A Father's Day Confession

Dad. My Dad. Remembering him on Father's Day.

Sometimes you can never figure a person out. You get to know your father when you grow up in his presence. Then you leave home, and begin to see that he has a life apart from yours, and you are okay with that. In fact, more than okay, you are glad that your life is apart from his because you disagree so much with how he chooses to live.

But years later, when you are even older, say in your forties, you understand something else about your father: you understand that he doesn't have to fit your image of a father, just as you don't have to fit his image of a daughter. You also learn that he has always adored you, that you are his oldest daughter, his #1 child, and nothing will ever change that status.               

                                                            

My Dad was a military man. He joined the Air Force at a very young age, and from what I understand about his early years with my mother, my dad joined the military to make a better life for himself and his family. Looking back at all that my dad did with his life, I know that that one single event, joining the Air Force, indeed changed the course of his life. For the better.

I adored my Air Force dad. He was so handsome in his uniform. The image of my dad standing tall in his blues forever branded me to love men in uniform. And so it was no surprise that the man I married was also an Air Force man. Stationed at the same AirBase as my dad. My brothers also joined the military. I have a photo somewhere of all four of my brothers in their military uniforms, joined by our proud father in his uniform.

It wasn't without its sacrifices. My dad had to move from Air Base to AirBase, around the country, across the ocean twice. Always taking his family with him. My mother followed him around the world, her seven children in tow. I was a kid all those years, and from a kid's perspective, it was fun and exciting to move about from one part of the country to another, from one country to another. My dad's commitment to the Air Force, renlisting as he did to stay in each time he came up for discharge, gave his children the opportunity to travel around the world, to learn new languages, to meet people with different views about the world. It was a super field trip one would never get in a regular classroom

Not only that, but when a young man joins the military, he is given health care, and his family is given health care. Because of this, we were always taken care of in the matters of health. I can only imagine what we would have lacked had my dad not joined the military. I don't think I'd ever have made it to NC if we had stayed in Connecticut to live out our lives. Our family story would be oh so different had our dad not taken the initiative to run off and join the Air Force. I thank him always for doing that one thing.

My dad never earned high rank. Just before he retired from the Air Force, I remember he was promoted to Staff Sergeant. I can't imagine how difficult it was for him and my mother to raise their seven kids on the pay of an Airman First Class. I was in college by the time he retired.

But raise us they did, and my mother worked as long as I can remember to supplement the family income.

                                     

There we are, all nine of us in a photo that had to have been taken in 1995 or 96. Dad and mom in the middle on the left. It was the last time all of us would be photographed together. Since then, two of us are gone, my father and my baby sister. She's the one on the bottom left. We still grieve for her untimely death, and that of her daughter.

Dads are supposed to die eventually, and ours did. He was in his late 60's and a strong fighter. He'd had a stroke and triple by-pass surgery about ten years prior to his accident that broke his neck. In his last years, he suffered a great deal, and we could do nothing to ease his pain. Mostly it was emotional pain, but he tried to keep that from us. He shared bits and pieces with us from time to time, but my dad was holding back a lot about his own childhood that he didn't want us to know.

So, I want to say this to my dad: "I love you so much. I miss you so much. I wish you could be here one more day so I could kiss you one more time, to kiss the top of your head, my favorite place where you had lost all your hair. I want to touch that face one more time, hug your neck one more time, Dad, because in the end, there is no other dad for me like you.

I would call you today if I could, all the way from NC to Ga because that is what I always did on Father's Day, and I would hear your voice answer the phone, "Hello, my daughter!" for those are the words I remember hearing when I called you. No one is going to call me daughter like that again. Others will call me by my birth name, but it won't sound the same as when you say "Beatrice."  Those three words, "my daughter" and Beatrice were only spoken by you in the special way you had of saying it.  I will never forget the good times we had. Thank you dad for all that you gave. I know it was a great deal more than I ever gave back in return. I love you always and forever."

I know many of you out there have lost your fathers, others of you have fathers who live far away, or who are estranged from the family. For whatever reason, make peace. Call the man who raised you from a child.

I know some people had such horrid experiences with the man who was their father that they cannot be in their presence ever again. I understand. I am so sorry that some children have to grow up without a father, or with a father who is not involved with their growing up, or with a father who would destroy them. I don't know what to say to those who hate their fathers, and I am not going to talk anyone out of their memory, nor their response to that memory.

Daddy is a word saved for the man who fathers us, and who brings us up into adulthood. The word father carries with it a lifetime of images. Each of us carries that image based upon the experiences we have had with our own daddies. If you can take away all the bad memories, hold onto only the good memories, and treasure those, perhaps one can find peace and understanding of her father in this way.

For those who hurt because they felt neglected by their dad: Just try very hard to remember one good thing, and then perhaps another will follow. Your good memories will increase. Look at what a good parent you are now. Your father was a good man, and he spoke kind words, and he raised a fine daughter/son. You know everyone makes mistakes. No one is perfect. Your dad wasn't either. Give him that. It's okay. He loved you anyway. To the end, he loved us all.