I honour good fathers because my father was not. Danny tried but his parents damaged him so badly he couldn’t express love or approval, probably more vital than food and shelter. Years later I discovered that due to paternity fraud, he actually wasn’t my biological dad. Maybe he sensed it too, maybe that’s why he withheld. C’est la vie. I loved him fiercely anyway, despite everything. To attach, bond, is innate. Unless it’s beaten out of us.
Got a dialogue going on Facebook. Al Razutis pointed out that “There’s more to fatherhood than biology.” Of course there is. I’d just like to know who the bastard was that spawned me. Don’t we all? I suppose it’s difficult for ambivalent feelings not to surface on Fathers Day. Turns out my friend Shelly da Cuhna had a similar experience, and Thesa Pakarnyk said, “Whomever spawned you missed out big time on knowing such an amazing woman!” Thank you but I’ll never know what I missed out on either. I harbour no illusions, fantasies though. The guy might be a complete jerk, or even a rapist, but I want to know my genetic makeup. Not just for my sake but also for my son’s. There can be long term health issues. If I was rich I’d hire a private investigator or at the very least, sign up with one of those DNA tracking sites. Elee Kraljii Garniner remarked, “Heather, beautiful sentiment. Here’s to a new model of fatherliness.” And I agree. That’s what needs to happen. I see it happening. Most men today are far more loving and hands-on as parents.
I wanted to post a picture of my Dad but have none digitized, so here is a shot of me and my beloved nephew Kyle Thiessen, my (half) sister’s son and his full-blooded grandson.