Father's Day

I was catching up on listening to podcasts today when I heard a recent Father's Day themed episode of This American Life. I had forgotten about Father's Day completely, largely due to the fact that I've never met my father. Occasionally, I think about him, and what it would be like to meet him, but the mood always passes as quickly as it arrives.

My father was originally from Sri Lanka. I've never been there, but I've seen videos and heard stories that the island is gorgeous. My parents met in Asheville, NC under what circumstances I'm not completely sure. I do know that my father didn't intend to get my mother pregnant and that he basically told my mother to choose between him or me. She chose me in a decision which I've regretted off and on for 35 years. Not to get all emo, but the pro-life movement can pretty much eat my ass. I should have been aborted and I wasn't. My father didn't want me and my mother wanted to abuse me. Sometimes, maybe even most of the time, people are better off being aborted.

I'm starting to feel really angry as I write this. At some point anger always seems to rear its head whenever I think about my father. I can't even pronounce his name properly. All I have as a remnant of his existence is an old black and white photo of him in a metal frame. He's not even smiling. I know I was an inconvenience to him, but I wish he knew how inconvenienced I've been my whole life because he chose to fuck my fat cow of a mother.

Sometimes I think about trying to find him. I don't even know if he's still alive. There are only a dozen people in the US with his last name and they are all concentrated in two locations, so it wouldn't be hard if I cared enough to try. As luck would have it, I saw a guy I believe is my cousin a few years ago on TV. He was serving as a lawyer in a case that made national headlines for about two days and he was interviewed several times. I could easily ask him if he knows what happened to my father.

Whenever I fantasize about talking to my father it never goes as I expect it too, which implies that I have some expectations which I'm apparently not fully aware. I don't think I really want a relationship with him, but I want him to know me. I want him to understand what happened to me. And as unsatisfying as I know it would be, I guess I'd like to hear him express remorse. I'm not sure what that remorse would be for, but just to hear him say, "I'm sorry you had to go through all that pain" seems like it would mean so much to me in a way that no one else can say those words.

Now I get why I don't spend very long thinking about my father at any one time... Any longer would feel too much like masochism.

Keep living life... or some approximation thereof.