Father's Day, yet again. It is a day for me to remember my father and it has never felt right for me being the one in the role of father. Nor has my son ever made any particular effort to remember me on Father's Day, either.
Several months ago, my sister saw fit to relate a conversation to me that she'd had with my father during the last year of his life, where they'd talked hypothetically about how life would be after his death. According to her, he'd told her that he wondered what would become of me after his death. Her implication was that my father was worried about my future happiness because of my lack of vocational success, because I'd not "settled down" into a marriage, and my promiscuous life.
Never mind that my father had not expressed any dire worry about my future to me directly when he had the opportunity to do so.
I have to question her motives of waiting over a decade to mention such a conversation with me -- if it actually happened as she said it did. What earthly good could it have done for her to mention it to me after all that time?
Did she really need to shatter my image of my father and the relationship we'd had by telling me that he'd never had any respect for me, after all? When I told her this, she was quick to assure me that our father had "loved" me, but she apparently doesn't understand that love without respect isn't really love at all.
Today, I find myself reliving this conversation with her and feeling resentful.
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