my father

September 2, 2005

So strange thing happened the other day. When I got home from work,

I looked at my phone and it said I had missed a call from my dad.

For a little background: My dad was (and could still be) a drug

addict and alcholic. He wasn't always there for me when I was

growing up. He was abusive in many ways to both my mom and me though

more to my mom. They finally divorced when I was in sixth grade and

mom had his rights terminated so that I wouldn't have to be put

through the misery of visiting him. Since then, the relationship

with my father has been rocky. My mom is a great woman and never

prevented me from being a part of my father's family. I would go

over to my grandma's at Christmas and for family renunions. I did

see my dad during those visits but our relationship remained very

cold (mainly on my end). He tried on and off to keep up

communication with me and tried to remember my birthdays and such.

He visited me every now and then with his new wife (who I think is

crazy!). My grandma was the main factor in all this. She was pushing

for my dad and me to be chummy. My senior year of high school I

finally had enough and told my dad to not bother trying anymore. It

hurt me too much to get my hopes up and then have them crushed. I

cut off communication. My grandma was pissed but I tried to explain

the things he had done to me and my mom so that she would understand

where I was coming from.

In the last few years, my relationship with my father has gotten

slightly better. We talk every now and then, though usually it's him

calling. I don't call him unless there's a good reason to. I called

him and talked to him about my wedding. I explained that he wasn't

walking me down the aisle (my mom is) and he took it very well. He

understood and was very happy to even be invited to the wedding

given our relationship. I even did the adult thing and sent him a

father's day card this year. It was the first time since seventh

grade that I've done that. It was just a 99 cent thing that just

said happy father's day and it said nothing about love at all. I

still hurt a lot from my early experiences with my father and it's

hard to really love him like I love my mother. I realized, though,

that I do love him to a certain extent but I will probably never

feel for him the way I do for my mother.

Anyway, so he called the other day. He hadn't called me since June

after he got the father's day card. I was shocked. I was also

pleasantly surprised. Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to get my

hopes up about there being any sort of good relaitonship starting

but it is nice to know that he can be a considerate human being. We

had a nice chat about my job situation, the hurricane (I'm from a

gulf state originally and have had to deal with hurrican threats),

and my ferrets. My dad is actually probably the reason I love

ferrets as much as I do. He used to always go with me to pet stores

to look at the ferrets and other " non-traditional " animals. At the

end of our conversation, he told me he loved me (he always does). I

don't always know what to say to that. I usually say " I know " but

don't reciprocate the love. But this time I did. I don't know why

but it struck me that I do indeed love my father. As I said before,

that love will probably never be as deep as it is with my mother. He

just caused me too much pain and has never done anything to correct

that. But I can love him for the person that he is and for the small

efforts he is trying to make.

This is a poem that I wrote my senior year of high school when I was

dealing with all of my emotions about my dad. It is based on a true

incident that happened when I was in third or fourth grade.

Why?

You've been my father

at least that's what they think.

But where were you

on that hot humid day

as I stood in my uniform

outside that old brick school?

I waited and waited

for you to come get me.

You finally did, of course,

in that old blue station wagon

with the beat up seats.

Why did you make me worry so?

As I stepped into that dirty car

the smoke burned my nose

and made me cough and wheeze.

You knew I couldn't breathe

in a car full of smoke.

Why did you do that?

I looked at you,

my eyes filling with tears,

you were wearing a long sleeved shirt.

In that heat,

it could only mean one thing.

You must have been trying

to hide the holes in your arms.

Why do you try to hide the obvious?

As we headed home,

you said sorry for being late.

I said it was okay

even though it wasn't.

We entered the apartment

and the stale smell

of cigarettes and beer greeted me.

You had left the living room

and kitchen a mess.

The beer bottles were piled on the table;

you hadn't even tried to hide them.

Why couldn't you do more?

I looked around and saw

that mom's stereo was missing

I went to my room to get away.

Perhaps my Barbies could show

me a family that wouldn't

steal from one another

just to get another high.

But as I entered my room

I noticed that my CD player

had also been taken.

And my stuff had been gone through,

I'm certian, to find anything of value.

Why must you steal from your only child?

You had gone to your room

to sleep off the high

so I quietly went into my closet

with my dolls and played.

That was my only sanctuary

when you shot up and mom screamed.

Why were you so bad?

After you got up,

you remembered to take me to

the skate party.

The joy of the other

elementary school children

couldn't seem to life my spirits

as I skated around the gym

wondering what you were doing.

You were on time picking me up

but you didn't look much better.

I knew you had been at it again

and I was sure it was my fault

for not watching you more closely.

Why did you have to make me feel like that?

I showered with tears that night

then laid my head down on my soft pillow

and quietly wept and prayed

for my mother, my real family,

to come home soon.

Why did you have to make me cry?

All I wanted was a father

but I got you...Why?

September 2, 2005

Terry that is so moving, how old were you when you wrote that poem?

Maybe your father is now feeling remorse for what he put you through as

a kid but I don't blame you being wary of him, how could you trust him

after all that. It obviously still hurts and probably always will.

I understand the bit about him smoking, my Mother smoked around me all

my childhood despite knowing I had asthma. I resent that to this day

because I have permanent lung damage. I used to cry and beg her not to

do that as I couldn't breathe, we don't have a fantastic relationship

to this day, I find her very selfish. But my father was an angel, the

hero in my life, he died 11 years ago and I miss him always.

Drugs are such destructive things, you do wonder why people need them

to be happy.

I hope things are better in your life now, thank you for sharing your

story with us

June

> So strange thing happened the other day. When I got home from work,

> I looked at my phone and it said I had missed a call from my dad.

> For a little background: My dad was (and could still be) a drug

> addict and alcholic. He wasn't always there for me when I was

September 2, 2005