Fatherless-ness
The Aftermath of the Absentee Father
I search for moments when my father does something just for me. I need to know that there still exists a place inside his heart that is not entirely consumed with himself and the pain of his past that’s anchored him so securely throughout most of my life. I need reassurance that my desire to still care about our relationship is valid. I need to know his decision to adopt me was worth something to him.
My parents adopted my twin sister and I from the State of Oklahoma. We’d been given away to the state and placed in foster care by our birth mother. Our birth father had abandoned us and turned to a life of crime as a bank robber and was incarcerated. Our birth mother also had our older brother who was only a year and a week older than us. One baby, two newborns and no means of support or prospects. Desperate and alone, she felt she had no other options.
My adoptive father has always been very distant and has a natural sternness. He was an officer in the US Army, a Vietnam veteran and was militant to his core. We had charts pinned to the wall filled with exercise programs and chores that needed to be done, and we had to stand to attention up against the wall when he returned home from work with a stiff salute. As soon as he sat down, one of us had to take off his big, black army boots.
In the summer following third grade, my father would take my twin sister and I to PT (physical training) at 5:00 am to workout with his all-male army unit.
Whatever the task, it had to be done quickly, accurately and without question. We were seen and not heard. My father had next to no grace for errors, and we aimed to evade his methods of correction at all cost. When he called your name, it was never good news. The atmosphere was always very tense with an underlying vibration of fear.
My father never asked me my opinion on anything and rarely inquired about my emotional state. And, he was the “warmer one” compared to our adoptive mother.
He spoke at me with little conversational exchange. The topics were largely about his traumatic tour in Vietnam, his achievements, and the importance of education. Until this day, these topics still headline most conversations.
I’m not sure exactly when it started, but my father had become alcohol dependent by the time I hit my teens. He was physically present but he’d long checked out.
He took little consideration for us or our comfort and we even had to wash our clothes in the bathtub because he refused to buy a washing machine.
One evening, we returned home and he’d moved out without telling anyone. He’d even taken some of the art off of the walls leaving them bare. I didn’t know where he was, and I didn’t care.
Throughout the rest of my teenage years, my twin sister and I would see him once a year, and some years he’d make arrangements to see us and wouldn’t bother to show up.
One time, he came over to our house and showed us photographs of his time on holiday in Miami (we all lived in England at the time) including the convertible he’d rented and snaps of his luxury hotel. And then, we had to hear all about it.
Needless to say, my relationship with him was non-existent and it would stay that way for another 16 years.
Fatherless-ness has gravely impacted my life. When love is not at home, it’s sought after in all the wrong places. I followed this pattern throughout my late teens and into adulthood.
My fathers were not there for me — and they did not care that they weren’t. To never have had this foundation is a serious threat.
Firstly, the void is deep to the point of being stifling. To be invisible to the male in your life who is suppose to love, guide and protect you is just cruel. And secondly, the bar is set way too low for romantic suitors — you actually have to dig a trench to put the bar in!
The residue of fatherless-ness is the need for someone to show you love in action and not just with words.
I recently visited my father. We are adult friends now. The visit started out well but my father’s interest in me fizzled out by the end of my stay. I found myself trying to get his attention to no avail. And then I was upset with myself for succumbing to this temptation.
I’m vertically challenged and I couldn’t reach an item on the top shelf in my parent’s kitchen cabinet. Right at that moment, my father fortunately came back home so I asked him if he could retrieve the item for me so I wouldn’t have to get a step stool. He looked at me in annoyance and asked me why I didn’t just get the step stool and get it myself? I was taken back. I needed him to reach for that box in more ways than me not being able to reach it. I needed him to DO SOMETHING for me. It didn’t matter what it was.
On another occasion on my visit there was a little bug on the ceiling in the guest bedroom I was staying in. I’m sure you know what happened next: I called my father to get it for me because I couldn’t reach it. He came in and yelled at me and asked why I couldn’t do it myself? I replied that I would need the step stool but it was in comfortable reach for him to remove it in seconds. He refused so my Mom came and got it. Again, I just needed him to DO SOMETHING for me. JUST SOMETHING.
I realize that I particularly need my father to help me with something when I need help. I need him to help me even though I can essentially help myself. I need this demonstration that I’m visible and that there’s an emotional connection that results in a positive action from him for me.
Fatherless-ness. I’m in a club I never subscribed to where my membership is automatically renewed because I can’t cancel it.
I have long since forgiven him. I live my own life. I love. I give. My life is full. And, yet, a part of me still yearns for a father.
