What Is A Dad?

A dad is someone who
wants to catch you before you fall
but instead picks you up,
brushes you off,
and lets you try again.

A dad is someone who
wants to keep you from making mistakes
but instead lets you find your own way,
even though his heart breaks in silence
when you get hurt.

A dad is someone who
holds you when you cry,
scolds you when you break the rules,
shines with pride when you succeed,
and has faith in you even when you fail.

–Anonymous

Today was my father’s birthday.  He died in 1999.  This day always freaks me out a little.  He was nothing like the poem above, and God, would it have been nice if he had been!  He was intelligent, sarcastic, funny, taught me to have a great work ethic, and he could be sympathetic at times.  Unfortunately, mostly he was verbally, physically and covertly sexually, abusive. 

In my ancient role as his daughter (which feels like it ended a lifetime ago, not just 9 years), I was defined as the one who would be hypervigilant and then try to fix things.  What I mean by that was I became an expert at judging his mood, the second he came in the door.  I then had to assess which level he was at and determine a course of action.  For example, if he seemed a little cranky, I could usually joke him out of his bad mood using sarcasm, a gift that I shared with him.  Or, if I had done something particularly “good” that day, like bring home straight A’s on my report card, that could turn his mood around.  If he walked in already in a rage, I knew it was going to be a bad night.  I would disappear.  I would be as quiet as a mouse.  I would stay in my room unless my mom called me.  If she did, I simply agreed to whatever she wanted and went back to my room.  It didn’t always work.  When he wanted to, he could find any excuse for an attack.  The unpredictability was crazy-making.  The attacks themselves were shameful.

This is not a pity party or even a blame game.  I forgave him and grieved for my lost childhood a long time ago.  It does make me sad though, to know that he did the best he could.  I wonder what his childhood was like.  He never spoke of it being particularly dysfunctional, but it must have been.  What role did he play as a son?  I can’t say that I miss him exactly, but I do wonder how my life, and my kids’ and hubby’s lives would be different if he were still here, and what roles we would have played in each other’s lives.

Recently, I admitted to some Aunts and Uncles the big “family secret” of his abuse.  It felt good to let the cat out of the bag.  It feels good doing that again, here on this blog.  It wasn’t my fault so there is no reason for me to feel ashamed of it.

I warned you that I have a “dark side”! :) Today is one of those days.  Guess I could have waited to start my blog until after November 3rd….no, what the hell!  This is me.  I hope this wasn’t too much for anyone and I’d love to hear from anyone who has a similar situation. 

Thanks for stopping by!