Father's Day
by Forrest

"17 percent never call their father" - AT&T

I wonder if AT&T are taking into account those fathers that have passed away, or those sons and daughters who never got the chance to meet their fathers. I wonder if AT&T take into account that even though 83% supposedly call their father, it's highly unlikely that this 83% actually want to call their father.

I'm sure there's plenty out there who call up their fathers out of duty. I'm also sure there's some who just bite the bullet and call them anyway, perhaps with an ulterior motive (the fucker is old, so I better keep on his good side to get my portion of the will).

But then I also know that there's some of you out there who are genuine about calling their fathers. They've loved their dads for the longest time, looked up to them, placed them up there with the untouchables, but their fathers were never quite able to reciprocate that love or respect. You, the child, have been doing all the work with this relationship, doing all the loving for the both of you. Your father just soaks it up, taking it all for granted, taking it all in strides.

And then there are those rare relationships - the father who loves his gay son or his lesbian daughter, a love unconditional, the father who holds up one end of the banner at Gay Pride, leading the proud mothers and fathers of their gay children. How rare are those relationships? God only knows.

My situation with my own father was never good, even from the start. I was born in a marriage that was consummated for all the wrong reasons. I was a never planned child. My folks had sex in the back of sedan, my mom got pregnant, and so they got married simply out of pressure from their families. They were much too young; my mom was 22, my dad 23... basically kids themselves still.

And I was a "special" child. I was born with a birth defect. My right leg was a little fucked up, and was not growing at the same speed as my left leg. Why? No doctor explained it to me. It just was like that. Of course my parents took the blame upon themselves for this. My mom was a little better with it, only embarrassed, never allowing me to wear shorts. My father didn't take it so well. He called me the cripple to his friends, as if that was some kind of insult.

And like I said, this marriage was bad from the minute go. My father was an unhappy man. Why? You'd have to ask him. He was nasty, he drank, he said hurting things, he never once asked me to play ball, he never once smiled at me, even if I did something right. I can remember how scared I was of him. I remember in the mornings sometimes, when I was getting ready to go to school and my parents were getting ready to go to work, and then all of a sudden I would have to use the washroom really badly, but I was too scared to ask my dad to hurry up in there. I just sat with the pain until he finally came out.
My mother, although she kind of tried sometimes, was never all really there. A flightly woman, a woman who's always been experimenting with alternative religions. My family called them cults. I've always called them my mother's search, although I don't think she's ever really figured out what she's been searching for to begin with.

I can't remember a time when these 2 were actually content while in the presence of the other. For one thing, they actually never spent much time together. Either my mom was out with her spiritual friends, or my father was out with his drinking friends. When they were together, they fought, and my father was a very nervous man, so he used to slap or hit us on the occasion. One remote memory I have was when I must have been 6 or 7. They were shouting, and then my father came to get me, threw the dictionary at me, and told me to look up the word "whore". I mistook it and thought he said "horror". I knew that word because I liked scary movies.

They finally did something right when I was 9. They filed for divorce and I moved out with my mom. But that wasn't the end of my relationship with my father. I had to see him on the occasional weekend, on the occasional week day. And I hated having to see him. I was never myself, always quiet, always scared, and if and when he spoke to me, it was mostly to insult my cunt of a mother. Lovely, lovely, lovely man.

At 16, I did something I've never done before. We were at my father's sister's place. It was Christmas. My father got angry at me for some reason. He pushed me. Unfortunately for him, I was now bigger than him, and I pushed him back, and he lost his balance, and fell.

I didn't talk to my father for another 5 years after that. It was I who called him up finally, at the age of 20 or so, and I thought I was old enough to maybe be myself around him, mature enough to handle the situation. But I was wrong. The minute I saw him, I was 6 again, I was scared again, I wasn't myself. It was never comfortable. We were never able to enjoy the other's company.
For the next 10 years, we would sporadically see each other, maybe once a year for a quick and formal supper, or we spoke on the phone for a few minutes. The conversations were forced, strained. My father would crack some joke, and I would force a laugh. I would tell him of my recent achievements, and he would act semi-interested.

