My father had a hard childhood, pockmarked by abandonment, the taunts of being an illegitimate child, physical abuse at the hands of an evil uncle, and emigration to the States at a tender teenage age where he had to learn the language and the customs and the meaning of the word family. His mother left him behind when she went to the States with her new husband, and my father bounced around various family members until he came to rest with his maternal grandmother. By all accounts she was incredibly strict but incredibly loving, and she provided a stable life for my father in the rural Japanese town until her death, at which point he left for the States.

Many years ago I found a picture of her in a hidden photo album at my grandmother's. My great-grandmother was a tiny, wizened creature in a kimono and with those wooden flip flop shoes, crouched on a dirt lane and smiling at the camera. I took the black and white photo from her house, and years later I framed it in a black lacquer frame and presented it to my father.

He cried.

When you're a child, it's hard to empathize with what he went through. But today, talking with my therapist, I feel horrified for that little boy, the little boy that was left behind, the little boy that to this day has a fear of moths, as in a cellar one evening an enormous luna moth flew onto his face and scared him nearly to death. Now that I'm the age of motherhood, I want to reach back in time and take the little boy from the turbulence and love him and care for him. I want to give him a PSP and read him books at bedtime and above all I want to hug him and talk to him and tell him that love is the most natural and greatest thing on earth.

For many years my father had a hard time with reaching out, with closeness. And in many ways I understand that. In many ways, I am that.

When I was 7 years old, my Brownie Troup was holding a Father-Daughter Picnic. I was so excited. I would be able to go there with my father. I had the day ready to go, the plans already made. We'd made buttons in the previous troup meeting, and I had my button proudly pinned to my sweater. It would be me and my Daddy for a whole day, doing father-daughter things we never did. Picnic food and sack races danced in my head. Sitting outside in the sun, introducing people to my Dad'¦I was filled with excitement.

The day before the picnic, my father chose an optional TDY trip. He left that day, and the picnic was missed. I was crushed. I couldn't believe it-my father had bunked out of the one thing I was so looking forward to. My best friend's Dad offered to be my Dad at the picnic as well, but I was so ashamed and embarrassed I turned him down, and didn't go to the picnic. I threw the button away in anger, and it was just a few short months later that my parents split up.

Stupid, really. A fucking picnic could be so disappointing when you're 7 years old. It's amazing how the inconsequential can upset you so much.

My dad called the other night while I was sitting in front of the glow of the PC monitor, the desk lamp switched on and chasing away the night from my desk.

'Helen! This is your father!' he croaks into the phone. It's our new shtick, he tries to sound like an evil villain, Darth Vader's second cousin twice removed, and it makes me laugh every time he does it.

'Duuuuuuuuuuude!' I shout back into the phone.

'I'm no dude! I'˜m your father!' he'll shout back.

And I fucking love his phone calls.

Over time, my father has mellowed and molded and become someone that I would like to know. He is an avid hiker and biker now. At Halloween, he and my stepmother decorate and hand out candy with glee. We talk about books and movies. I talk to him about The Blackberries, as the sale is progressing along.

And the truth is, my father is someone I like now.

For his birthday I sent him a special hiking flashlight, one with LEDs that doesn't need batteries, you just shake it to charge it. According to my stepmother, my father walks around with it all the time in the house, shaking it. She says you can hear him across the house, shaking that flashlight and flipping off all the lights to use the light from the flashlight. She says she reminds him that they actually have electricity, and that their electric bill will be tiny. He says he doesn't care-he just wants to use the flashlight.

I love that he uses my flashlight.

As we talked on the phone, I realized there was something I needed to say.

'Dad, I've been seeing a therapist.' I say.

'What? Helen! Does Angus know?' he says, astonished.

'What? Oh! Dad, no-I'm not dating one. I'm seeing one. Like 'paying for therapy' seeing one. I mean, obviously the average healthy adult doesn't run around trying to kill themselves or anything, so it's important I get help.'

'Oh! Right. How are you doing?' he asks nicely.

'Not bad, Dad. I really like him, I think he's helping me a lot.'

'I'm really glad, Helen. I'm really glad.'

'Dad'¦um'¦well, we were talking about your childhood, and I just wanted to tell you'¦I'm really sorry.'

'Why are you sorry?' he asks, genuinely puzzled.

I shrug, even though he can't see me. 'It was awful for you, Dad. I am really sorry. You didn't deserve that kind of turbulence.'

'Oh Helen.' My dad says, sighing. 'It's me who needs to apologize, you had the turbulent childhood. We really screwed up. I'm the one who's sorry, Helen. I wish I could make it better.'

I'm 31 years old. My father has just apologized. I choked a bit and tears formed in my eyes. He blew off the Father-Daughter Picnic I wanted, he disappeared for most of my childhood, and he was my single greatest enemy when I was a teenager.

And he just told me he's sorry.

'It's ok Dad.' I said. And for the first time in years on the phone with him, I mean it. 'I love you Dad.'

'I love you too, baby. You're my Number 1, and you always will be.'

I'm 31 years old, and my father has forgiven me.

I'm 31 years old, and I've forgiven my father.

It feels fantastic.

-H.

PS-If you haven't already been, there, go ahead and throw $50 at this site-you get to see me half-naked, and it's all for charity. I have two covered shots and two un-covered shots. I think it's clear which one is me! Am debating some kind of "you prove that you paid the money to charity and I'll send you a third shot or tell you which one I am" type of thing, but somehow that feels like something that would have my grandfather rolling in his grave. Will think about that one further today.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 11:22 AM | Comments (17) | Add Comment
Post contains 1237 words, total size 7 kb.

