Welcome to Father's Day 2012, here at, Band Back Together. Today, we celebrate fathers-to-be, fathers whose treasures who are in heaven, fathers who don't deserve the title, fathers who have shaped who we are for good, for bad, for life.
Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, Happy Father's Day, The Band.
The Dad is hilarious. He used to call me in the middle of the night to tell me about the great commercials he'd seen.
Now that he's learned how to text, I hear from him every few seconds. The terror I felt when he learned to use emoticons and make little hearts was indescribable. It got worse when he learned to use the camera on his phone; an endless stream of pictures of his dog, his lunch, and (oh heavens help me), The Bird.
The Bird is my fault.
My ex-husband and I used to live with The Dad and we had three small birds that The Dad adored. When we moved out, he was terribly sad. I soothed him by offering a rescued African Grey because he loved the super-smart parrots on television. That was when The Madness began. He wasn't happy with the cage that came with her, so we got a free one online that was big enough to house three macaws and spent three hours disinfecting it at the car wash with bleach, vinegar and a high pressure washer.
As I'm sure you can guess, he was heartbroken when his Grey was lost. The Dad has attachment issues. It took him twelve years to get a new dog after our first one was poisoned, and he never let the new dog out of his sight. It took him several years but he started volunteering at a bird rescue where he met The Bird. Of course it was love at first sight, and they bonded immediately.
Now The Dad thinks he's Baretta, because The Bird is a cockatoo. The Bird also hates anything female. This means it LOVES my fiance. The Dad thinks we're going to keep it forever and ever when he dies, and because I love The Dad I suppose we will. I'm going to have to buy a hockey mask and gloves, but we will. I can't say no because no matter what, I've always had The Dad's support.
I cannot lie to The Dad. If there's something I don't want to tell him, I just don't call him until I can handle it because I feel terrible keeping secrets from him.
Most recently, when I lost my job, I didn't call him for two weeks. I was afraid to tell him what happened. I was sure he would be ashamed of having a daughter who had everything she ever wanted one minute, then turned a ball of rolling panic attacks the next.
In spite of being able to talk to everyone in the world about my mental illness, I was afraid to talk to the one person who mattered.
When I finally called him, The Dad yelled at me. Not because he was disappointed or ashamed, but because he'd been worried about me. He said I wasn't completely lost to the world, I was just having some problems and I should just take the time I needed to get back to the right place. And, of course, that he would support me no matter what.
I don't like Father's Day because I feel like it's unnecessary.
Every day I'm alive, I'm grateful for my father, for being there and showing me that every person is different and awesome. For showing me that hate creates more hate, and that love is the best way to heal any hurt.
I love you, The Dad.5 Comments