Father’s Day will be coming up this weekend. Personally, I do not really have much to say on the subject. The day did not have any special meaning to me as a child.
I have heard various takes on this saying:
It takes a REAL MAN to be a father to a child but anyone can provide sperm to create a child. A real man will be there and step up to the plate when the child arrives in the world.
I agree with this on the most part. My reason being I never knew who fathered me. The only thing I knew about the man who could have been my father was a name on a birth certificate.
Having a child out of wedlock in the fifties quite a taboo for a woman.
I recall being told that my father had died. But I wondered if that were the case why did my mother not use his last name? Why did she go by her maiden name? It baffled me as a child. It caused me a lot of grief growing up and even into my adult years; my first husband gave me grief I had been born out of wedlock. He thought I should have told him in the beginning of our relationship. Perhaps I should have, but I had been quite embarrassed about it. I did not make the same mistake when I married again; in fact my current husband said “so what; no deal breaker.” He did not care one way or the other.
Finally, I asked about who fathered me when I was in my twenties. My mother told me “you don’t need to know this”. I asked relatives and heard the same thing. Well I wanted to know; after all isn’t that my right?
I am a fan of watching the Maury show where the women have DNA tests done on the child and the possible father. Shame they did not have that back when I had been younger. I would have contact the show to help me find out.
A few years ago I thought about what constituted a father and wrote a poem for Father’s Day. All the qualities I thought made up a good father were included in the piece.
At age seven my mother married the man who I ended up calling ‘dad’. The man accepted her baggage which was me. Unfortunately, I always felt like an outsider in the family as he never adopted me so I could have his last name. It took years and years for me to finally come to terms with my situation; and just deal with it.
So with Father’s Day approaching I just wanted to ‘ramble’ about how I feel. Perhaps my stigma has made me a better person. I know there has to be a lot of individuals out there who also share what I call my stigma in life. It took me until I turned forty to finally give up my quest to know the answer to the question about my father. Life goes on and I realized I had other things to concentrate upon.
Till next time….to all you dads out there….Happy Father’s Day.
DISECTION OF A FATHER
©Scottie-ann Murphy
A father is a special person….
One who wears many hats,
We do not really see.
TEACHER
Someone who will explain
What is
right and what is wrong
COMFORTER
When hurt and tears begin to fall
Gives a shoulder to lean upon
LISTENER
Without critical comments, will listen
To our dreams, hopes and goals
WISEMAN
Gives wisdom, advice and guidance
In any problem brought his way
CHEERLEADER
Throughout our life, cheers us on
Giving praise…when…praise is due
AUDIENCE
Laughs at our jokes,
Even those that….may not be funny
HELPER
Lend a helping hand
When needed, no matter….when we call
LOVING HEART
The person who does love us
Even though he may not always say
ENCOURAGER
If we fail at our goals, stumble and fall
Picks us up and encourages us to try again
PROTECTOR
Keeps us safe from harm
And stands by our side always
A father is someone special……
Someone….we at times….
Take for granted.
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