There was my foot injury.
There was my solo confinement - [which was way pre-pandemic and a necessary time to heal and learn to walk again.]
There was the pandemic.
There was the worldwide confinement. [Welcome everyone to the stay-at-home life. All together in this, ironically I felt less lonely, and I was a pro already! Anything you’d want to know about life at home, you could just ask me]
There was the masks.
There was the gloves.
There was the 5 hours lines at Costco [um… we actually just drove by it, no way I was not gonna stand there.]
There was the toilet paper shortage. [Go figure.]
There was the bleach. [No comment]
Then…
There was Georges Floyd.
There was #blacklivesmatter.
There were the walks.
There were the riots.
There was anger. So much anger. Injustice. Frustration. Horror. Indignation. Fear. Helplessness. Feeling small. Eyes burning. A desperate scream for #equalrights !
There were voices rising. And voices heard.
There were new laws finally criminalizing police chokeholds.
There was a discreet #pridemonth.
There was #Juneteenth.
There was little to no room for joy, or hope.
And then....
There was Father’s Day.
Yup... that day...
You would think that there is enough tragedy in the world, who cares about father’s day? Especially, if it’s to throw a pity party…
But I can’t help it… I’m human… with human feelings.
So… Father’s day… A day I dread every year... A day that is never skipped. Never forgotten. Those TV commercials and ads at every corner won’t let you forget. Even if I was deaf and blind, I think I would feel it come. Mother’s day is not that far before, like a trumpet playing ‘Taps’, that’s the signal, the annunciation of that F****** Day coming. Ha! You might think I meant the F-cursing-word, but I actually just meant to not pronounce that other word, you know? [All right, I’m just gonna whisper it: father, but sh! I don’t want to pronounce it again] How interesting though... that not pronouncing the F-not cursing-word can unintentionally read as the other F-cursing-word.
Anyways… just to be clear, I was evoking the ‘Taps’, that sad and melancholy call played at military funerals, not because my F***** is dead, (nor was he in the military), but because I feel the way anyone feels when that call is played. I feel Death inside, death around. Pretty heavy, huh for a F****** Day? Well, my feelings.
So, yeah, my F***** is alive. But what does it really mean? If you’re my f***** and literally provided half of my DNA that makes me me, but you’re not part of my life, that you’re NOT giving a single SIGN of LIFE, I think the closest to that is DEATH. The absence of life is the very definition of death, isn’t it?
So F****** Day has been for me like a yearly a-WAKE-ning to those morbid and dark feelings.
How have I dealt with it so far?
Faking it. Silencing it. Stifling it. But you know the more you try to stifle your feelings, the more they're gonna blow back in your face… But I’ve tried. I've closed my eyes, covered my ears, tried to avoid those invading F****** Day commercials about what is actually nothing else than a commercial day just to generate more sales. Really. What’s the point to celebrate a dad?... I mean only one day in the year? Shouldn’t you celebrate them every day if it was coming from a place in your heart rather than from the market place?
I can smile at my friends and sincerely wish them a happy F****** Day.
I can fake it. But I can’t help it. That ache that burns inside.
So, every year, usually what I do is dive into silence. I don’t post. Or I thank my mom for being the mom and dad in my life. [I did have my godfather who was a sort of father figure. I loved him deeply but it’s not the same.]
That day, every year, turns me into that child, with that ache, that angry child, that pity child jealous and envious, unable to hear happy dad stories. I mean, do they even exist? Maybe in Disney?
So… yes I dove again into silence on F****** day 2020. I let that day beat me down again. But something different happened. That was very strange and interesting. A new AWAKE-ning. Like a trip outside of myself. I was able to distance myself from my self. A part of me wanted to feel happy. A part of me was yearning for a feeling of peace: I want to make peace with that day.
Yes ok, it’s a few days later. Big time difference. It's not like there isn't another one coming next year. Time does fly. The countdown has already started. So I’d better work on making peace with that day right now. It's not like I’m gonna transform overnight (I wish). It's like working out. It's an every day job. Tomorrow I might have that ache again, but it’s OK. I have to try. I want to try it. That’s why I’m writing it out here in the public. So I can hold myself accountable. I want to try. Above all, I want to taste it, I want a taste of being happy and celebrating all the fathers who are there for their children. Those are the ones who count. And above all, I want to celebrate all the children, kids or adults, 1-month-old or 99-years-old, all the children of their fathers, all the children who happily celebrate their fathers. I want to not only be happy for them, but happy WITH them.
So... happy belated (now I can say it) FATHER’s Day to all.
***And now... back to the real tragedy… Let’s remember that our world is screaming inside out for a change. We can all be that change, we can all stand up for equal rights, equal justice, and fight the worst virus human kind created: racism. You can support anti-racism here: https://linktr.ee/action