When only hurt is left behind

DEAR DAD, It is Father’s Day tomorrow. I don’t know if you are aware of that or not. More likely than not, the whole business of being a father seems to have been too much for you.

I thought I’d say that, while others will pamper their dads and show them appreciation in the biggest, or smallest, ways, tomorrow will just be another Sunday for me.

It’s been a long journey – down the road to maturity – which enables me to say that now.

I won’t spend tomorrow – as I did on many Father’s Days when I was little – crying for someone who is not there and never will be.

But, Dad, I can tell you I survived those Humpty Dumpty days. Those days when I felt lost, angry and sad because of the hole you left.

I longed to meet you, to grab you and shout out: “You are a coward!” A coward who ran away from his family and his responsibilities.

I would often wonder, Dad, whether I looked like you, whether you questioned your paternity… and did you have other children elsewhere? Did they look like me?

I thought I was cursed. It didn’t cross my mind even once that I was not the only child growing up without a father.

There are probably a few like me who remember those silly “after holidays” essays the teachers asked us to write. What were they even thinking? How could I start telling a story about a weekend getaway with mummy and daddy dearest when my father was not even around?

I grew up surrounded by friends who had both their parents present in their lives. During primary school, I was the odd one in a group of nine. Every blessed Monday morning, I had to battle to come up with some fibs to cover up my “big secret”, your absence.

Tears welled up as my friends regaled me with weekend tales of their time spent with their dads.

I didn’t understand why I didn’t have someone to call “Dad”.

But, Dad, let me fill you in on some of the stuff you missed.

Without you around, I still had a strong yearning for a father figure. And, the beauty in that sadness was this: I could choose who I would look up to, rather than having a dad, biological or not, forcing his ways down my throat.

I looked up to my maths teacher in primary school. He was tall just like me. He was always on time. He never missed class. He commanded the respect of all pupils. And he was also the school’s soccer team coach. I had a father in him. I had endless choices for a father figure. And we were not tied for life. Nor did they run away.

At high school, my then girlfriend lost her dad. What could I possibly say to her? I only knew the beauty of having a father through her forever glowing eyes, her laughter and radiance whenever she spoke about her father. She was daddy’s girl.

You weren’t there, Dad, so you don’t know that my mother was the be all and end all of my life. Growing up around her and my sister taught me priceless lessons. I learned how to cook for myself and do my own laundry. And my room was always the neatest among my friends.

If you had been there, Dad, would you have tried to tell me that a man’s place is not in the kitchen?

Would I have then become just like you? So, perhaps your absence was a blessing. It didn’t break me but made me stronger, a better man. Dad, you may not read this. But maybe other men will and will realise the hurt they can cause.

If that is the case, then tomorrow will be a good Father’s Day for me.

And one day I hope to be a good father. Enjoy your day. Your son, Kabelo