As Father’s Day approaches, so does the cracking of my artfully crafted exterior. I think about my dad often but I try to hide the pain I still feel. I know my sadness and unease makes people uncomfortable so I internalize it.
Only a few times a year do I let myself grieve or allow my pseudo tough-girl exterior to dissolve and just feel. My dad was a lot of things to a lot of people, and although it has not always been so, I know I can have my own opinion about him. It has taken me years to realize that despite what other people feel, my memories are mine and mine alone to keep.
He will always be the man who held me when I cried after I got into a huge fight with my first boyfriend. The man who, when I felt like my world was falling apart, told me to “never let them take my smile.” A man who, after losing a bet, got his hair braided and walked around downtown Waikiki with me.
For better or worse, he was my dad.
He taught me a lot. He showed me that some of the hardest lessons we learn in life are ones that come from the people we are supposed to love and trust. His actions both directly and indirectly have shown me the type of person I do and don’t want to be. Even in death, he taught me to love people like they could disappear tomorrow.
Nothing I say or do will physically bring you back dad, I know this…but I still search crowds for you. I play the songs you loved and pretend we are in the car together. On days I miss you most, I toast plain strawberry pop-tarts and slather them in butter, even though I hate them. For those few seconds, I am a kid again; I can close my eyes and have breakfast with you. I see your face when the boys smile, and I sometimes hear you when I talk. I think about what I would say if I could call you. I wonder if you would be proud of me.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I wish I could be with you today.