splinters & sidewalks

I can't wrap up these posts about the most influential men in my life without addressing my number one influence, my dad. I know it seems like an overused and cliche`ed excuse that girls always seem to use when they want to blame someone for their bad relationships decisions, but it's true, when a dad isn't there to fulfill that role, bad things happen. There is this huge void that we are constantly trying to fill. I wanted that attention from males, but I didn't know how to obtain it in a healthy way. I saw my sister's struggle with this too. I know that we're ultimately responsible for every decision we make, but coming from a fatherless home almost sets a girl up to have a harder time dealing with the male gender. To this day I still do not know how to act around men. They make me uncomfortable. I cannot relate to them and I don't know how to treat them.

I love my dad, I really do. He calls about once a week. He's proud of us girls and everything we have accomplished. He comes to every play and piano recital because he really wants to be there, but it's still not enough. It's the in between times that really matter, the times when I'm really struggling with something and I show my true colors. Love me then, that's when it really matters. You shouldn't be able to only witness the times we shine, strangers get to witness those too. You weren't there to see the progression of all our hard work, the tears, the tantrums, and everything it took to get to that moment. I wish you only being there on our important days was enough, but at the end of the day, I just want us to all drive away together in the same car and sleep under the same roof. I miss our dinners together, not the ones toward the end, those were filled with screaming silences and anger on both of our sides.

I don't know when it happened, but one day it turned into Dad vs. Us. It should have never been like that. I missed the dinners in that tiny kitchen in our old house near the thruway. Those were filled with excitement and warmth. There was always a buzz in the air as soon as you would get home from work and joined us. We were all so happy, then you thought you had to build us a dream house. You put too much pressure on yourself Dad. I was already so impressed with you. I hated it when you would be gone for hours working on it, I just wanted you home with us. I do remember how proud you were when you showed us the skeleton of our new house. You built our new house in the middle of nowhere, far off the road. I was excited about our new life. You showed us where all of the rooms would be, it was hard for me to imagine everything being finished and really living there. You wanted us to have everything, you put everything into that house, you worked so hard.

Life always seems so ironic, sometimes the dreams we're chasing lead us to these empty alleys where we said we would never go. People never intend to do bad things, it's that one moment of justification that takes place, when you decide to let your guard down and tell yourself it's just once, nothing will happen. Before you know it, you're drowning in regrets, and lies to cover up your lies. To this day, no one really knows when it happened, or how you met her. Suddenly everything made sense. You were distancing yourself from us, you couldn't live both lives, I don't know how you did it for so long. Maybe you had to divide yourself into three different people, the one who went through the motions at church where you ran the kids program and played the organ, who you were at home, always pretending we weren't there, blocking us out, or always yelling, and who you were with her. I'm sure you felt like she was your escape from everything.

You left before you could finish the house, it was years before my mom could afford to buy carpeting. That rough plywood left splinters in our feet, we didn't have a railing up the stairs, our closets were these huge empty spaces in the wall. They were useless. It was like you slowly gave up on us and having that life you dreamed of. When it comes right down to it, I still blame you, I counted on you to be there, to protect us. Up until that point, I didn't realize you were even capable of making mistakes, let alone ones that huge. I always find myself wishing for those Christmas' when we lived in that tiny house by the thruway, some of us were three to a room, and scary people would knock on our door at all hours of the night, but we were happy, and I felt safe because you were there with us, and everything was genuinely felt.

Our house felt too big after you left. I missed the sound of you coming upstairs, I always knew it was you from the way you would tap all of your fingers along the wall as you came up. After you were gone, I felt like it was my duty to stay up all night and protect the house from any intruders. I would lie awake for hours, with my ears on high alert. I remember being too terrified to yell out to my mom when I actually did hear something. I'm sure most of the sounds were made up in my head. I hated my new role, but I was more worried about my mom and sisters, we weren't ready to be alone.

When I was home for thanksgiving this year, I was laying in bed, battling my thoughts, when I remembered back to when they were pouring the cement for our back sidewalk. Someone had the idea of leaving our hand prints in the wet cement. I had forgotten all about them. The next day I went in my backyard and tried to find them, I had to wrestle with a hose and I muddied my shoes, but there they were, buried under a million leaves, all forgotten and forlorn. Sometimes it's so hard to remember my dad ever being in our house, but the proof is there, it's in the pavement.