My father is big on celebrating weekly and he’s why I went to Catholic school growing up.
Growing up my dad and I fought all the time. I swear my teenage angst was wishing to leave the house and take care of myself.
What I never doubted though was that my loved me and wanted to take care of me and all of us. He was the one that checked out tongues to see if they were white or pink, which meant I went to school or didn’t. Dad was the one the nuns called when something happened.
One of my teachers didn’t believe I had a mom the one time my mother signed a permission slip. They were so used to my father’s signature. I was taken the principal’s office and forced to call my mother at her work.
If something happened, dad was there. He was the one that took us to the doctors.
He was also the one who set the rules in my house. It was often his way or the highway. This was the cause of much of my teenage drama. I was the one who had to be home by 5 PM on a weeknight.
Once I hit my thirties and the rebellious spirit in me departed, I realized that my father needed me. I started calling him everyday.
Last year he was sick and in a coma for 5 days. Honestly thinking about that time is heart wrenching still. I’m glad we had moved past all the nonsense and that we talked everyday. I sat in his room and kept the faith. He woke up and he’s been fine since. No, he was scared.
Now that I’m about to be a mom and my husband will be a father for the first time, whose role to do what comes into play. My husband is going to be a wonderful father.
Despite my own headspace as a teenage drama queen, I had a great dad.
In part my dad is always my inspiration. He’s the one who read books all the time, though it was often science fiction/fantasy. As a child himself, he was told that he’d not walk. He was hit by a MAC truck when he was 12 that amputated all five of his toes on his foot. He was a test subject for skin grafting. So when he gets sick and doctors see his skin, they are more interested in getting all the residents in the hospital to put my father on display than fixing the ailment that brought him to the hospital.
So I understand why he’s personally against the hospital. I also get that he has a tremendous spirit that says ‘yes I will walk without a cane.’ He doesn’t use one now. He refuses to apply for a handicap sticker for his car. He doesn’t want to be treated different. He doesn’t have a victim attitude often though he does have a ‘this is how this will happen’ attitude that was often more his stubbornness to see all sides.
I can’t wait for my own child to arrive around August. My dad will meet his granddaughter and then he’ll have a sense that he didn’t waste his time with me.
Fun fact: Oh and he doesn’t consider me a real author as I’ve not written a murder mystery and I stick to romance. He promises that he will call me an author once I kill someone in chapter one and then make the story a whodunit. My sci fi stuff doesn’t count as it’s too romance. This includes the body switching alien who is the star of the Zoastra Affair. Readers don’t worry though. I’m not switching genres. One day I might write that murder mystery to dedicate to my dad, but I love a happy-ever-after. All of this is said in a teasing way though, so I’m not upset with my dad at all.
Okay time to get dressed and wash the sleep out of my eyes. I have a long drive, but it’s Father’s Day. So it will be worth my time.