The dogs and I did our stroll today, bolstered by a letter from The Boss.
No, not Bruce.
I was asked once by my ex what would I do if that Boss showed up at the door, while I was surrounded by kids and my corporate suits and dishes and laundry and the chaos of being a full time working wife and mother... what would I say if he asked me to come away with him.
My reply? "Do I have time to leave a note?"
The Boss wrote, and all is good with us. I'm leaving on 5 July, which will make life very interesting, as The Film...don't you love all these capitals?....will shoot during this time. I've submitted my resume, or CV if you want to be very posh, to a few other projects. I'm talking on a daily basis to the Guy, who answers the phone and calls and cares and that makes me smile. A lot. Good solid smiles.
I have friends who are speaking of Father's Day, in sad tones, hushed tones, regretful tones. I, myself, have never been fond of this day. My own father...may he rest in his never ending buffet of excellent food surrounded by all the books and music he can have.... was a shit dad. A good granddad, a great friend... a shit dad. The ex, well, that is my business.
Parents shape who we are, how we see ourselves. Women often grow up and marry a man like dad. It's held up surrounded in pink light as if it's a great thing. Don't kid yourself... it isn't. Sometimes, we seek out the emotions and acceptance and guidance and need to be someone's little girl that we didn't have as, well, little girls.
It is the hardest thing in the world, to walk out of our own dark, dark house and shut that door. To understand we simply cannot change the people we share DNA with, that we cannot make them love us like us accept who we are how we are...to care. It is why we make our own families, as I say time and again. We create our family of our heart.
Sometimes, the shadow of that house stretches long and deep and it takes decades to escape it's reach. Sometimes, we never escape, and it's tainted colour that is so ingrained into the colours of our spirit, we eventually succumb to it's teachings, and become the person we are told we are. Or, even more fearful to our beings, the person we fear and who tried to shape us and destroy our spirit the most.
And, sometimes, we don't.
My dad sucked as a father. As a friend, he told me I could be anything I chose to be... to believe in myself. To go full tilt at my dreams. He told me that I had an imagination that stretched out beyond his limits of understanding, and there was my future.
No Happy Father's Day to the man who lived with me until I escaped at 18.
Instead, Happy Father's Day to NN, who has and deals with his own issues with a horror of a dad and is a good guy in spite of that man...for my Uncle G, who taught me to crawl by getting on his hands and knees every day on his lunch hour, who always gave me the end of the loaf of French bread, who loved the little girl who wasn't his blood...who was my dad in many ways...to my friend, Mr. Neebes a dad who is a..dad. To my brother, who doesn't have kids, but, is there for mine...to Mr. S, who personifies the word kind... to MattN, whom I've never seen without a smile and knows more stuff than anyone I know and to this Guy, sitting there today, helping his sons study, who listens and as importantly, responds.
Happy Father's Day to John, a man who gave me curly hair, introduced me to history, books, music, ghost stories, a love of food (my ass thanks you there), taught me to question everything, let me be me, defended me against The Wicked Witch of The South, loved me as much as he knew how... someone that we both decided we wanted to be family with, even if we hadn't shared DNA.
Now, I've an iced coffee to drink, a book to read, and the 9th Symphony is playing in his honour, in all their honours. The most beautiful piece of music in the history of man...written by a man who couldn't hear...but, he knew how to listen with his soul.
That's the secret to being a good dad... they listen.