Father's Day has almost always been weird or even non-existent for me. The short form of my story is I was born from a date rape encounter. Most of my life has been without a father. Early on, my maternal grandfather was a loving male presence in my life, but only twice a year as he and my grandmother lived way up north on Manitoulin Island in Ontario, Canada. He also died when I was twelve or thirteen, right when a boy truly needs some male guidance. I had a step-father for five or six years, but he was at best friendly, and at worst abusive. So, I've muddled through many Father's Day oblivious and yet holding a crumb of disappointment in my heart for not being able to say to anyone "Happy Father's Day, Dad." Two years ago I found out where my father lives in Tennessee. I swing through a litany of Anglo-Saxonisms (which at this moment I struggle not to type them out) all the way over to prayers and ...
A humble blog of tragic proportions