Today is my dad’s birthday.
It seems like such a simple day wouldn’t bring me so much anguish and frustration, but after all this time…it still does. I wish I didn’t care, but I still do. The question is, what do I do about it?
I posted on his facebook page (that he never logs onto and probably forgot about). Does that absolve me from my duties as a child? To be fair, I can’t remember the last time my dad wished me a happy birthday. I don’t think he even knows when my birthday is. I’m just one more child…the last of his seven daughters, the offspring of wife number five or so, the one child who never even lived with him.
Still, he’s my dad.
He’s getting up there in years, and I know he doesn’t have many birthdays left. I’ll miss him when he’s gone. Hell, I’ve missed him for the past 39 years. We’ve tried to reconcile on multiple accounts but…it’s always so damn awkward. He wants to talk about politics and religion and I just want him to care enough to try to get to know me.
Me. The daughter he’s never known. This sucks so hard.
So here I am, struggling somewhere between the desire to be a better person and exhaustion from trying and caring about that relationship for so long. It’s crazy-difficult to forge a relationship and even a basic conversation with a stranger. So difficult, in fact, that I’d rather write a blog post than pick up the phone and call him.
I don’t know what to do, so I’m just gonna leave this cute little picture of a Happy Birthday wish here and hope it’s enough. Happy birthday, Dad. Maybe next year we’ll talk.