First the update:
I'm back from a week of art camp.
It was good. I'll show you art I made later.
Also, some of you may have noticed that I was still commenting on things during that time. That's because my teacher let me borrow one of her smart-phones that week, so sometimes I used the campus' wifi to check stuff out here (instead of staying away because I guess I have some kind of problem)
I'm also a bit sick. It was worse before; worse enough that I didn't go to the library, otherwise I would've been active yesterday with this reflection (which still would've been late, since the library is closed on Sundays and that's the day it was Father's Day).
It's getting a bit better, though. That's why I'm here now. My breathing's getting better, I'm not dying.
And now, the reflection:
As I've said, last Sunday was Father's Day.
I didn't do anything for it. I was planning to draw something, but I didn't. And I didn't draw anything for Mother's Day anyway, so I guess it balances out.
This year has been interesting for me, to say the least. One might say, "stressful." Everything is changing, everything at least seems
to be changing.
I've learned a lot about my family. Particularly my father's side.
It's not the best.
You know, I only realized the absence of my father in the middle of high school; I was walking outside to wait for the afternoon bus. I had just gone through art-class, gone through some social-interaction. I was walking and it hit me.
It had realized that so many people around me had a father. They had some kind of father-figure at least. They had that piece in the family puzzle. Even my brothers had spent real time with a father, had real memories.
All I had was the vague, fragmented memories of a three-year-old. Memories that might even be dreams.
He came back into my life this year. It was from Facebook.
I felt like I could put that piece in the jigsaw, finally!
There was a phone-call. It went fine.
There were other phone-calls. They went okay.
But then there were other phone-calls.
There was other family.
Promises and ideas were turned into delusions and realizations.
I overheard arguments. I had conversations with mom about it. About everything.
I feel like the worst realizations are the ones you build-up as something great. The over-hyped ones.
The ones that turn out to be false.
But that's the weird thing.
One day, I could overhear my mom talking on the phone. She was talking to one of the only family members over there who were coherent, and intelligent, and non-deluded. She was talking about dad, and about that part of the family.
Of course, it wasn't the best things.
And then I had a realization.
My father is kind of an asshole.
And when I realized that, I realized that I may have really been better off without him.
It was like I had some of this weight lifted off my shoulders.
I finally accepted it.
I felt good.
It's the funniest thing.
My dad was supposed to be at my graduation. At first I wanted him there; then I really wished he wouldn't be there.
There's the asshole thing I've mentioned, but then there's this; It would've been rather ironic that the first time I see my father since the beginning of it was at the end of it.
That's too much stress, if you asked me.
Then mom was able to get him to stay away from that. I was relieved.
I never had the ideal father-figure in my life. Every time I had the chance for one, it ended in failure. Most of these people are just memories to me now.
But I finally feel like I didn't need one now. I had a mother, an actual mother who loved me and did so much for me, a mother who still
does so much for me. I had two brothers, brothers who looked out for their little sister, who still
look out for her.
I had that.
That was enough for me.
This journal turned out pretty melancholy. But hey, it still has a happy enough ending.
And I'm not saying it's bad to have a father, or that you should abandon your children; please don't do that. Love your children. Love your family. Be there for them, wish the best for them, pray for them when they lose their way. I still pray for my father, for that side of the family.
I hope all of you could celebrate your fathers and father-figures this year.
By the way, how was your Father's Day? Hope it was swell; if it wasn't, then a sympathetic pat-on-the-shoulder, friend.
This journal is more of me realizing my own acceptance of a bad deal in life, and realizing how lucky I've really been.
I've been realizing my luckiness in life lately. I need to remember those kinds of things.
Oh boy, okay yeah there's my rant about a big part of my year, right there. If you actually read all of it, well thanks! That's nice
(But to be honest I wouldn't be angry at you if you didn't read it, I mean go have your own life friend
You know, I've had some Kurt Vonnegut quotes floating in my head recently.
Since I don't know how to properly end these things, I'll show you a related one, here ya go:
“… I think now, as my fiftieth birthday draws near, about the American novelist Thomas Wolfe, who was only thirty-eight years old when he died.
He got a lot of help in organizing his novels from Maxwell Perkins, his editor at Charles Scribners Sons. I have heard that Perkins told him to keep in mind as he wrote, as a unifying idea, a hero's search for a father.
It seems to me that really truthful American novels would have the heroes and heroines alike looking for mothers instead.
This needn't be embarrassing. It's simply true. A mother is much more useful.
I wouldn't feel particularly good if I found another father.”
-- Kurt Vonnegut, Breakfast Of Champions