Who is he? I don’t know. What I mean is; I don’t know who he truly is. I know he’s my father and I know that I lived with him until I reached adulthood, but I don’t really know who he is or what he’s about.
Until this day, he remains enigmatic. My siblings and I agree that his presence is a total mystery to us all. He’s not a terrible father by any means. That’s the good part. The bad part is he is an absentee father, in a sense. Picture this: If I were stranded 50 miles away from home, he would be the LAST person that I would call. Not because I don’t want to, it’s because I would get the feeling that he doesn’t feel like helping. He will in fact allow me to exhaust all of my other options before coming, but he will come if no one else would. The distressing thing is; if I were say, “brother john” from the Kingdom Hall, he would drop what he was doing rather expeditiously.
He caters to the lives of his brothers and sisters of his Jehovah’s Witness faith with more affection than he’s ever shown us. On his weekly missions spreading the Word his sermons reach complete strangers, but yet, fail to even try to reach us, his children. Our ears aren’t closed to his words; he just doesn’t speak them to us –even to find out if we disagree. Barbeques in the park, heart-to-heart talks, drop-offs and pickups and much more, for people he has known less than six years. In 10 days I would know my father for 33 years, he watched each of us come into the world it’s sad that he treats us more like strangers, in a sense.
Indignant feelings arise from time to time, because he’s our Daddy, our father, no matter how old we get. He’s still our family. He has many good qualities, ones that I wish for my own husband. Despite the negative, there are plenty positives and with that, I believe in peace. The contentment of knowing that he loves us and maybe he has a hard time expressing it supersedes all else. It happens. I don’t hold it against him, none of us do. People are put on Earth for a reason, maybe he couldn’t share his emotional state with us, but I do notice his loving side especially with my son, whose six years old and autistic.
It’s ironic to see that here is a boy who isn’t able to hold a conversation with anybody, and a man who has never emotionally expressed feelings to his own children.
If you see them together, you would think they spend countless hours together telling one another interesting stories on wonderful topics. That’s not the case; their connection is based on pure love, in a sense. I love my father; I love him even more when I watch him with my son.
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