This father’s day, I celebrated by buying myself a pot of shaving cream. This then set off a bout of dysphoria, but that’s not the point. I am a good dad to me, and I deserve a suitably dadsy present.
Sometimes, I think I paint my dad too black. He spent much of my childhood driving me around the country to various chess competitions, buying me chess books and encouraging me.
He took me swimming. He let me drink beer and watch European football midweek, eating spaghetti and sausages from a tin- stuff mum wouldn’t ever have allowed. He took me to the pub, bought me McDonalds.
But he did all these things because they suited him. He pushed me to do chess, but karate (which I now have a student national silver medal in, dad, not that you’d know) fell by the wayside. He was late home from work every time and didn’t get me there on time. If you’ve ever done martial arts, you know that being late is a serious offence- and I was punished for it.
My dad texted me recently to let me know that he’d just been to a philosophy festival. He’s not a man I recognise. My dad drank Stella Artois from the can and read Tom Clancy novels, was clean-shaven for 50 years of his life. He had a passion for electronics and made really good roast potatoes. He made snide comments in Mass. He didn’t care for philosophy or spirituality.
I know the cause- he’s showing off for his new girlfriend, who does wiccan funerals. She likes Sade and is, by many accounts, a complete bitch.But this is not about her.
This is about my dad and how he came to visit me twice in the four and a half years I lived away from home (before I cut ties). How he pushed me to do things I didn’t want to do because he was ashamed of himself for leaving school at 16. How he emotionally manipulated me to try and stop my mother from divorcing him.
How he failed me so utterly that I never want to speak to him again.
But this post is also about me, and how I may never get the chance to be a father.
As I have posted before, according to UK law, if a baby comes out of your uterus, you’re its mother. Regardless of whether you’re legally a man or not. On your child’s birth certificate, it reads “mother”.
I could never be anyone’s mother. Or girlfriend. Or wife. Or daughter. I’m just not that. It would be so very painful to suffer this on what should really be one of the best days of my life.
I don’t know what I’m getting at here, except that I feel sad, and inferior. I want, above all things, a hug. And then I want to be a father, no ifs or buts. I want to get a shitty homemade card on Father’s Day, and put it up on the mantlepiece like it’s a work of art.
I want to be the dad mine never was, loving unconditionally. Bringing my kids up to be proud of who they are, and not ashamed (as I have been made) to not have done better. To love and be loved without question.
I want to be a father.