A rogue, really. Here’s a little history about this man I call my father. Be warned, it may be a bit lengthy, you may come to some conclusions that are unwelcoming into my mind, you may come to the same conclusions I have, you may even wonder why it is I still speak with him.
He was born waaaay back when. I can’t say exact, that will give my age away as well. He grew up to a divorced poor family. Before the divorce, he lived with his full family in not quite unhappy conditions. With the divorce, his mother refused him, his father took him in. His stepmother was as evil as they come. She beat him when she had the chance, disciplined him to be a perfect God fearing man. His friends were not immune; he seldom had company because they were forced to help him with his chores or were considered bad children and refused safe passage again. His reprieve from this was school and church, but he wasn’t a great scholar by any standards. He barely passed through school with a C average (yet expected no less than A+’s from me), making his best class football. He was one of the star linebackers for the highschool. This won him a full ride to the University of Oklahoma (GO OU!). However, to put a damper on things, after he had accepted, he found out his girlfriend was pregnant with his first born. Both were 17. Back in those days it was frowned upon to have a child out of wedlock. By 18, they were married and he had to turn around and decline his scholarship.
His first marriage was a sham. It was then he had his first two children, yet caught his wife in bed with his father. This leaves the true paternality of the second child in question, even to this day. Finding her in bed with another man, yet again, sent him into a rage. A bit of time in prison left him with nothing in the world.
A bike rider, bar hopper, and hard worker, he gets mixed up with another woman. No children from this marriage, but not long after vows are made, he’s in jail yet again for finding the woman in bed with another and his rage takes hold. (Seeing a pattern yet?)
When he’s out, he decides to clean up and files for custody of his children. He wins for one, his oldest. They live in a van, believe it or not; one of those chevy home things. Life was grand for them, I think. Sometime in there he meets wife #3. They have nothing but a fling until she’s knocked up (see another pattern?). Down the aisle they walk. My third oldest sister is born (yes, all girls so far). I don’t know the details of this wedding, other than the fact that she’s caught in bed with another (yet again, another pattern), and dad is off to the lawyers.
He ends up free from all his children, unhappily, and working a construction site in SmallTown, Oklahoma. This comes YEARS after traveling from town to town for work. He buddies up with a friend of a friend - a native to this small town (haha, I crack myself up). Not long after they become close friends, the guy plans to hook my father up. This guy is my uncle and plans to hook my father up with his sister - my aunt. When they went out, it was my father, my uncle, and two of his sisters (again, still in the time that every girl had to have a chaperone of some sort). When asked what he thought about the hopeful new girlfriend, my father went on about my mom. Big shocker to my uncle. "But, she’s still in highschool! She’s ten years younger than you!" Well, they hit it off. Unmarried, but living a life of sin. My father began truck driving again, but stopped through town every chance — it was his new home after all. He fell in love and he fell hard. Soon they moved to a small Dallas suburb, still unmarried, as if that would jinx everything and ruin it. Then I was created. My mother is quite stubborn and refused his hand in marriage when they first found out — she grew up around the ultimate stereotype; small town girls DON’T do well with traveling men. Roughly six months AFTER I was born, he convinced her and they tied the knot roughly a week before her birthday. Big month, November.
That’s about when he regained custody of the eldest. By this time, she’s fourteen and going through a nervous breakdown. Might I mention that at only 14, she’s not even 8years younger than my mom? Thus starts tension in the house.
When I was two, my dad lost his eldest daughter. I remember that day in a confusing way; it wasn’t until recently that I learned it wasn’t a dream as my dad kept insisting, it had been real. BJ, the eldest, went off with her mother, in the company of her aunt and a mutual family friend. Not long after this, dad was blessed with yet another little girl. Five girls now.
Two years later, following the same pattern as before, his wife (my mother) was pregnant yet again. They prayed like crazy and finally my dad had his son.
Tension built again as my father convinced my mother to go to college; he’d gone and failed twice between marriages and children and jail. But now he was happily married and wanted that final oppressor gone; he wanted his degree!
No need to mention that this brought on debt, financial crises, suspicion, accusation, a dark cloud of gloom, and a partridge in a pear tree.
With their degrees, my mother worked in the upper east corner of Oklahoma and my father worked in the southern west corner. Life between them was good; strain disappeared, they saw each other EVERY weekend…either we traveled down or he traveled up. It was one of these weekends that the final child, his seventh child, LittleOne, was concieved. Dad was elated.
Two months after her birth, we moved to another Dallas suburb. They became teachers, and the story from there is pretty known. Recently they’ve decided on a divorce, after *mumble* years of marriage (my age = *mumble*, thus you can’t know that).
My father, if I haven’t mentioned it, is quite a hypocrit. He’s the epitome of the "do as I say, not as I do" parents. It was alright for him to sleep with MULTIPLE women out of wedlock, but Heaven forbid I even THINK about it! And have I mentioned, yet, that my sister is to be wed before the baby comes in July? Dad’s doing; he’s personally driving them down and requesting the paperwork, testing, and a judge appointment.
I honestly don’t agree with a lot that he does or says, but he’s my father. Never one to show praise or pride in me, I strove(that even a word?) my whole life for some recognition. It’s times he tells me he loves me and he’s proud of me that I’m uncomfortable; I’m simply not used to it, which makes me dread days like today.
Today, Father’s Day, I am buying dinner for the two fathers in that household; my father and my sister’s husband-to-be. I am taking the entire family out for steak. I rather enjoy spoiling people, yet I’m not so thrilled to be thanked for it, which makes me glad my father’s other gifts (two new expensive fishing rod’n'reels AND a new pocket watch to replace two that were lost in a move) are arriving by mail while I won’t be there. I can handle a phone call, but not a one-on-one hug’n'cry. That’s not my dad, at least to me. He’s supposed to be the tough strong one who never cries, never shows love. I guess it’s a curse of getting older and realizing his EXACT middle child of 7 is all grown up and has moved off. I don’t know, really.
But, if you haven’t noticed, he’s very prideful. Yes, that is a sin and a very dangerous thing, but it’s also something I’ve inheirited. My dad has survived a lot of heartache a trouble in his life, but he’s also caused a lot in mine. It’s a toss up on how I really feel about himm. But what it really comes down to is this: he’s my father. And for that I wish him a Happy Father’s Day.
And to the rest of you father’s out there: Same to you. May those of you who don’t have children, one day know the joy of a baby’s cooing giggle.
