Memorial Day Post.... My Father
My father was a Vietnam Vet. My father lived through it all, although wounded in action. My father once told me about some of the things that happened while he was in Vietnam when I was very young, and barely old enough to remember. I do remember, but only in small increments. The same way I remember my father...in small disjointed pieces....of the man I never really knew. My father was a retired Army man. I am/was an Army brat.
I can tell you of some of the character qualities he possessed, but not much of why he was the man he became. I can tell you of the events that made up his life while he was here, but none of the reasoning behind them. I can tell you that, although he was my father, I didn't know him as that. I knew him more as a man I would never be able to figure out or understand. I do not know what motivated him or what made him happy.
I do know that I was the child he would never forgive. I was his daughter, and not his son. I was the second born. The first child my mother gave birth to was my father's son. He was three months premature, and only survived for three days. I still have the newspaper clipping of his obituary. Back then, premature babies were almost always doomed to a very difficult life, if any life at all. My brother never stood a chance. My father was crushed. I don't think my father ever fully recovered from this, and thus helped shape the man he was when I came along.
I was the child that took the place of his lost son. I was never good enough, and never would be. So, I was destined to be the one he never forgave, and never loved. He kept himself from me, and distanced himself emotionally all throughout my life. Don't get me wrong, I think there were times when he tried to be affectionate to me, and show me some kind of love and tenderness. But those times were very far and few between, and were very difficult for him. My father was a staunch man, emotionally, and I do not remember any shows of affection between my mother and him.
I do remember him arguing with my mother when I was five years old, and him stating matter-of-factly that he would never love me, I wasn't the son he had always wanted. I remember how hurt I was that my own father didn't love me. For years I tried everything in my power to gain his approval and his love. But, eventually, I realized that it was a no win situation. I stopped trying, and went on to become me, regardless of what he might think. He didn't always approve of my methods, and confrontation soon became a part of who we were. He was a strict disciplinarian, and I was not allowed to get away with much. Although, I did try.
I have memories of him, some good, some not so good. Mostly, I remember the times when he disappointed me, and I was left feeling hurt and unloved. But, I remember certain traits that he possessed that make me realize he was someone I would never fully understand. He was a proud, hardworking man with a firmly planted work ethic. He was honest, and dependable despite his inadequacies as a husband and a father.
My father killed himself when I was eighteen years old. I do remember finding him, and I can vividly recall everything about that day. That one moment in time changed my life indefinitely. That day forever shaped my mother, and made her who she is now. Who's to say if our lives would've been any better or not. Probably just different, that's all.
I was and still am a bit disappointed that I never really got a chance to get to know my father on a more adult level. I was just beginning to form some sort of strange "friendship" with him when he died. It took me a very long time to forgive him and accept and understand why he did what he did. Sometimes, I'm not sure I've forgiven, but I have accepted. And I understand. Some things are not meant to be.....
I can tell you of some of the character qualities he possessed, but not much of why he was the man he became. I can tell you of the events that made up his life while he was here, but none of the reasoning behind them. I can tell you that, although he was my father, I didn't know him as that. I knew him more as a man I would never be able to figure out or understand. I do not know what motivated him or what made him happy.
I do know that I was the child he would never forgive. I was his daughter, and not his son. I was the second born. The first child my mother gave birth to was my father's son. He was three months premature, and only survived for three days. I still have the newspaper clipping of his obituary. Back then, premature babies were almost always doomed to a very difficult life, if any life at all. My brother never stood a chance. My father was crushed. I don't think my father ever fully recovered from this, and thus helped shape the man he was when I came along.
I was the child that took the place of his lost son. I was never good enough, and never would be. So, I was destined to be the one he never forgave, and never loved. He kept himself from me, and distanced himself emotionally all throughout my life. Don't get me wrong, I think there were times when he tried to be affectionate to me, and show me some kind of love and tenderness. But those times were very far and few between, and were very difficult for him. My father was a staunch man, emotionally, and I do not remember any shows of affection between my mother and him.
I do remember him arguing with my mother when I was five years old, and him stating matter-of-factly that he would never love me, I wasn't the son he had always wanted. I remember how hurt I was that my own father didn't love me. For years I tried everything in my power to gain his approval and his love. But, eventually, I realized that it was a no win situation. I stopped trying, and went on to become me, regardless of what he might think. He didn't always approve of my methods, and confrontation soon became a part of who we were. He was a strict disciplinarian, and I was not allowed to get away with much. Although, I did try.
I have memories of him, some good, some not so good. Mostly, I remember the times when he disappointed me, and I was left feeling hurt and unloved. But, I remember certain traits that he possessed that make me realize he was someone I would never fully understand. He was a proud, hardworking man with a firmly planted work ethic. He was honest, and dependable despite his inadequacies as a husband and a father.
My father killed himself when I was eighteen years old. I do remember finding him, and I can vividly recall everything about that day. That one moment in time changed my life indefinitely. That day forever shaped my mother, and made her who she is now. Who's to say if our lives would've been any better or not. Probably just different, that's all.
I was and still am a bit disappointed that I never really got a chance to get to know my father on a more adult level. I was just beginning to form some sort of strange "friendship" with him when he died. It took me a very long time to forgive him and accept and understand why he did what he did. Sometimes, I'm not sure I've forgiven, but I have accepted. And I understand. Some things are not meant to be.....