This would, on a normal person’s blog, be a nice warm post about the lovely day spent with the father of her children ( which did happen) and the fond memories of childhood with their own father. The second bit never happened. My father ran away one day, and never really came back. Through some stupid twist of fate, I chased after him for a while, living under his roof for two of the most frightening, demeaning, and ill cared for years of my life. There’s no point detailing what a wreck of a human being he was, you all have newspapers and Internet, and know how to use them. Suffice to say that if I were to discover that he were sick, or hurt, or needed help in anyway well, I piss on him. Really.
I was, actually, quite surprised at all that a father could do for children, watching my husband and my children over the years. Just tonight, they were all guiltily discovered playing Tetris ( a video game) on the computer, and it was the sweetest thing, ever, seeing them all huddled together. I think that fathers who do show up, and do so sober and sane, are a odd thing. But, that said, I do not like Father’s Day.
Lots of people don’t have one, have never had one, and will never have one. Same for Mother’s Day. Presumably, people who have a Father, as opposed to having a sperm donor, know what they have, and all the cakes with shirt and ties made out of frosting in the world is not going to do anything to increase their knowledge of this fact. Those of us without fathers…..