Over at Slice of Life we were invited to write about 1 of 3 topics.
Choices for the week of June 15, 2008 are:
1. My Father
2. Friday the 13th – I had to include this prompt as it is the 13th week for Slice of Life Sunday and we just had a Friday the 13th, the only one for 2008.
3. Writer’s Choice – You may choose to write about anything that has happened or is happening in your life that you feel moved to share.
I am choosing to write about my Father because well, it is Father’s Day and because I really haven’t written about him in the 4 years of blogging.
*I call my dad, Daddy and will until the day I die.
*My daddy grew up in Brooklyn, NY.
*My daddy grew up in Brooklyn, NY.
*My daddy sang when he was a tyke. His parents sent him to a singing, dancing school because he from what I hear pretty good. As a child I always thought he had a good voice when he sang to the radio. He reminded me of Neil Sedaka.
*My daddy was a marine.
*Daddy was married before he married my mom. He married her at 26 so I am not sure how old he was, how long he was married or if my mom even knew. I found this little bit of information out a few years ago. Interesting how something like that could be kept under wraps for so many years. My mom died in 1978 and I found in 2001.
There is a bit of mystery to the whole thing and I am unsure of whether I have siblings from him or not. Supposedly “he was coerced into marrying her because she was pregnant. She told me the kids were mine but her father, my Sargent, helped me get out of it because they were not mine.” It seems strange that a father, circa 1960 would help some dude get out of marriage to his own daughter with 2 kids. It seems strange that this story never came out.
I have asked him on many occasions if I have brothers and he tells me no. I doubt I will ever know the real truth.
*My daddy was a printer by trade. He worked the big press machines for a publisher.
*My daddy is so funny. He always made me and everyone else laugh.
*My daddy makes friends easily and always had a lot of friends.
*My daddy lost his wife to cancer in 1978 and cried all the time.
*My daddy met a man (who he is still with) on a pier in Manhattan one night while he was crying and about to throw himself into the east river (imagine the life I would have had? Losing my mom at 12 to cancer and then my daddy taking his own life when I was 14!!
*My daddy is gay and now says he was since he was in the service. When I ask if my mom knew, he says yes. I find this, if true, to be very sad. Did she think she had to settle?
*My daddy’s father, my grandfather molested me for years.
*My daddy dropped us off at my grandparents house and never looked back. He came to see us on some weekends but he was selfish and living his own life. He uses the gay factor as his reason. “I thought it embarrassed you and your sisters, so I moved away.” If anyone should be embarrassed it should be him. How dare he leave 3 girls who just lost their mother to live his life. What kind of father is that?
*My daddy’s boyfriend and I never got along. I wish it was different because I feel like he came into my life (a child’s life) and it was his job to create a relationship with me.
*I love and accept my daddy with all his faults.
*My daddy let me down 3 years ago.
*My daddy has never met my 3 year old daughter.
*My daddy likes to make himself come off smelling like a rose.
*I talk to my Daddy 2 times a week and look forward to it. He is one of my favorite people to talk to.
*I miss him and the relationship we should be having.
*My daddy and I have not had a father, daughter relationship since I was 12. He is a guy friend that I call when I want to shoot the shit.
*I would love to take pictures of my kids with my daddy.
*My daddy sends the kids 1 dollar each a week and they love it.
*My daddy is so vain that the last picture I have of him is from 2003 when my son was born. He will not send a picture because he looks old. He promises me tons of them but never delivers.
*My daddy is too far away.
*One father’s day, I would love to hug him and tell him in person.