I don't hate my dad. A funny way to get back into "My Morning Coffee" to be sure, but I had to say it. You see my husband read some of my "dad" posts. And now he believes I hated my dad. Which makes me think I am not a very good writer at all because nothing could be further from the truth. If I had hated, or now hated my dad I would not have anything to write about him. I loved and continue to love that man with great strength of soul. But that doesn't change the fact that the relationship with my dad was one of the hardest relationships I have ever been involved in.
You know we do this thing to ourselves (maybe it is just me, but I think its others too) where we think our relationship with family members should be the easiest ones we have. On the contrary, we don't let go of family when things get tough. We learn and we grow and we hurt each other a lot in the process. God, when I think of the hurt I have given my family I am amazed by the fact they still speak to me. But that is what family is and that is what family does and I daresay family is the first place we learn to forgive.
I think dad would be the first to admit he did some shitty things to his family. He would also be the first to admit he was wrong. My choice is to hold onto the shit for as long as possible until I can't stand the stink anymore....or to blend the shit with the good soil (and there is good soil buried underneath) until the smell is one of rebirth and springtime.
I choose spring. I choose love. I choose apology. I choose family.