Why I hate Father’s Day

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This will probably be a very angry entry, so if you’re looking for sunshine, lollipops or rainbows, feel free to go away.

I hate Father’s Day.

I know I shouldn’t hate Father’s Day (henceforth refered to as FD).  I think FD, in theory, is a good idea.  Let’s celebrate father’s who love, nuture and support their kids.  Let’s celebrate fathers who actually give a shit about their children.

The reason I hate FD stems from my utter loathing of my own father. SURPRISE! I’m sure this comes as a shock to you.

It’s all about the jealousy.

I can’t turn on the television, the radio, or go into a store without being assailed with images of The Loving Father. Oprah is always the worst. Tear-jerking stories of amazing fathers. And damned if I’m not consumed by jealousy.  Why couldn’t I have just a fraction of that?

I was talking to my mother today and she says this to me:

“I feel so bad for you. It’s like you don’t even have a father.”

Nothing like a little pep talk from the only parent that hasn’t tried to ruin my life.

I know she feels guilty. Afterall, she chose the man that would later, not only reject her, (fucked his physiotherapist, don’tcha know) but rejected his children as well.

I remember her always telling me, “He loves you. He just doesn’t know how to show it.”  This is one of those times I’m not pleased at being right. She likes to think that she married a man with a soul, but somehow along the way, he lost it.  Since it makes her feel better, I let her have that fragile belief.

I find it so ironic. I have friends, two in particular, that lost their fathers far too early. Fathers that should have been celebrated today. Fathers that lived up to their obligations as a parent. For lack of better phrasing: Why are their fathers dead, while mine is still breathing?

Lorainne, ever her esoteric self, says that we all choose our parents. That is, it’s not some random thing. We, as souls, decide who our parents should be, taking into account what we are to learn during our time on this planet.

Apparently, I need to learn how to feel abandoned and unloved. Thanks Universe.

Now, just in case people are thinking this is just some adolescent angst, let me assure you it’s not. I’m not some teenager who’s pissed that Daddy wouldn’t give her the car keys on a Saturday night. God, I wish I was. At least then, I wouldn’t have to keep telling myself that it doesn’t bother me that my father would rather pretend that he doesn’t have children. At least then I wouldn’t be tempted to contact a man I know to be evil, just so I’d have some, albeit sick and twisted, version of Daddy’s Little Girl.

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About Angela

My name is Angela. I am a 28 year old psych and criminology graduate, but I'd rather not diagnose you. I am a cuddle-slut. I can recite the entire script of The Princess Bride, (including accents) and believe that the meaning of life is contained within. Polyanna, Snap.com commercials, and Oprah 'reunion shows' make me cry. I can whistle and hum at the same time, but I cannot touch my toes. I am an expert in both listening and talking. I look good in orange. I am a writer. I kick ass in Gin, Hearts, and Cribbage but I don't understand Canasta or Bridge. I can be heard singing Broadway numbers from my shower, and have dressed up as a viking princess, (complete with aluminum foil breast plate) The Phantom of the Opera, and a Ghostbuster for Hallowe'en. I have a bird named Bean. I have a brother named Adam. They are not related. I like vanilla body lotion, peanut butter, saunas, Jim Carrey, broccoli, pets, TheOnion.com, Muppets, Kevin Smith, Corelle dishes, dry erase white-boards, Barenaked Ladies, Philosophy, the letter J, Harry Potter, picture frames, swimming, quilting, Michael Moore, genealogy, Raggedy Anne, tacky 50's tchotchke, 'Idiot's Complete Guide To' books, tweezers, feather pillows, polar dips, aquariums, Martin Luther King Jr., and Dr. Pepper. I don't like meat, gossips, cooked carrots, American Idol, mosquitoes, sweating, politics, public washrooms, tardiness, tuition, hunting, pat answers, pick up lines, brown bananas, cliches, pine scented air freshener, Kevin Costner, bacon, candied apples, pro-wrestling, humidity, and hypocrisy. Books I've read recently The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy, The Dark Tower, When Nietzsche Wept, What's So Amazing About Grace?, Catcher in the Rye, Not Wanted On the Voyage, The Red Tent, The Little Prince, The Way the Crow Flies, Slaughterhouse-Five, The Poisonwood Bible, The Fall, The Knot of Vipers, Calculating God, The Chrysalids, Sick Puppy, Nineteen Eighty-Four, Franny and Zooey, The Brothers Karamazov, and jPod. I am slightly neurotic. No I'm not. Yes I am.

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