One night, my friends and I decided to watch Bo Burnham’s Eighth Grade. My friends were crying because of the realness and relatability of the film. I was crying because, in the film, Kayla’s father is supportive no matter what she says or does to him. I was crying because I wanted to know what it was like to grow up with a father.
My dad left when I was fourteen. Well, it’s complicated. My parents separated when I was thirteen and my dad bought his own house when I was fourteen. I would visit, mostly during the summer because my mum had custody and my school was where she lived. As the years grew on, I grew further from my father. I came to terms with the fact that he was emotionally and verbally abusive to me, my brother, and my mum. Every time he sent an email asking for forgiveness and calling me over-dramatic, I always thought back to him throwing my mum’s and my things down the stairs, a baseball bat in my hand, threatening to call the police as he told me I was the reason for the divorce.
I don’t want you to feel bad for me, I just know so many people with absent fathers or abusive fathers – too many people – and I was compelled to write something that hopefully someone could read and not feel as alone as I did that night watching Eighth Grade.
I wish I could give you some great advice; some cure-all to the loneliness of only having one parent. But there are some things to think about. Your remaining parent is raising you and didn’t give up on their promise to always be there for you. They love you more than they can describe, and I know they wish that you had two parents who could love you that much. From my own experience, my mum is the most wonderful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. We butt heads but she has been two parents and then some. Unfortunately, for those without a dad, sometimes having an amazing single parent isn’t enough.
The day my dad threw our stuff down the stairs, I stole one of his plaid shirts. I don’t know why I did it, but upon further inspection, I’m assuming it was almost a way to prove to people that I once had a dad. When people ask me where I got it, I feel a small amount of warmth when I can say “it’s my dad’s.” I make a lot of “deadbeat dad” jokes, especially with people who have absent or abusive fathers. It’s a coping mechanism that is fun but, albeit, not working for me.
I don’t miss my dad. I miss the idea of having a dad who is there, someone to come to my graduation, someone who could have moved me into my dorm on my first day of university, someone to teach me about finances and how to fix things around a house, someone to walk me down the aisle. But life goes on, and you find that friends and the one parent you have and siblings and other family can make up for that missing part.
Plenty of people love you. Way more than your absent father ever could. I’m sorry that this happened to you, and I’m sorry that this happened to me. But it does not define us. Not the stereotypes, not how successful we can or can’t be, not in any way. You need to experience those pains of absence to understand how many people are truly around you. And when you can handle it in that way, you can continue to be the amazing person that your father should have been for you. We take on this burden because we are given more bricks to carry than people with two supportive parents. But once we can carry those bricks, we’re stronger than most. If your father never told you, then I will tell you right now; I love you, I’m proud of you, and you can do this.