Ironic title, but trust me, it’ll make sense in a bit. When a parent dies, it is natural for a person to feel grief, sorrow, sadness, or any other word I can think of from Mrs. Stucken’s lexicon of SAT words. I’ve been told I’m apathetic to a maddening degree, and I could agree on some level. Well, I found out my father died a few months ago, and I haven’t a single clue how I should feel.
Something’s amiss here. No tears, headaches, tissues, anything? Months?
Granted, my father and I did not have much of a relationship, so there are few memories I could ponder. The few I have lean towards bad, but still, nothing for me to be truly happy or upset about. I know that if it was my mother, I’d be highly upset to say the least. This is different; I’m devoid of tears or even joy. What I do know of my father is that apparently we share some personality quirks, such as the tendency to be blunt at a moment’s notice. Alright, I’m sugarcoating it; we’re both assholes. Well, I am, and he was…interesting dichotomy. Hell, he wasn’t even at my graduation. Shouldn’t I feel something? I’m heading to Watsonville in the morning to pick up cases of apple cider, and a person half responsible for my DNA is gone. I showed more emotion watching salsa teams perform, and that’s not right.
School’s starting, and it’s inopportune for me to even try to grieve over a situation I am clueless about. I’ll have time for introspection later; for now, this lesson plan won’t write itself. I won’t even pretend to be sad, because my mother did all the heavy lifting, and he wasn’t even there. Though he wasn’t there for me in my life, I can admit to learning a valuable lesson:
My kids will at least have an opinion of me, because I’ll be there for them like my mother’s still here for me.