No big surprise -

Fathers Day is hard for some of us.

It's only as we get older, 

and especially if we become parents ourselves,

that we fully understand

 ALL parents are imperfect;

we are ALL capable of wounding our children
in ways we never intended; 

disappointing them;

hurting them

by being less than

they'd hoped we'd be; 

less than they know they deserve.

My father was imperfect.

He was capable of inflicting pain

and, worse,

capable of total disinterest

in his children -

unavailable because of his addictions

and personal demons.

But, from him,

I inherited

love of the written word

and photography,

an appreciation for music

and

a quirky sense of humor!

My sons father was imperfect too...

leaving them in increments

until he was well and truly gone.

It's amazing though...

imperfections don't cancel out love;

wounds don't negate the connections.

It's complicated -

painful,

and sometimes,

very hard.

How do we forgive our fathers, 

maybe in a dream?

Do we forgive our fathers for leaving us too often, 

or forever, 

when we were little?

Maybe for scaring us with unexpected rage, 

or making us nervous, 

because there never seemed to be any rage there at all.

Do we forgive our fathers for marrying, 

or not marrying our mothers, 

for divorcing, 

or not divorcing our mothers?

And shall we forgive them 

for their excesses of warmth 

or coldness?

Shall we forgive them for pushing or leaning, 

for shutting doors, 

for speaking through walls, 

or never speaking, 

or never being silent?

Do we forgive our fathers in our age 

or in theirs?

Or in their deaths, 

saying it to them, 

or not saying it?

If we forgive our fathers 

what is left?

Sherman Alexie

Smoke Signals

We come to love not by finding a perfect person, 

but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly.

For decades,

I wasn't sure I would ever say this again;

but I can say it 

and mean it now...

I love you, Daddy;

thanks for all you were able to give me.

ps:  the no big surprise? -
fathers are imperfect ...
so are mothers!