. Then I found myself at Target last week with my friend and my husband looking at cards. I picked up one after the other and was starting to get annoyed. Finally, I exclaimed “Where are the cards that say, ‘I used to hate you but now you’re pretty alright’?!” because that’s how I said I felt.

The card he got this year.

I was lying. I found a very nice Papyrus card. It didn’t say he was the best dad ever, or that my childhood was wonderful, it just said five words, five little words. It wasn’t a humor card, and it wasn’t especially sentimental, but those five words were exactly what I was ready for. The front has a picture of a little girl kissing her dad’s cheek and inside it said, “Always special, forever my dad.”

By the way, my dad was the one who walked me down the aisle August 13^th, 2010. The father daughter dance was to a country song, because my father was the one who introduced me to country music. It’s called “I Loved Her First” by Heartland. Do you wanna know what my dad said to me during the dance? He said five words. He said to me, “I just paid the photographer.” I tried not to laugh because it would be terribly rude to laugh when someone was telling you they loved you.

I love you, dad. Happy Father’s Day.

Picture by Kkart