Father's Day or Mother's Day isn't much of a holiday for me. Not for my memories of my own parenting bymy biological parents or for myself as a parent. The latter is simple. My children do not live nearby.
The former requires some explaining. I didn't have much of a relationship with my own father. The memories I have of him s a child, say under ten were dear ones. He was fun, took us swimming, taught us to camp and love the woods as he did. I kept up with that legacy, though not as much as I would have liked. Circumstances present themselves. I do live in the woods now. I am grateful for every moment here.
As I began developing my own personality, my father and mother became distant with one another. I never remember them being intimate or affectionate with each other. I do remember them going out together - parties and dancing.
Dad changed on my eleventh year. He became demanding, aggravated, distant. He once went three months without speaking to me. This was ever present in my childhood with my parents. Their unhappiness became mine. Until I could grow out of it which I mostly did.
When he walked out that Good Friday, I rarely saw him again. He remarried and made a new life which did not include my brother or me. He made it clear he did not want me to live with him.
I wish I could wish him a Happy Father's Day. I don't. I do remember happy times with him, few that they were. I also know he was a deeply unhappy, depressed man who didn't take much responsibility for his family.
If I remember anything, gifts or not, it is the love of nature, the love of the woods. Happy Father's Day, Dad. I wish you could have enjoyed it with me.
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