Forgiving Dad

Editor’s Note: This column was originally published on June 25, 2017, in the Lovely County Citizen. It is the story of my dad’s redemption, and I hope it inspires love and forgiveness.

Growing up, I knew my dad was an alcoholic. I knew that from an early age. My mom raised me on her own and didn’t try to keep things from me, including the reason why my dad wasn’t around very much. I still saw him on holidays or when I’d visit my grandparents, but he certainly wasn’t a regular fixture in my life.

As you can imagine, that fostered an awful lot of bitterness inside me. I remember spending the night at my friend Dora’s house and feeling so angry after her dad stopped in to say goodnight. My dad never told me goodnight. Dora’s dad told us to say our prayers and go to sleep, but I didn’t pray. I couldn’t do anything but think of my dad and wonder why he didn’t spend time with me. Even then, I knew his alcoholism was the root of the problem. But I was 10 years old, and I didn’t know what it meant to be an alcoholic.

For me, it was just a way to describe my dad. It was a way to explain why he didn’t do all the things Dora’s dad did. I spent many years pinning all our problems on my dad’s alcoholism, seeing it as the barrier between us. If only he’d stop drinking, I thought, maybe he’d talk to me more or ask me to come visit. All the while, I didn’t take any initiative to reach out to him. Our relationship was so fractured, and I was so resentful toward him.

When we did spend time together, I loved being around him. It’s kind of funny how similar we are considering how little we interacted over the years. We have the same dry sense of humor, and we both have strong emotions. We also share social anxiety. Being the center of attention is tough for us. Today, I know that’s a big reason why my dad has had such a problem with alcohol. When he drinks, he feels more comfortable in social situations. That’s one of the reasons why I don’t drink very much.

Our relationship remained strained when I was in college and for my first couple of years in Eureka Springs. I didn’t call him, and I got mad when he didn’t call me. When Gideon proposed to me, I told my dad I didn’t want him to walk me down the aisle. He took it in stride, but I could tell he was hurt. A few months before the wedding, I changed my mind. I asked him if he’d want to walk me with my mom, and he said he would. Still, I felt bitterness in my heart. I couldn’t shake it. It had been part of me for as long as I could remember. While I wanted to do something to fix our relationship, I felt he should reach out first. I was scared of what he’d say if I told him how he’d hurt me over the years. I didn’t want him to reject me.

On the day of my wedding, I had a brief moment of clarity. What if something happened to my dad before we fixed things? What if he never knew how I felt? What if we didn’t have any closure? In an even briefer moment of bravery, I went to his hotel and told him all the things I’d wanted to say for years. I wanted to have a good relationship, I told him, but I needed him to apologize to me for how he’d hurt me.

And he did. He apologized. He even admitted he had a problem with alcohol in the past, which is something I’d never heard him say so openly. He told me he had been sober for quite some time, and I said I’d be in his corner no matter what. I meant that.

I was so impressed by my dad’s humility and honesty. I still am. For the first time in my life, I feel good about our relationship. Father’s Day is this Sunday, and I plan to call my dad to let him know how grateful I am to know him.

We’ll never have the same relationship many fathers and daughters do, but I wouldn’t trade my dad for anything. The moment I let myself see the good parts of him, I realized just how wonderful he is. He’s so smart and funny. He loves to read more than most people I know.

He’s my dad, and I love him.