My Letter to Dad

Dad and Oscar

Dad,

I know that Father’s Day is tomorrow. I was going to get you a card and send it to you for the first time ever. But then I haven’t had a chance to just look through all the cards at work and find the best one that says exactly what I want to say to you. I want it to be funny and witty like I am. I want it to be heartfelt and tear jerking because that’s how I feel right now. I would end up sending you 10 cards I think. Because people can usually say how I feel better then I can.
10 years ago I wouldn’t be able to say this. Because 10 years ago I didn’t really know you. Not that you weren’t there, but you know. I saw you in bits and pieces and you were working. You worked so hard to give us the life that we had. You worked so hard at your business to make us as comfortable as possible. I had a co-worker ask me what you did for work and I told him and he said “So you came from money then?” And I never thought that. I never thought “Man we have a lot of money.” We never worried about it. We never thought about money. I told him. “We weren’t rich, we had enough.” and he said “That’s what upper middle class people say.” And then I said “Well we grew up in a trailer house, if that makes a difference.” I didn’t mention the addition. I didn’t mention how I had a car when I was 16. I thought that was just something that happened with everyone. I didn’t mention how I went to Gonzaga and I’m not drowning in student loans now.
You and I didn’t have a relationship until after I got out of college. I know that we’re a lot alike. I remember looking at the office down at the shop and how your desk was and how mine was exactly the same. A BIG MESS. (to other people) But we knew where things were. Man I hated you sometimes. You were the worst boss ever. You would leave me alone for weeks and then micromanage the shit out of me out of nowhere. But working for you, I think, made us grow closer then we would have otherwise.
I remember in high school playing my ass off in basketball and just wanting some sort of feed back. And it broke my heart not to see you in the stands. I played because you did. I played because I loved it. I played to get some sort of pat on the back from you.
I buy GMCs because you do. I do a lot of what I do because of you. I don’t try and get mom’s attention and affection because I know that I have it. I never knew that I had yours.
In high school I took a pschology class and we talked about the Oedipus complex. This is when little boys hate their dad and love their moms. This happens with little girls but of course the opposite. I raised my hand and said “I didn’t do this” and Mr. Thomas looked at me and said “Really? why?” And I said “because I don’t remember my dad when I was little.” And this teacher, who worked with my mom, and knew my whole family had to ask “Are your parents divorced?” and I responded. “no, dad just works. As soon as I was born, he had to get to work, he had three kids, and then two more came and he didn’t have time to be with us.”
Being here when you’re leaving to go through all that shit again breaks my heart. Because I remember what happened the first time. I remember that I was there last time. I was in the mix I was in the middle of everything I was a part of it. I got fired. Remember that? And now? Now I’m 8 hours away, getting updates from Facebook and the occasional call from mom. And all I want to do is just hug you. I want to tell you that I know that you’ll make it through all this just like you did last time. I want to tell you that I am not worried. I want to tell you that last time that you went through all of this you looked a little like Yoda. Except 10x taller.
I want to tell you that I love you.
I want to tell you that my life wouldn’t be the same without you.
I want to say thank you for being my dad. For doing all that you did. Good and bad.

There is so much more that I want to say, but I’m a bit emotional at the moment.

Oscar and My Dad's hands