"My Father Died"

“My father died.”

“Oh that must be so hard for you.

A father-son relationship is so special. 

My Dad is the world to me.”

But MY father died. It wasn’t hard. I felt relief. 

I said I didn’t have a great relationship with him.

But you're thinking 'Below average' and say, "That’s sad.”
But 'not great' really does mean 'non-existent'. Let me tell you.

I miss my father. 

I miss the shouting, the anger, the rage. 

I miss hiding his grog. 

I miss hiding in my room, doing schoolwork, being the good little boy. 

He's dead, so no more memories. 

I remember him playing with me once. 

It wasn’t what I wanted to do. 

We built a glider, or rather HE did. 

It flew once, but it crashed. 

I kept it for 20 years. 

Hoping he’d say, “Let’s spend some time together.
Let's fly that old glider again!”

The glider symbolised hope.

Hope for our relationship to get off the ground.

Hope of him delighting in me, loving me, trusting me.

The glider moved house a few times, but I threw it away.

I wasn’t athletic. 

I didn’t play ice hockey, nor even lacrosse. 

I wasn’t the son he wanted. 

I didn’t feel valued. 

I did know I was wanted.

Dad wanted me to help him cut wood.

He could have bought a saw horse.

I felt useful. No, I felt used.

I remember his touch. 

No, in fact I don’t. 

No hugs, no tender love. 

Only spanking or the big wooden spoon. 

Each night after dinner, he'd shout at Mum.

I hated the yelling, so I hid in my room.

Did my schoolwork, like a good little boy.

Hoping to please him by getting good grades.

One Christmas Mum asked what I'd like.

I said just one day where you and Dad don't shout.

She laughed, and asked again,

"So what do you want for Christmas?" 

Dad's friend came to visit.

He slept in my room.

He gave me attention, played games with me.

He took an interest in me, I didn't know why.

"This will be our special secret.

Don't tell your parents. You promise OK?"

Why did my Dad leave me alone with him.

in my own house that day?

He pulled my pants down.

Like no man ever should.

"That feels good doesn't it?" I had to say yes.

This man takes an interest, like my Dad never did.

I thought it was normal.
I guessed that's what men do.

Just keep it a secret.

I felt special, loved, and wanted.

My parents sent me away with him for a week.

"It was our special secret."

but then instead of just us two...

...there was another little boy.

In bed that night,

he pulled down my pants, and the other boy's too.

He's doing it to him too! 

It dawned on me: He's lied. I'm not so special.

I didn't trust him now, and didn't know what was true.

I pulled up my pants, and asked him to stop.

The rest of the week dragged.

He was a nasty man, impatient and unkind.

Back with my parents. I'd promised not to tell.

But I told my dear sister. She knew that was wrong.

The secret was out. "What he did was wrong."

I knew they were right. I knew he had lied.

Mum and Dad never spoke of it again. 

“He looks okay” 

But I was confused. Didn’t know what was wrong. 

Thought it was his lie of "our special thing."

No counselling. No justice. No standing up for me. 

No action. No talk.

“Just leave him alone. He’ll be right.”

So I guessed that I’m not worth anything. 

What was wrong?

You didn't really say.

Your assumption meant a life of confusion.

So I guessed that I’m just damaged goods. Not worth fixing.

Because Dad didn’t play with me that way, wrestle me, or touch me. 

I figured there was something wrong with me.

And I wasn’t worth his love. 

I had no value in his eyes. 

Dad, I wanted you to accept me as I am.

Not disappointed because I wasn't athletic.

I needed you to be proud of me.

I needed to know I had value.

But you only needed me when I helped you with a task.

I hoped to please you.

But it was never good enough, not up to your standard.

You'd always come and fix it.

You did stuff with us. We went for bushwalks.

But you'd always walk far ahead.

I couldn't catch up. I tried, but I was never fast enough.

You didn't care if I was tired or sore.

I felt you didn't trust me.

I felt I wasn't good enough.

I felt you didn't care.

And I wasn't worth anything.

Boys at school didn't accept me.

As I couldn't play their sports.

They bullied me as they knew how to play,

They knew all the rules.

I wanted you to teach me how to play football.

I asked for a football. You gave it as a present.

But you never played with me.

And didn't bother to learn, or show me how.

You never showed trust in me.

When you asked me to do a task, I did it to the best of my ability.

Then you'd come check my work and fix it up. It was never good enough.

"I not good enough. I don't measure up. I'm not trustworthy."

You called demanding I return your lawnmower.

I realised I hadn't returned it because life had got really crazy.

I called back: "You didn't ask 'Why?' or 'Are you OK?' You don't care!"

"Sorry" you could have said. But you never used that word. Ever.

I needed you to love me, hug me, trust me, so I'd feel secure.

I needed you to be proud of me.

To see that delight in your eyes when you'd see me.

But all I saw was scorn.

You never said you loved me.

Didn't rumble, touch or affirm me.

You never spent time with me. 

Didn't help me know I'm a man like you.

The closest you got was asking this question,

"You know that I love you, don't you?"

I lied and said “Yes”, but in all honesty, 

I never knew you did. 

You were not proud of me.

You did not delight in me.

You did not love me.

I figured I was inherently, deeply, and shamefully faulty.

You had no friends to invite to your funeral.

I had nothing to say. Neither did my sister.

So we didn't have one.

I was relieved when you died.

Thanks for reading/listening. What are your emotional responses? How do you feel? PLEASE comment below as your reactions are healing for me.