I do wish that I could write about my father in a way that praises him for being a more loving one.
My dad was a very private man as I was growing up. He never wanted to spend his time with me. He would get me set up with a project, only after my mother had suggested it, and then go about his business. That’s not what my mother had meant. She was getting at him spending time with me within a project. Father and son stuff. He obviously wasn’t interested. There was always something else to do, and it didn’t involve me. I suppose that was okay, and maybe he knew I would be able to work independently?
I’ve always enjoyed working with my hands. I was blessed with not only a father, but a grandfather on my mother’s side who always had projects to complete. My dad was a general contractor who spent much of his time away. When he was home, he only wanted to relax. He would sit alone with a smoke and possibly a beer or two. He was a very distant man even when his family was a seat away. It was odd. He never wanted to engage in things with a son who sat at the same table with him; a kid who wondered why he was not a bigger part of his father’s life.
My dad and I have tried to develop a relationship throughout the years. It has only been because of my efforts. Never his first. I still had that same longing for a father throughout all of those years. Within those decades of wondering what his choices to remain so very far from me had come from, that same distance of years before was present when we did meet up. He was always reserved. A simple conversation was accompanied by a tenseness that seemed to have him preoccupied with an unknown. The side looks when engaging in conversation. Like he didn’t want to be there. “What did I do?” “Was it my mother?” “Did he do something awful?” “Is he mentally unstable?” All of these questions I would ask myself. I never received an answer, and I probably never will.
It bothers me to see my dad struggle with himself to such severity. Throughout the last two years, I have really come to terms with the reality of how my dad is. If he were to knock on my door, I suppose I would let him in? About two years ago, I had told him that I didn’t want to talk to him anymore. After his reluctance to engage in a relationship for the umpteenth time, I decided that it was probably best for both of us to part for good.
I pray for my father. He claims to know the Lord. He has been so religiously harsh towards me when we did talk these last few times. That’s a trait I do not want in my walk with the God I know to be loving. It was only causing me a great deal of pain; all of these efforts of trying to make my dad, be a dad. It is just not worth my energy anymore. The great things and God’s love within those things are what I am focusing on. If the Lord decides to put it on his heart to be a dad someday, I’ll be here.
My father had major heart surgery months back. His sister, whom I had not seen or heard from since I was a teenager, contacted me during that time. She kept me informed throughout the process. Daily, she would send me long texts informing me of his progress. At the end of many ups and downs within his healing, he fully recovered. I had sent him a message from my heart that she relayed to him during that time, and he responded in his same weird ways. There was a big part of my mother whose resonance played a part in his response. At the end of short communications through texts, we mutually agreed to, again, stay away from each other.
We are to honor our mother and father. God commanded it. In my case, I do honor him by staying away from the troubled man. If he consistently rejects me, then I have no choice but to remain distant. I’ve really seen throughout these last few years that the Lord knows what is best for both of us. Even though the pain still lingers in these current years, the joy is so overwhelming. Never taken for granted. The passing days of being blessed with the numerous pleasures of His making are my focus. That is where I desire to stay. Abiding in His peace is paramount.