Acorns and Trees

Tonight, while buzzed on a gin gimlet (okay, two) I was scrolling through my Google Reader. It's the night before Father's Day, and in my collection of Mommy/Homemaker Blogs, that's a BIG DEAL (who knew?). A lot of ladies are blogging about Father's Day crafty gift ideas, and more power to them. I should, in fact, do something for my husband Himself. He's a dad, twice over. And I will call my grandfather, and email my ex-stepfather, and call my ex-partner, the beloved Mr. Indiana, who is a fairly new father.

But that's all.

You might notice the factor missing from this equation: my biological father.

In recent years, when referring to him, I've taken to referring to him by his Christian name.

Jim.

Not Dad.

He and my mother divorced when I was very young, like 6 months old or so. He was not consistently present when I was growing up, and from years 9-14, he was not present at all. That he became a presence in my life from that point on, I owe to his father, my fraternal grandfather. He engineered a reunion, and for years, my father and I stayed in touch. He became involved, more or less. Certainly emotionally, more or less financially. I have to give credit where it's due: he helped fund my summer in England when I was 19, and he made my first year of grad school a little bit easier. But he also gave my maternal grandparents a lot of grief when they asked if he would be helping out with my college tuition, as they were. I still remember how upset they were--Mawga and Boppa never repeated whatever he said to them, but the look in their eyes was enough.

The time came, almost four years ago, when my father decided he no longer approved of me. He thought I was immature, selfish, disrespectful, ungrateful, insolent...and who knows? Maybe I was. Maybe I am. Probably I am. But it's worth noting that he "cancelled his subscription" (his words, not mine), and since he did that (and also, before) no one else has laid those accusations at my doorstep. He sent me a very curt card, cutting off communication, and his wife my stepmother did as well. And I've not heard from him since.

And I must say, life is a little bit easier.

He doesn't like me, Jim doesn't. He doesn't approve of the person that I've become. And you know what? That's okay. I'm the one who has to live inside my own head and wake up and go to sleep with myself every day, and you know what? I like the person I have become. More or less.

Anyway, I've been reading all these "Yay! Father's Day" posts, and it's a little foreign to me. And then I encountered one where the author made the remark about the how the "apple doesn't fall far from the tree"--all of us are a product of our parents.

And I began to ruminate.

If that was the case, that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, considering my parents, I'm screwed. If that's the case, I have my father's assholish, selfish mannerisms, his belligerence and skill at brow-beating, his coldness. If that's the case, I have my mother's hoarding tendencies, her slightly vindictive streak, her foul mouth, her particular brand of illogic, her self-survival instincts which trumps everything, even filial and maternal duty.

But then I stopped with the negative and asked myself--why do I only have to have inherited the bad? If the apple stayed close to the tree, couldn't it also have been an apple which had the flavorful juices of my father's artistic talent and creativity, his sense of adventure, his sometimes-spot-on logic? Couldn't it also have been an apple which had the nutrition of my mother'sunfailingly unconditional love, her sharp but true sense of humor, her stringent honesty with her own failings?

We are the sum of our parents, and so much more. We have their failings and their strengths, and remarkable qualities and weaknesses that are unique to us. And in the absence of a loving and supportive biological father, that is what I will celebrate this Father's Day.

The ones who can know you so well are the ones who can swallow you whole...

It's my 29th birthday, and I am spending it in Washington DC with my family (good), where it's raining (better), and where I am not freaking out too much about turning 29 (best). I thought it would be hard, but it's turning out better than I thought. Maybe I'm just coming to terms with getting older, or maybe I'm just comfortably numb, but I'm okay with which ever it is.

Being back East helps--being in the humid, green climate (if not location) of my childhood, being with family. Both are familiar, and comforting, and I've felt more like myself than I have felt in a very long time. And I think that's the best birthday gift I could ever get.