In my younger years, I didn't know who my father was. My stepdad was a Jamaican man from Kingston. He and my mom fought a lot. I had two grandparents. People don't normally have two (at least, I didn't think so). I was told about this man. His name was Johnny.
I met him face-to-face for the first time when I was 8 or so. He met me at my grandmother's house and we would go for walks or to the park. When I met him, a whole world opened up to me that I didn't know about. I had more brothers. More sisters. A stepmom. So much information to process in such a short time.
However, I didn't live with him. I didn't grow up with him. I grew up with my mom. My mom moved to Georgia. I went back to NY now and then to see him and talk to him and be with my grandparents. I asked questions that filled my mind and noticed how... alike we were. Generally jovial, deep thinkers, emotional, everything down to our hairline and unruly skin.
This man in front of me is my history. Part of my identity. It's been this way for a long time across many cultures: a boy watches his dad, goes with him to work, learns what his dad does, becomes an apprentice and so the story goes. Children are usually very much like their parents. This man was a glimpse into my future; that is to say, one day, I will be like this man. At the time, I barely knew who he was.
...but why?
Why wasn't he there when I was younger? Why didn't he come by the house? Why didn't he send me presents on Christmas? Why couldn't he be there for varying school functions? Why couldn't he be there to ask all the questions I knew I would eventually need to ask about life later?...
Those questions would come later. The first hurdle to cross was: what do I call you?
Johnny. I call you 'Johnny'. They told me that was your name. I didn't know who you were then, though....
That's what ran through my head for years until I was 15 and I took this step: I called him 'Dad' for the first time. This was a loaded word to me. For some, that word conjures the image of a man that you have been with all your life that has provided for you and your family and read you bedtime stories and was there for you in every way any human being can be with all the love they could join to it and that is AWESOME...
... but then there are other people and a majority of you reading this will be those people.
- Your dad donated a sperm cell and a name. You haven't seen him since and if you did now, he's so irrelevant to your life it would be more like an annoying TV commercial than a reunion. Even worse, you've tried to be reunited with this man and he makes zero (or less) effort to return that effort.
- Your dad was active in your life... but only in the negative. Abuse - physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, drunkenness, other things you don't even dare to allow yourself to think about until you are behind three locked doors so people don't see you cry since you never do unless you think about that man.
- Your dad and mom were together for a while and you knew him, but he suddenly left without a word of explanation and no further contact. Maybe, in a rare case, he's recently come in contact and you're angry about it because you can't figure out why he would bother.
Then there's this story with me. My dad doesn't fall into any of these categories. That's good and bad, but the story is the same. Not having him there hurt for a long time and in minor ways, it continues to. I wish he were here to talk to about things that I struggle to figure out. I wish I could get his wisdom in person for some things. I wish I could show him something cool I did or something neat I made or show him the place I work or....
Back to that living room, though. In that living room, I looked at him, breathed deeply, and said "Good morning, Dad."
Good morning, Dad... it still brings tears to my eyes to even remember. We had said good morning every morning for several mornings for several years and every one of them ended with Johnny until that morning. The sun was coming up, we were in his apartment in the living room on the 19th floor...
"Good morning, Dad." It was more powerful than I knew at the time. At the age of 15, this was the greatest act of forgiveness I've done before or since that moment. Every time I speak to him now, I call him Dad. Dad means, I forgive you. We cannot change the past, but we can use the present to make our future better. I choose to love you. To have a relationship with you. To be a part of your life and to let you be as much a part of mine as you want. I don't hold your mistakes and imperfections and shortcomings against you. I don't care that you weren't around when I was younger. I choose to deal with whatever negative consequences not having you around brings into my life without throwing them in your face whenever I see you. I won't use guilt to control you. I would rather have my future with you than to live without you.
That's a lot for one word. The dictionary would say otherwise, but there are a lot of words we use like that:
- mom
- friend
- sister
- brother
They're all imperfect and they do things that hurt us and in the end, if we want a future with them, we have to choose to forgive them. That's what it means to love someone.
I wasn't to find out for several years that, for someone who is 'fatherless' like we feel we are (or actually are), there is one great Father from whom all earthly fathers are derived and we are never without Him. Learning how to receive love from Him is important (and very difficult without a lot of help) for those of us with broken relationships with our fathers.
So this day, for me, is a day of love and forgiveness and great emotion. I wake up, I pick up the phone, and I say "Good morning, Dad" and there's so much love there and it's one of the few moments that I hate hate HATE to hang up my phone.
Maybe you could have that today. Maybe you could choose to be open to allowing this man -- whatever title you've given him -- a space in your heart. Not a big one, but just big enough to let him build a small, comfortable corner. Naturally, you'll be wary at first. That's fine. It's new and it's weird, but the benefit of that forgiveness is that, no matter what he does, there sting is less; forgiveness is for you, not for him and if you can look at him and love him -- not hate him, not feel nothing -- but love him, then maybe you can laugh a little longer, a bit more deeply and be you as you are with more confidence for having done that. A little bit more love for having done that. Maybe it will allow you to shed fewer tears or maybe a few more happy ones.
I know it certainly did for me.
Did I struggle? Do I struggle now? Yes and yes, but a lot less. It's part of figuring things out and I'll share anything about that if you want to know, but in the end there is no pain for me on this day. Just a longing to hug him for a long time and have coffee.
It would be nice if you had that, too.
For those of you whose dads have passed on or just don't keep up with you, give that love to someone that has been like a father and/or older brother to you. Give it to your mom or your grandparents or whomever raised and loved you (broken as it may have been) and let them know how much you've appreciated having them around.
Oh, and you might want to make a point of doing that more often than today, but today is a good start.
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