day of fathers.

Father’s Day, the day for saying “hey pops, thanks… you know, for being my dad/grandpa.” It’s a good thing we have such days set aside to honor 50% of the parties responsible for your existence. Thanks greeting card, tie, and Tommy Bahama manufacturers, for putting this whole thing together. I’m not a Dad, but I’m sure that if I were, I’d tell you that I appreciate it.

My Father’s Day consists of precisely 5 must-have telephone conversations. No, it’s not because I am the product of an early 80’s gang-bang in which none of the participants wanted to find out who I really belonged to, because not only were DNA testing solutions ridiculously expensive at that point-in-time, but also because they shared the bond of friendship and could not bare to think of a sole-fathership for their darling, bouncing baby Nicholas. (Now, THAT’s the premise for a TV show. Fuck “My TWO Dads,” I gots 5.)

No, no… That is not the reason for my phone calls.

Both of my parents (sharp, glowing, sound people) were the products of broken homes, in most cases (3 out of 4) their parents remarried and established their second marriages before I was born. With this in mind, I’ve always had 4 sets of Grandparents. Big thumbs up to multiple Christmases and such.

After making the rounds, having conversations no shorter than 5 minutes, I realized what’s been true for a good amount of time, and certainly my entire adult life. I’m not as close to some grandparents, as I am others, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t love those I have less frequent interactions with… It just means I have more to learn about them, sadly in a limited time frame (how limited? You never know.).

Okay, this post is about Father’s Day, not my Grandparents. My Dad, is the single most influential person in my life. My Grandfathers, they bring their own unique qualities to the table of our relationship, always in a positive way. What is it like for those individuals out there that don’t have that? That have abusive, neglecting, or terrible excuses for men as fathers … as Grandfathers. I have no scientific backing to this, nor am I a statistician but I believe my situation is, sadly, more unique than that experienced by most children out there.

My Dad taught me to be fair, in all that I do. Other children experience the act known as “the bad touch,” the feeling of a father’s fist of frustration and anger and so on.

There’s an opportunity to further dive into the psychological affects of abusive fathers, but I’m not after that. Driving around, enjoying the Sun today (yes, having the majority of the aforementioned conversations), I thought about how grateful I am to have the family that I do.

That is all.