My father is dead. Never had one conversation with the man. Well, half of one, once, when I was 15. My mom called him, talked to him for a few, then handed the phone to me. I said hello, the most nervous thing I had ever done in my life, but I over came it and did it.
He hung up the phone and the one thing that I know for sure about the man, I didn’t take any bravery I have in my system from him.
But he’s dead, now, and if I were to go out and find out anything about the man, I would be doing it by myself, on my own. I would be facing a monumental task, getting people to divulge information to a bastard child. I would stand a better chance walking up Mt. Everest after a shower, with just a robe and slippers on.
So, there’s that.
I envy you who had your Father in your life,
I pity you who are Fathers and don’t know if your child has clothes on their backs, a decent roof over their head, good food in their belly and if they’re happy…well, a child that doesn’t have their father in their lives, once they become aware that, for whatever reasons, their Father chose not to be in their lives, there will be some kind of feeling in their spirit about that.
So to those men who go through whatever they’re going through and still find a way to be in their child(ren) live(s) much love to you, men.