...on time I can't rewind. I was thinking of my father. He passed some years back. It's a funny thing though, people tend to be misconceived about us. Someone recently said to me that I suffered as a child because I didn't have a father. That pissed me off for about a minute, and then I laughed.
My father and I were not close when I was young. It wasn't as though he lived far away either. He had a drug issue and chose not to allow me to see him that way. I used to resent him for that. I enjoyed the times we did spend together but honestly, I never lacked a father. My grandfather and uncle were always around and always available.
I grew up in an extended family home. I like to believe that is the reason we are such a close family today. There was never feelings of loneliness or lacking male role models. I had all of that at my disposal.
Back to my father though. Contrary to popular belief, my father and I were very close in my teenage years. I would run into him (on purpose) because I needed to understand him. I was not a dumb kid. I realized what was going on in his life and how he wanted to keep me safe. Never did I feel he was ashamed of me.
At some points, we would talk on the phone weekly. He would fuss at me about not calling him. His lady friend didn't wish us to be as close as we were. I found that sad and desperate on her behalf. It never stopped us though.
He became ill after I had my third child. He didn't want me to know, didn't want me to visit the hospital when the end was near.
When I attended his funeral, all heads turned. People snickered and pointed, many relatives. They had no idea who I was. I approached the family, leaned in and kissed my grandmother and aunt. They were so happy to see me.
I am sad to say he never met my youngest two children. He had been too ill for us to visit for far too long. But he had plenty of pictures.
He and I were close in our own way. No one else needed to understand. I loved him and he loved me.