It’s that time of year again.
Social media is awash with pictures and sentiments to “the world’s best Dad” a thousand times over, Facebook even greets you with a “Happy Father’s Day” message and suggests you celebrate. I don’t feel much like celebrating.
I don’t begrudge any of it at all, I applaud all the father’s who stepped up and tried, even the ones who didn’t try very hard at all. I sent my son to his dad’s in a babygro with “Happy First Fathers’ Day” across the front, with cards, a gift, and a smile. Let them celebrate and enjoy their day.
Which leaves me alone and contemplating my past, and things about my father I will never have answers to. I’ve never met him, he’s never expressed a wish to meet me. I have his name but no photographs, a name that is empty without a face to put it to.
I don’t often think about him these days, when I was younger and my only father figure was my abusive adoptive parent I used to think about my “real dad” showing up and taking me away from it all, thinking maybe he didn’t know what had happened to me and that if he did know he would definitely, definitely do something about it.
Dream on kid.
Obviously now I’m over that naivety, I know he knew and I know he did not care. I know he has multiple children with multiple women and he walked out on every single one of them. I know he isn’t the kind of person I would want in my life.
Yet still here I am, feeling hollow, as so many people that I know are spending the day with their father’s and I’m spending the day with my Netflix account. That’s what father’s day is like without a father. It’s hollow. It’s a non day, a nothing day, a gaping empty space day. But it’s also a good day to remind myself of what I have got, my beautiful son, my amazing best friend and the family that chose to be there.
What more could I need, really?