It just dawned on me that I didn’t speak to my father this Thanksgiving. The rift between us has obviously grown, and in such a way that it has become something I don’t think about much. I’m not proud of the fact that neither of us was willing to pick up a phone and go through the so-called motions, you know, the idle chit chat and awkward pauses. We have both failed to return calls over the last year, and we both never seem to care enough to call and apologize. Come to think of it I’m not even sure where he lives. A few months ago he sold his house in Florida and I haven’t heard anything about whereabouts since. I can find out easy enough though. Maybe by Christmas one of us will have made a connection….
You see, I keep this blog up, despite the fact that it keeps me awake when I should be sleeping, for a few reasons. One is because I love my son and I don’t want to be another forgotten black dad. Another is because I know my family life isn’t, and wasn’t perfect, which is something that others can relate to. And finally, blogging is therapeutic for both the writers and the readers; I live for the “ah ha” moments that come from reading other people’s stuff and knowing that even if we differ in opinion on matters of race or politics or parenting, we are bound by our love of our children and families. ‘Tis the season to be sappy!
I would tell you not to worry, but NOPE, not gonna do that! If you love your son so much, what makes you think your father don’t love you just as much?
Remember one thing, Fathers were not allowed to be an emotional, sensitive guy until the late eighties, nineties and presently in the 2000’s. Before, he was there for one purpose, to provide for his family while keeping a roof over their heads, food on the table, clothes on your back and a butt-whupping when you stepped out of line. It was done to keep you from going to jail.
I think that is ONE of the Black Father’s biggest fears, keeping their sons out of jails or the court systems, because they are not kind to Black men.
It took years for my father and myself to even tell a joke, and not offend each other, after I became an adult.
My friend, it amazes me, that my dad wants to have all these conversations NOW, but not long about we would walk by one another and NOT speak, and didn’t seem to give a damn either.
Forget that, speak first. Even if he acts funky to you, speak anyway. Also, try to go sit down and have a conversation with him. I didn’t it would be easy, but too much pride on both sides, leave very little time to enjoy one another….*Peace*
Been lurking for a minute now and thought I’d comment on a relative subject to me, the dysfunctional family, oh the ties that bind!
I have many aha moments here :-} I’m enjoying it fully and I have listened to a couple of your podcasts as well.
I’ll be back, just like the terminator.