I hate Father's Day.

And here's why.

For many years I was single mom. So Father's Day was always traumatic for The Boy, because there were always father/son happenings. This was even harder for The Boy because his birthday is always right around Father's Day. So of course he missed those. And as a side note, there are father/son, father/daughter and mother/daughter occasions, why are there never any mother/son things? So Father's Day was a bitch for that.

Second, I really pretty much hate my dad. OK, hate may be a strong word for it, but I am estranged from him, and I like it that way. But, I hate trying to deal with Father's Day. I acknowledge Father's Day, his birthday and Christmas for him. And really that's not even for me. If I could I would completely ignore him. I do it for The Boy. My dad is very manipulative and if I didn't acknowledge his things then he wouldn't send me cards for whatever. Now, I'm fine with that, but when he started doing it to my kid I get pissed, because he did it when The Boy was old enough to remember it.

The year The Boy turned one he was really sick on Father's Day. It was the day after his birthday, poor kid, and we spent the day at the doctor's office trying to get him taken care of. He had double ear infections and tonsilitis, was puking and running a high fever. Yeah, I was a little too busy to call dad and wish him a happy Father's Day. I barely remembered to do it with my husband. I went down to visit my mom for a week right after that and dad came down to see me and The Boy and he gave me shit for it. Yeah, that's the type of jerk my dad is.

Anyway, I hated trying to send him a card because most of the Father's Day cards are all "You're the best dad in the world" type of stuff. You really can't find cards that say "You're an abusive son of a bitch and I want to make sure you don't hurt my kid so have a freaking Father's Day card". Much harder to find a card like that. Hmmm, maybe I should start a card company for people with toxic family members.

So cards were out of the picture. Then how about calling him. I do my best to try not to call him, I would call at times I knew he wouldn't be home because I didn't want to talk to him. But lately I have found the perfect way to talk to him. I text him. But I don't want to give him our cell phone number so I do it through SMS messages on Yahoo. That way I can sign out of chat when I don't want to talk to him. He can only chat with me when I am on chat. Perfect.

Now there is one reason that I kind of like Father's day, other than my husband who I mostly like most of the time. My step-father. He married my mom several years ago. When he married her he told me I was his daughter, even though I was a full grown adult at the time. He has always treated me like I was his daughter. He has done more than my bio-dad ever did. I can't wish him a specific Happy Father's Day on FB because it will hurt my bro and sis if they find out, and they will take it badly and they will tell dad. Which shouldn't bother me, but he's likely to mke it harder for mom and me to talk to my brothers. It's stupid and I hate it. But there it is.

So, that's the reason I hate Father's Day. There are great dads out there. But there are a lot of really crappy ones too. Mothers too. I have issues with Mother's Day, but those will have to wait until next Mother's Day.

Products of our childhood.

I got to thinking. I was washing dishes, a task which lets me stop and think. It's a mindless task and I can reach a Zen state. I accidentally turned the water on too hot. I realized it when I put my hand under it and yanked it out. It reminded me of when I was a kid. My dad would complain that I wasn't washing the dishes in hot enough water. It felt pretty hot to me. But, I had delicate kid hands. My dad had heavily calloused worker hands. He was an electrician and spent a lot of time working outside. He didn't feel the hot. I did. And it hurt. I complained to my mom about it, and she talked to my dad about it. But still, every time I washed dishes, and I did a lot, because dish washing was "girl" work, dad turned the hot all the way on and the cold almost all the way off.

Now, you probably have a good idea of what my dad was like. He wasn't a nice man, and still isn't. He apparently appears nice, but hey, they give good drugs now. Anti-depressants rock. He puts on a good public face. But, in private.... Yeah, he was abusive. Luckily, for me, it wasn't as bad as it could have been, but I'm still an abuse survivor. There are a lot of people who had it worse, much worse. But there are also a lot of  people who had it better.

I am a 30something woman. I have mental illnesses. Some of them are direct results of what I grew up with. I am the product of what I grew up with. I have to fight hard to deal with my temper. I have serious control and trust issues. I am much more likely to react angrily or defensively than I am to be calm about it. I know these things about myself. I work hard to not be that way. It's becoming habit for me to take a breath and wait to see what is happening and to be reasonable about it. As I get older, it gets easier. I've learned politeness and firmness works a whole lot better than raging at someone. I am much more likely to get what I want if I don't go to that place first. After all, I always can go there. I can't come back from it.

Here's the thing. I may be a product of my childhood. But I am not a prisoner of it. Yes, I have PTSD because of it, but I don't let it control me. I have a personality disorder, but it is not who I am. I am me. I am not the illnesses. I finished high school, I graduated college. I have a 15 year old son. I have lived on my own since I was 19.

I have some brothers. They are prisoners of their childhood. The oldest of them is 2 years younger than me. He didn't move out of our father's home until he was 33 or so, and then it was a forceful move, which is a story for another time. Of my two youngest brothers, one is in college and lives with dad, the other lives sort of with dad, and the last time I talked to him wasn't working. They stay with our father and take care of him. He's in poor health. He still manipulates them and controls them. They don't talk to me or our mother because we are the "enemy." They can't break free. And what's worse, they don't want to.

I wish they would break free. I wish they could break free. I wish there was something that I could do, but there isn't. They don't want my help. They don't even want to talk to me because they listen to my dad, who tells them that I am manipulated by my mother. My brothers still live in Hell. Every day I am glad that I was able to get free of that, and that I don't have to live there.

I may be the product of my childhood, but I am not the prisoner of it. I was able to break free and become more. Every day I try to be more. That's the only thing I can do.