I used to feel sorry for myself on Father’s Day, grumble and pout. I had a father, but after I was four he lived never less than 1500 miles away and visits were invariably awkward and uncomfortable, often downright painful. I had two step-fathers. They tried, bless their hearts, but they had insurmountable challenges. In 1992, my step-fathers long gone, my father died. And with him any hope that I might have to finally know and be known by my father was snuffed out.
I’ve beamed at the fathers my brothers and friends have become and I’ve coveted the warm, loving fathers my friends have had. Though always with a bit of melancholy.
But these last two years something has changed for me. In two weeks I’m marrying for the first time. I’m going to marry a father. The only reason I know him is because he’s a good father. He left his home and life in the Bay Area to come to LA because it was best for his new family. When that marriage ended he stayed in this city he hates because it was best for his son. He wanted to know his son, he wanted his son to know him. He has no family here, his friends are all relatively new but he takes pains to be close with his ex’s family, to have a peaceful, cooperative, friendly relationship with all of them. He takes his son to school and camp; makes us dinner; twists his schedule around to make baseball games, school meetings, performances, birthday parties. He explains things to him, teaches him new things, challenges him to challenge himself. They play catch and cook and garden. He sits through “The Flash.” Every night before bed he hugs his son and tells him he loves him. He checks on him and kisses his sleeping head before he goes to bed himself.
I am in love and seeing my future of marriage and partnership and kindness laid out before me ONLY because he is, and works so hard to continue to be, a good father.
Happy Father’s Day, my love.
People consider me brave! They tell me I inspire them. They tell me they’re proud of what I’ve accomplished. They admire my willingness to endlessly challenge myself! They admire my fearlessness!
I’m riddled with fear. Constantly. Always have been, as long as I can remember. I’ve sometimes been swallowed up by it. This, I’m sure, is a human condition.
This is exacerbated for me by an anxiety complex. This, I’m sure, is a familial condition. I’ve been blessed by genes that make me prone to “fits” and “episodes” that reduce me to a gelatinous form under my bed with all the lights off and shades drawn. This confuses the dogs.
Continue reading “Fear vs. Compulsion”
My mother used to have this word that she used to identify those perfect strangers in the world that pop up when you most need them: lost in a city; broken down on the highway; purse stolen. She called them “Runners.” They come in, grant you a little miracle of grace, and disappear forever.
I would like to thank David, my Runner for tonight who insisted, no seriously, INSISTED that he change my tire for me. He ran out between Fantasy Football Picks (a little buzzed) and worked on the tire. When he had to leap up he’d point at me and yell, “Don’t touch ANYthing! Seriously. I’ll be right back and I’ll clean this all up for you!” He apologized that it was taking so long.
I was a little shaken when my tire blew, didn’t know who to call, discovered I DIDN’T in fact have roadside assistance like I thought I did but I’ve changed tires before, it wasn’t really too big a problem for me. But David said, “I grew up in the boondocks of Seattle.” And when I didn’t respond he said, “I’ll never let a woman change her tire. It’s just not right.”
And he told me *I* must be good luck because he was getting all of his picks. I figure it was just his great karma. What a sweetheart.
Today in Craigslist: (listed in Creative Gigs)
*The Occult needs you – witches, goths, welcome
That’s all it said.
The Occult needs you – witches, goths, welcome
And a link. I did not click on the link.