Lately I've been dissatisfied on the relationship I have with my father. We've never really gotten along, but my grandmother's recent passing helped put things in perspective; none of us lives forever. Part of my patience comes from a phrase I coined while waiting for the bus, train, or whatever; "It's only time." Truth is, it's one of the few things we can't get back when we lose it…
I've written my father ice-breaking letters before, but I never could convey the message because I was so pissed off. I haven't felt so angry lately (first time in forever, I can't tell you how good it feels) so I sent him a sincere letter to let him know that I was okay. I cemented this point by stating that I had been able to tap my own legitimate resources to replace the laptop that had just burned out.
On another note, I'm realizing that some people have been waiting for me to "get here" for a very long time. But anyways…
I wasn't expecting such a quick, or forthcoming, response. My father has always been very secretive, he could baffle Batman if he wanted too. So this was unlike him. He told me…we always butted heads because we were so much alike, and he's right. We're both tough as hell and we both can have this intimidating Darth-Vader type presence when we want too.
He also said something to me that he's never said before, and even as I write this, I'm still not sure I believe it. He told me that he actually respected me for being who I was, for staying true to who I was. My father actually said he respected me. Thirty-one years, he's never told me that.
You know, my father was the first person whose opinion I learned to tune out, so I found myself a little embarrassed that I was getting a little misty-eyed as I finished reading the letter. He told me he loved me, something else he never says, and we could talk more often.
I laugh and make stupid jokes when I'm trying to brush off deeper emotions. I didn't fall into a bawling heap or anything. Instead, I wiped my eyes and playfully cussed my old man out; "You fuck…you ALWAYS know how to reach me, don't you…"
I walk into the kitchen—my kitchen—where I'm prepping dinner and my right fist lashes out at the side of the fridge as I force the waterworks back down. That's as emotional as I allow myself to get.
I admit that I feel like I've done it and not just said it; come full circle as a fighter, a martial artist (there is a difference) a game developer, a writer, and as a man. I no longer refer to myself as a "kid".
I miss my children. I'm a horrible father if for no other reason than I allowed them to be removed from me, but things between me and Sam are on a huge upswing. I'll get another chance.
I'll also answer to Terry and Brandon one day. So will their mother.
But for now, there it is, and I need to eat dinner.