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Even Google wants you to call your dad.

I write about my mom a lot, primarily because of how close we were and because it's easier to write about someone who you know can't read what you're writing.  Also, my relationship with my dad has always been... complicated.

Yesterday I was scrubbing a grill and baking ribs and doing yard work and I had one of those moments when I thought my mom might be really proud of me.  She gave me a kind of independence that lets me believe I can do just about anything that I can Google instructions for.  And I also realized that being perpetually single is made infinitely easier by having had a mother who made it clear that I don't need a man to clean the gutters.

Today I've been thinking about the ways having my dad in particular made me who I am.  I'm watching baseball, which I love because of him.  I played softball specifically so that we'd have something to talk about other than fishing.  He and mom are both responsible for my ability to fix things, for my belief in the power of a screwdrive, socket set, and duck tape.

He taught me to work hard even when it's hard, and to believe in my own power to change my life, to have something different, even when what I choose is not what he would have chosen for me.  He taught me about regret and the importance of family.

I learned how to throw a shrimp net, put a boat into the water and take it out again without drowning your pickup truck, and cure a ham from him.  He taught me how to pluck a chicken that I raised and killed.  In the case of a zombie apocalypse, he has perhaps singlehandedly made me capable of survival.

And I'm thinking of all my friends who've lost their dads today.  On Mother's Day, I'm so sad and honestly, pretty resentful.  I'm jealous of your mommas, of your ability to call them or not, to take them for granted.  I have no idea if my friends whose dads have died are as petty as me, but as I told my friend Richard today, I'm never sure how I feel about an afterlife.  I'm an atheist, which means I don't think there is one, at least not one where our consciousness survives, but I falter when it comes to my mom.  I can't imagine a world where she just doesn't exist at all, so I let this little belief slide by, that somehow she knows I love her, whatever that means.  Your dads know you love them, too.

Comments

M and M said…
Well said, lady. Thanks for sharing.
June 19, 2011 at 7:42 PM
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