Father’s Day

My complicated relationship with Father’s Day…

This year, I am 41 years old. A few years ago, my girlfriend and I decided we should try to have a baby. She was very confidant about being able to get pregnant in spite of her age, based on her experience conceiving her current 3 children.

“Trust me, I’m super-fertile.”

“Okay!”

4 miscarriages followed, in a 3-year period. It was - and frankly continues to be - a true test of our relationship’s strength. We attempted to talk about it on couple occasions, but quickly closed that chapter and moved on. Our relationship has changed since, and not in a good way.

Before we lost the fourth one, we were in the ultrasound room while the technician was describing its parts.

“Well, there is the heart and… Well… I’m really sorry to tell you, it doesn’t seem to be beating.”

“Excuse me, what?”

“It’s not beating. I am very sorry. Anyway. There is one of the arms. And if we move over here… Right over here are the legs.”

This was when the doctor rushed in and took over. We were stunned, on top of being utterly shocked by the news we heard seconds ago.

I would have to spend some time coping and accepting. That I will never be a father. That I will never know what it’s like to be admired like one. That my history immediately ends when I die. That being referred to as “dad” will always be an unfamiliar myth.

What about my own father?

I never wish to diminish the value of my own dad’s efforts, that Father’s Day brings to my attention. Objectively, I wouldn’t say he was a good dad. But he was a victim of circumstance; he did the best he could to keep us fed and educated in spite of some pretty tough obstacles.

Nevertheless, it’s hard to put that in the foreground when all I can think about is what it would have been like, for me. Would I have been terrible at it? Would I be enough to be a hero to them? How many of my shitty qualities would they inherit? I am still telling myself to stop fantasizing about the answers.

Move the fuck on.

This year…

I have known - or tried to tell myself - that if my girlfriend’s kids see me as a good father (figure), then it would be much easier to let go of the past and accept reality. But the truth is, I have to accept an entirely different kind of reality. One where these kids don’t see me as anything beyond mom’s partner… A reality where they will not understand the values I hold close… Same values that I hope to instill in them because I will never get a chance to with my own children… When I look in all of their eyes, I see none of me in them. And that is a very cold and rigid reality that’s hard to swallow, but I have to.

Maybe, my aching desire for kids is because I just haven’t met anyone in life whose character resembles mine? Someone I know I can self-express towards, without inhibition, without fear of judgement? Someone who can immediately understand the life-affirming ‘why’ to everything without needless and wordy exposition? You know, the ones where all you need is a wink and a nod to fully understand one another? Even with my girlfriend - who I love very much - I do not have this symbiosis with, that so many around me seem to enjoy.

This year, I didn’t get anything for Father’s Day except 2 text messages. They were from the younger 2 of my girlfriend’s 3 children. It was late afternoon and they were on their way to their dad’s house for the week. Both just said,

“Happy Father’s Day!”

Yeah. Pretty sure I’m doing it wrong.