Who’s your daddy? Well I know who my dad is, but I have to get this off my chest. It saddens me how little my father is a part of my life. There, I’ve said it. I’ve written about our relationship numerous times on this very blog. Now that I’m a dad, it makes me think even more about my relationship with the man I call father…. perspective has arrived.
I phoned my dad on his birthday in July. That was about a month before Anna was born and I told him how excited we were to become parents. We chatted for about 20 minutes that time. It was nice to catch up and hear what’s new in his semi-retired life. I gave him the due date of Anna’s arrival, talked about our birthing classes, and haven’t heard from him since.
My dad lives about 90 minutes southeast of Seattle so I don’t get to see him often. If I’m lucky I see him once a year. Here’s the catch though, when we meet it’s always me initiating things. Why am I always the one doing this? The chances of my dad calling me out of the blue are slim at best. He always tells me "I don’t want to be a bother". I called him a few weeks after Anna arrived and left a voicemail. I’m still waiting to hear back from him.
What really pains me is the effort level. I know I could be the bigger person and keep calling until I chat with him. I know I could arrange a meeting where he could meet his adorable granddaughter. However, why can’t he be more proactive? When we spoke in July I figured he’d call shortly after Anna’s due date to check in. Unfortunately that didn’t happen. Anna is three months old now and I still haven’t heard a single peep out of him.
Last week we sent out a batch of birth announcements and one was sent his way. I hope this will jar his memory enough to motivate him to pick up the phone. I know my dad feels horrible about leaving his seven kids to be raised by my mom. I know he feels guilty about what caused their separation and eventual divorce in 1987. Dammit dad, it’s 2007… time to move on! Shit happens and most people are rather forgiving, especially family. Please stop playing the martyr card and pick up the phone. Personally I hate losing contact with friends. I don’t see how my dad can do it with his children. Dad, I dare you to bother me, triple dog dare you!