1 sweetheart, I AM SOOOO THRILLED for you. I know how much it means for you. babysteps forward are just as rewarding and you deserve them!

Posted by: stinkerbell at October 07, 2005 12:03 PM (ZznPv)

2 You sure know how to make me cry. This is a good example of the old saying "The child is father of the man (or maybe to the man). Your empathy with your dad's childhood experiences will lead you to become a wonderful parent. You will want to protect your children from the feeling of abandonment he no doubt had. Forgiveness is a wonderful thing for both the forgiver and the forgivee. I am happy for you.

Posted by: kenju at October 07, 2005 12:47 PM (+AT7Y)

3 Congratulations Helen, this is huge! It is so strange that as we get older, it is only then that we begin to understand our parents. Motherhood only makes the scope wider, and with all your feelings of compassion and understanding, you are going to make a wonderful mother. Understanding them and where they come from is a big part of understanding who you are. I am so happy for you. And I know what pictures are yours! *wink*

Posted by: Teresa at October 07, 2005 01:26 PM (zf0DB)

4 Father-Daughter picnics at age 7 aren't blown out of proportion by daughters; they're not given their due importance by dads. Father-Daughter picnics (lunches, walks, hugs, outings,...) are a gift from God. I don't say this as a slam on your dad (I think you know me better than that) but as an encouragement to anyone who has young children. Make sure you/your husband spend loads of time with your children. Quantity is superior to quality regarding time with children. If your dad knew then what he knows now, he'd have worn the biggest, goofiest, gaudiest button you could have dreamed up. He'd have worn a matching paper hat too I'm really glad you two are restoring your relationship. I hope it spreads to other family members too. There was a time when forgiving your dad would have been unthinkable. Maybe in time other relationships will be healed and egregious sins forgiven. Kenju stole my sentiment: forgiveness is as valuable for the forgiver as it is for the forgiven. Feel free to remove the previous paragraph if it's too inflammatory.

Posted by: Solomon at October 07, 2005 01:35 PM (k1sTy)

5 *big tears rolling down my cheeks* Helen, darling -- this statement: “It’s me who needs to apologize, you had the turbulent childhood. We really screwed up. I’m the one who’s sorry, Helen. I wish I could make it better.” Is worth its weight in gold. Sometimes the 'breakthroughs' don't come in the doctor's office, you know. I hope you can feel my arms around you. Love,

Posted by: Margi at October 07, 2005 04:51 PM (nwEQH)

6 It's been demonstrated repeatedly--Tom Cruise's opinion notwithstanding--how important the father/daughter relationship is to the daughter. That sets the foundation for all of her future relationships with men. Luckily, it's never too late to repair that. Perhaps the next time you see your dad you can go on that picnic, complete with goofy buttons.

Posted by: ~Easy at October 07, 2005 05:57 PM (NL+Vn)

7 Everyone is so much better than I am at saying it. Just know I have been down this path... So glad for you!

Posted by: sue at October 07, 2005 06:07 PM (WbfZD)

8 "All is forgiven." Cheapest therapy yet. Great progress, kid.

Posted by: old horsetail snake at October 07, 2005 06:34 PM (Bwih6)

9 Big tears rolling down cheeks here too! Glad that you could make this big step with your Dad Helen.

Posted by: justme at October 07, 2005 06:38 PM (RPyFS)

10 How wonderful. This therapy thing seems to be worth all your time and turmoil. I know it hasn't been easy to let some of those things out. I am so happy for you. And for your dad.

Posted by: caltechgirl at October 07, 2005 08:30 PM (WfvM0)

11 I am so happy for you. What a wonderful experience to have in healing.

Posted by: manda at October 07, 2005 10:03 PM (838ff)

12 So many times there is so much I want to say here. Then the words just get swept away, and all I'm left with is, I love you, too. And hugs. I'm left with hugs. This post was positively brilliant. I adored every single word.

Posted by: Jennifer at October 07, 2005 10:48 PM (1X5Jq)

13 I LOVE the work you're doing with your new therapist! WOW! Great steps, good for you. I'm so happy for you right now. :-) {{{{Helen}}}}} And your dad too! {{{{Helen's Dad}}}} *beaming* I hope some stranger reads this, Helen, recognizes themselves and it inspires them. Wouldn't that be fabulous? Kudos to you! :-) Sorry I'm gushing so much, but...I LOVED THIS!

Posted by: Amber at October 08, 2005 12:56 AM (zQE5D)

14 what a wonderful conversation with your dad. amazing how powerful a few words can be from someone you care for deeply. *much love*

Posted by: kat at October 08, 2005 03:12 AM (xB7GF)

15 I just tossed $50 their way, but I guess I'm not smart enough to figure out which one is you.

Posted by: girl at October 08, 2005 07:33 PM (MqAGl)

16 Congratulations on finding forgiveness. I envy you--I'm working on it with my dad, too. Thanks for the happy tears.

Posted by: Marian at October 09, 2005 11:20 PM (A4ZL6)

17 I'm having father-issues of my own right now, and I'm sitting here bawling my eyes out after reading that.

Posted by: catherine at October 10, 2005 04:25 AM (J1KMd)

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