My Letter to my Father for Father’s Day

There’s something I find deeply admirable about my father. He’s someone that truly, deeply, loves coming across people and talking to them. He’ll randomly talk to any and every person, even if they technically may not want to converse back.

I’ve adapted to be this type of person at times. Or, incredibly quiet and defensive depending on the situation. I can read people like a book with an intuition that is other worldly. But it’s hard for me to like someone enough to let them into my world. I’ll be kind to them, help them, but they will never know who I truly am.

There was this touching moment where someone asked me if I was my father’s daughter. I was at a funeral for his mother’s passing and traveled thousands of miles within 48 hours to be there for him. I had tried to avoid eye contact because the entire experience was a certain amount of emotional shit I don’t like processing through.

This lady knew my father as a little boy. I noticed her face lit up when I bowed my head and said yes to her question.

“He was always the happiest kid out of all of them. Always smiling, he hasn’t changed or aged in any way. I loved spending time with your father when he was little.”

I told my father about this conversation exchange I had. He was overjoyed to hear this and the smile beamed from his face. My father taught me how to bowl, fish, golf, and we spent so many quiet moments together when I was a little girl. We also rode roller coasters together and those are some of my best memories.

Parental Differences

My mother wasn’t the biggest fan of me when I was younger. It’s a sad admission, but she’ll readily admit to the fact that my younger self was something she hardly tolerated.

As I turned into a teenager my father and I drifted as my mother got me to do the things she wanted. It seemed to be a strange game they played of “who is the favorite parent?”

My father doesn’t believe in his own strength or ability. He hasn’t heard many good, or great things, about himself over the years. His mother liked to play a game of two of the older boys being her ‘favorite.’ My brother was told to me that he was the ‘favorite’ child as well. And so my father and I have the same upbringing of being limited or told that we aren’t as capable as we can be.

My father is a happy go lucky type of guy. He’s easy going to a fault and one of those people who goes along with a lot of things. If there is one thing I’d want him to know it’s that he’s stronger than he gives himself credit for. That he can live without depending on someone else dictating what he should do.

I’ve told him before that my ability to approach people and just have discussions is probably in part to him. As I’ve gotten older I’ve embraced caring less for people’s opinions. I’ll share what’s on my mind nine times out of ten. And I always make sure whatever conversation I’m having that I’m sharing something kind, considerate, or good with someone. The world has enough negativity that you never should tear someone down.

I miss the simplicity of being a child. Where old wounds and scars don’t exist. Unfortunately, returning to simpler times isn’t possible.

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