a nontraditional father

This is not the traditional tribute to fathers, but you see, my father was far from traditional.  My father was abusive verbally, emotionally and sexually.  He was diagnosed bipolar, but self medicated with alcohol.  This was a secret, as he was a very financially successful man and well respected among his peers and in the community.  My father passed away about ten years ago.  He literally drank himself to death.  As Father's Day approaches, my emotions become raw as I see others celebrate their fathers.  I see how lucky they are to have a positive man to look at, and I am saddened by my own images to draw from on this holiday. 

Nonetheless, there are some positive things about my father.  There were a few snippets of almost warmth in our relationship.  There were times that he seemed truly happy, if at least for a moment.  I want to draw on these positive things, because despite the fact that I hate the things he did to me, he was my father.  He was a human being and there is love and compassion there for him too. 

My father loved sailing and sail boats.  He built them for a hobby.  I remember he would spend  hours and hours building boats.  Sometimes he would allow me to help him sand or grab a tool for him.  When he was finished, was the magical time.  Sailing was his passion.  He would take us out on the boat at the lake, and we would spend hours there.  He taught me how to do the sails, and use the rudder to guide the boat.  The boats he built were also sea worthy, and we went on San Francisco Bay too.  He had a best friend Kenny, and they would participate in sail races.  I can almost hear him say, "coming about!", which meant time to duck, while the mast swung over your head.  These were good times, and good memories, because he forgot somehow that I was just a girl.  I was allowed to sail too. 

My father was very intelligent, and loved to read and write.  My love for the written word was sparked and encouraged by him.  He would always read my school work and edit it.  He would get passionate about the topic and discuss it with me.  I would get busy on the revision, and he would come back with a spark in his eye giving another suggestion.  It was unfortunate that he did not honor his promise to a college education, and snatched it away midstream.  He demanded that I get married, as that is why he sent me college.  He quit paying for it in the last quarter of junior year, because i refused to marry.  Nonetheless, he instilled in me the love to write, and those times were magical. 

My father loved wood working, and built many pieces of furniture for our house.  It was intricate and beautiful.  Although he did not allow me to participate, I admired his workmanship.  I remember very vividly him cutting out animal shapes for me, when I was about five.  They were zoo animals, and he gave me some paint, so I could paint too.  When I was about 15, he cut his hand on the saw.  It was bad enough for stitches, and I was the only one home.  I did not drive or have a permit yet, but I went with him to the hospital to get stitches.  As he has passed on, I have a few of the items that he made.  I look at them and think positive thoughts about him.  He was skilled and patient with the wood.

On the eve of Father's Day I sit and contemplate a complex man.  A man on one hand that was so abusive and violent, and on the other was a man that had unique interests and passions.  I have love for him, and am able to draw a few good memories from the relationship.  I have learned com(with)passion (suffering), forgiveness, and love.  Don't get me wrong there is also anger, but I am working to resolve this.  Seeing him as a man with many horrible weaknesses, and not a monster, allows me to heal.  It allows me to forgive.  It allows me to move on.  Happy Father's Day Dad.