A No Father's Day

               Ironically, the only memories I have of my dad are of me running away from him. We lived in Paraguay, South America for 5 years as a child and I have about a handful and a half of memories of him and they are all of him either being angry at me, or chasing me with a belt. I once ran into a bush trying to get away from him, I once bled from his spankings. I thought the terror ended when my parents divorced when I was 8 and my mom took my sister and me to America and my brother stayed with my dad in South America. That was the last time I saw my dad, at the airport waving at us goodbye. 

               Afterwards, I did hear from him a few times over the years. A phone-call here, a random greeting card there. Once I started college I decided to send him a picture of myself. One I had taken of me and developed in the darkroom in one of my photo classes. I liked that picture of me, I looked proud, healthy and strong, and beautiful. Heartbreakingly, I never got a response from him. Years and years later, my brother would reveal to me that he did no write me back because he was married to a jealous woman who convinced him that all I wanted was money and so he never responded to me. Even more years later passed and he was in his deathbed and he asks to meet with my sister and me. My sister went, I did not. I just could not get over how slighted I felt. He died a few months later and the guilt was almost too much to bear. There ended my relationship with my father, a handful of strung-together memories of me running, terrified, not knowing what I had done wrong. I don't even have a picture of him, only the one of him in my memories. 

            I don't ever think of my father these days, except days like this of course, Father's Day. He is not part of any comfort thoughts for me, a total nothing. The hell I lived through in my youth, after the divorce, came and went and he was not around to prevent any of it, alone I dealt with all of it. Many more years later, I met with his older brother and his family and was given a slew of forgiving excuses for why he was never around. Most of the excuses they gave fell under the category of blaming my mom of course. I don't doubt my mom played a big role in this separation between me and my dad, yet, had he even fought back, even a tiny bit, I would have known. Knowing he was "fighting" for me would have boosted my self-worth tremendously..... 

               So I stand here at 43 still puzzled, perplexed at to how one can procreate and just walk away without a fight, without a care. I will never know why he never even tried. Building my self-worth back up from these ashes has taken years. But days like these are not easy.