When I was 29, his mother died, my grandmother. He called me up and asked me if I needed any furniture. Réal and I had just bought a house, and when you moved to a 12 room house from a 4 1/2 apartment, you definitely need furniture. After we picked up the stuff, I invited my father and his girlfriend over to our new home. All was well, and it felt like the first time we actually spoke. We had things to talk about - the new house, my baby German Shepherd at the time, Spencer. I wonder if we had a dog growing up, things would have been different. I doubt it.

Then I gave my dad and his girlfriend the tour of the house. Our place has 4 bedrooms, one of which I turned into an office. The other bedrooms, however, were still empty (remember, we didn't have much furniture yet. We still don't, but that's besides the point). So after I showed them the place, and only one bedroom, the master bedroom, actually had a bed, his girlfriend turned to me and asked quite innocently "so... where do you sleep?". I just gave her a look, a look that said "it should be obvious, no? 2 men, 1 bed?". It only took her a couple of seconds for it to sink in, and she said "Oooh", then quickly changed the subject. That was 3 years ago about, and I haven't heard from my father since.

The way I look at it, I came out to my father without having to use the word gay. Telling him I was gay would have given him more power over me. That's what discrimination is all about, power... the power for one to discriminate over another. I refused to give my father that power over me, especially after growing up my whole life around him feeling powerless. Instead, I showed him where I lived, how I lived, and with whom I'm living and growing old with. It was up to him to draw his conclusions, and it was up to him to either accept it or not. So he didn't accept it. No big surprise.

I'm sure some of you think I went about it the wrong way; that somehow I was being deceitful, and I should have just confronted my father and outright said "dad... I'm gay". But that's not the way I look at it. I don't look at my sexual preference as something I need to confront others about. I don't look at me loving men as something I need to confess. I'm an adult and I make adult choices, and having to admit to something like I would rather live my life with a man than a woman... having to come out to people... to me, there's something so wrong in it. I'm not deceiving anyone by loving Réal, but I would be deceiving others had I decided to marry a woman, have kids, and sneak out late at night to meet up with my male lover. I chose the only path that made sense to me - buy a house with a man I care for and fill up the house with pets and plants. I don't need to answer to anyone for my actions, and definitely not my father. In any account, had I actually came up to him and said, "dad... I'm gay", he wouldn't have said anything. He would just remain quiet about it, only to judge me behind my back. So really, by showing him how I lived rather than just telling would have ended in the same results, I'm positive of that. He was already distant from me, and me telling him I was gay would have been just another excuse for him to be distant. My question to him tho, what was your excuse for being distant those 30 years prior to you knowing my sexual preference...?

Ah... you guys might think I'm being a big downer today on Father's Day writing this. I'm not. I'm not looking for self-pity. Actually, I'm hoping this article will have some effect on some of you guys who were debating whether to call your fathers today or not. If you're able to sit down and think back, and if you can recall even just a few good times with your father, then call him. Call him as an adult tho, and not as his gay son.

And if you can't call your father because he's a prick, well remember, don't take it upon yourself for who your father is. He was a prick before you were born, I'm sure, and he's just used you as an excuse for his prickness (sic). You being gay was just another nail in his coffin of unhappiness. It's time to lift the guilt he's imposed on you. It's time to just revert that energy back onto him, and time to move on. It sucks and it's hard, but it's possible. My parents got divorced when I was 9. I decided to divorce from my father at 30. It was my prerogative.

And to those sons who have a father they can call today, to those who have a loving dad who smiled at you as you grew up, who encouraged you, who praised you... it might be time to share that dad with a friend you know who has no father they can call today. If your father is a loving creature, then he'll be able to share that love among many people.

And lastly but most importantly... to those gay dads... if there's ever a day you can move away from that shitty stigma that society has imposed upon you... if there was ever a day you can forget about all that shit you've gone through in order to get where you are now... a confusing marriage to keep up appearances, all the while, consciously or even unconsciously, you knew you preferred to be with a man... if there is ever a day to forget you're gay and that you're a dad, well, don't wait for your sons and daughters to call you. Call them.

|=| Close Window |=|



© 2001-2004 Butch Media Ltd. All Rights Reserved.