For as long as I can remember, my biological father was extremely absent from my life. He was an incredible Marine, completed multiple tours, and served our country well. When he was home on leave he was still preoccupied with work, beer, and anything other than his family. The majority of my fear of rejection came from him and living with what I thought was normal. It took many attempts to forgive the man who tried his best but I will say, it became a lot easier when I accepted some facts: I did not cause this, it is not my fault, and he really did do his best.
How did I feel so rejected when I am truly loved by a Father?
There were countless times where my brother was praised simply because he was male and I was not. (This is a root I had to dig deep to understand). I grew up being the most boyish tomboy. Granted, I love being one of the dudes but, I can finally admit a truth. I desperately wanted to be seen and known by my dad so I tried hard to be what I noticed he would give his time and attention to; my brother, alcohol and his Marines. I remember vividly what could’ve been one of those viral ‘homecoming videos’, a moment in time where my mom was of her most disappointed. I could sense it. Dad was coming home! We had signs, grins for miles and hoodies on because Camp Pendleton is chilly at 11pm. We waited expectantly as the busses began to trail in, park and soldiers with the same haircut came piling off, most running to embrace their loved ones. My dad, he did not. We found each other, he strolled over and immediately picked up my little brother and walked off. My poor bother was like a show pony to Dad’s buddies, getting told he will be a Marine one day too. Meanwhile, my mother and I were still standing in the cold wondering what did we miss, what did we do wrong? I can still feel her squeeze me tight after picking me up and walking around in my dad’s shadows that night. I’m sure it wasn’t the first time she felt that way and it sure wasn’t my last.
I played volleyball for years; rec. ball, club ball, and for school. You know what I got for Christmas one year from dad? A soccer ball.
He showed up to every one of my brother’s baseball games. He has still never seen me play or run. I’m 23 years old and still actively run marathons.
My mom finally convinced my dad it was okay for me to join on a fishing trip he and my brother had taken a time or two before. We had been out all day, my brother reeling in some tiny bottom feeders and dad having no luck. Then just before we left I caught a huge catfish. I was so excited and couldn’t wait to tell mom. After begging to bring it home for dinner he caved and drove us home in a rage of silence. He was so furious that I had caught the biggest fish on the day he caught nothing. He refused to eat it. It would have killed him to muster up a “nice catch”.
Fast forward to post divorce and me getting a say in whether or not I see my dad.
We make the trip to the half way meet up spot. We wait for him to show up to take my brother and I for the weekend. He gets there, we say goodbye to mom and we head to a restaurant before going back to his place. He smells of beer and has a few with dinner. I remember him pulling out of the parking lot hitting things and running over a curb and cursing aggressively at everything. I had to yell at him to pull over so I could call mom to pick us up again. He was fully intoxicated, unfit to drive, and still chose to put his own kids’ lives at risk. I sat on the curb with my little brother waiting to be picked up.
Then college… I applied to two schools. One was my dream school the other a “why the heck not” option. Both ridiculously expensive, one private and the other out of state. I paid no mind to the amount of numbers post dollar sign because I had it engraved in my mind that it was covered. Although he was a crappy dad at least he was a good Marine. I recall him signing his GI bill over to his kids. My memory bit me right in the ass when I showed up to the University of Hawaii’s administrations office a week before school started and they asked me, “what GI bill?”. Here’s a fun fact: my brother gets 100% of it. His school is completely free. (I completed a semester, then left because I don’t need to live a life of resentment via school debt.)
All these long winded short stories to show you that rejection was real for me from the beginning. This is how I was treated and this is what I knew to be true. The older I got the more I thought maybe it was just true from males. I blamed myself for not being a boy, or interesting enough, or having played “boy” sports. I became ashamed of my womanhood after seeing how poorly my mother was treated. I felt so rejected by someone I thought was supposed to love me regardless.
I have been shown so much grace in being able to forgive the acts of a careless man. I know he did his best with what he was given. He is not good at expressing love and I am not sure that is something he can ever learn. He was raised in a traditional Mexican home where women stay home, do the cooking, and the cleaning. He did what he was taught. He might have even treated me the way he did because that’s really all he ever knew. I won’t excuse his behavior but I do forgive him. He did do his best.
The hardest part in all of this has not been forgiving my biological father but learning who my Heavenly Father really is. How does He love unconditionally? How does He see me? How do I view Him? Am I too broken to look beyond what I know and relearn what a Father actually is? This is a challenge for me and I have endless questions, but I am willing. I am willing to ask questions and seek who He says He is in His word. I am committed to discovering the fullness of His Fatherly nature.
He is a good Dad. He is a Father who I could never run away from, disappoint, or bring shame to. He loves me deeply. He chooses me, messy hair and all. He celebrates my biggest catch and shows up. He loves when I talk to him and tell him all about my dreams. He is a waymaker for my needs. He goes above and beyond and loves that we do life together. My past understanding of a father gets crushed under the reckless love of my precious Father in Heaven.
~written in love by your local gypsy
