This was originally posted 12 years ago on my Livejournal, and I’ve copied the text over since that blog is pretty locked down, if you went to the post here; it’s even password protected.

Not much has changed since writing this post so long ago in terms of father’s day and how I feel about it. It’s always going  to be a hard day for me I guess. I still snarl at the father’s day adverts that slip by my filters cause of witty phrasing, or terms that weren’t around when I set those filters in place.

It’s hard to see the love I missed out on, the reminder that I was never to have that paternal figure in my life. Instead I got a person who I met in passing, and now have forgotten, same as he forgot me forty-three years ago.

This post will more than likely not be pleasant, or something you may want to read if delving into some serious issues bother’s you. I hate Father’s day for a varietly of reasons and I’m going to, no need to for some damn reason get into them now. It’s cut to shield those who wish to skip the angst and ramblings of a disgruntled person early in the morning… on to the open vent.

I’ve never known my father or the man that helped create me… I am a bastard in the literal sense of the word and it burns me to no end each year when Father’s day comes around. It’s not like I’m pining to see him or ask why he wasn’t around, I’ve gotten those answers years ago…

I … damn now that I’ve started to write this it’s not turning out the way I wanted…. but I digress, I need to get this out.

I’ve always been sensitive about the fact that my father wasn’t around, and that my mother always made it seem like he hit it and quit it when he found out about her being with child. That’s what I’d been told since day one of coming home and asking um, hey where’s the guy around here? You know my father? I don’t know why I can’t really seem to use the word “dad” in connotation with him. Dad seems like a word reserved for a loving man who is there for his child(ren). I know some people reverse the meaning for the two, but I’ve always felt Father was a word that should have more respect and meaning attached to it, but that’s my humble opinion.

… … Not having him around was’nt an issue until school began for me, and you had to do those stupid hand made mother’s and father’s day gifts to take home for your parents to ooooooh and ahhhhhh over. I remember bursting into tears one year when the teacher asked me why I wasn’t making anything. I told her because I had no one to give it to and continued to sob … making the other kids feel odd I’m sure. After some time that sadness festered into anger, into being pissed off mightily at the guy who couldnt even be bothered to call once in a while, or send a card. Eventually, I learned to hold in that anger because the target of it wasn’t around to receive my ire… so what was the point in being angry at him and making myself miserable? None, but I’m sure its part of the reason I have anger and trust issues now.

Life went on and I eventually moved out, started being a so-called adult. I was either 21 or 22…and I don’t know how or why, but I was talking to my mother and she told me that he had been in contact with her or had tried to call …it gets jumbled now as to the how and why but I eventually got a phone number to contact him. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to, needed to or could even face the guy who had’nt done jack for me since day 1. I held on to the number for a while and gave in to my curiosity/need for closure and called… we talked etc, and we agreed to meet. Sound’s odd doesnt’ it? saying oh well, I’m off to meet my father for the first time?

I was nervous, angry and scared all at once to meet him, but it wasn’t so bad when I finally arrived at my destination. Surprisingly, there was no yelling no screaming of I hate you, you asshole from me like I had imagined it would. I asked questions, and for the most part got honest answers. Finally, I had both sides to the story and that was settled for me… as to who was right and wrong, I have no idea and I know that time and bitterness had colored the truth pale a long time ago for my parents, so it was a moot point to rehash the why and why not’s.

We were fine for awhile, and kept in contact but drifted apart after the woman he was seeing put him out and he moved back to his mother’s place. In all, I’m satisfied at the answers I got, and am a little less bitter for it. I still hate the day, and am angry at him for not being there when it mattered but I’m working on it. So if I seem a little down or out of sorts on Father’s days, bear with me please.

Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, I feel much better and can at least start to enjoy my day. thanks for listening….

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