A Different Kind of Father

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With Father’s Day having just past, I thought I’d share this memory with you.

Father’s Day is certainly NOT my favourite day of the year when it comes to thinking of my birth father. I’m sure some of my family won’t like, and certainly won’t agree with what I’m about to say, and I understand why, but these are my feelings on the matter.

My biological father and I certainly did not have a good relationship by any stretch of one’s imagination. As a matter of fact, the older I got, the more I became convinced that if there was a store where you could buy your kids, I honestly believe my father would have certainly returned me and demanded a full refund.

Now, as I said, I completely understand why some members of my family (and friends) get really upset whenever I say this. They love me! Furthermore, they can’t even begin to fathom anyone not loving me, never mind my own father. They simply can’t wrap their minds around that whole concept.

Yet for me, I have no doubt that I was not the second daughter that my father had envisioned for himself. First, he was so obsessed with “why HIS DAUGHTER was crippled” that he never allowed himself to get to know the person I am. Add to that, I think I’ve always had a very determined streak. From an extremely young age I never wanted to be coddled, a nd I can still hear my brother Lloyd telling me, “Hey kid. Maybe you won’t be physically independent, but you better learn how to be mentally independent. Because kid-o, people aren’t going to make it easy for you, so you better figure out your own way in this world. Get use to it kid, ‘cause life’s gonna be tough for you. So you better be tough right back at it.” So as I grew older and became more and more independent in my own thoughts, opinions, beliefs and so on, the tension between my father and I just grew worse and worse, until we couldn’t be in the same room for more than a couple minutes without some negative interaction taking place.

So, this past Saturday, while my attendant, Angara, was helping me get up and the topic of Father’s Day initially brought back my usual less than stellar memories, I found myself recalling a different memory.

This one went back to another conversation I had with Lloyd. I’m no longer sure if I was living in Newfoundland again, or Halifax, but Lloyd was living in Ontario. Still, the story that I’m about to tell clearly reveals beyond a shadow of a doubt that fathers are not fathers because of mere blood, nor biology, but because of an element that goes far beyond any of physiology, and is why, in my opinion, Lloyd has been more of a father figure to me than my father ever was.

So here’s the story…..

One evening several years ago I was having a phone conversation with Lloyd. In our conversation he recalled that at one point in his life he wanted to move to Australia. I always remember him talking about wanting to go visit there, but I never realized he had intentions to move there.

So, I asked: “You wanted to move to Australia??? I mean, I knew you wanted to visit, but I didn’t know you wanted to move there!”

My brother replied: “Oh yeah….. I had every intention to move there.”

So I asked: “So why didn’t you?”

On the other end of the phone, there was silence.

So I asked again: “Why didn’t you move to Australia?

Again a silent pause.

“Lloyd….. why didn’t you move to Australia???”

At this point I began to suspect that I knew why.

After another “Lloyd?” passed before he replied with: “W-e-l-l….. something came up. Something more important, okay?”

I was now becoming really suspicious because I was almost certain I knew where this conversation was going.

So, I asked: “What came up, Lloyd?”

He replied: “Something. It doesn’t matter what. I didn’t go. okay!?”

I kept pressing: “What exactly came up Lloyd?”

At this point Lloyd knew I wasn’t going to let him off the hook, so with some exasperation he said:

“Well, look. It’s like this. You couldn’t go to school in Newfoundland. Those idiots were saying you were retarded. You didn’t have any kind of life there. You needed to move to Ontario. Newfoundland was no place for you. You know what your life was like there.”

“Yeh, I do.” I said.

Lloyd continued: “In order for you to go to Ontario, live there and go to school, you needed a legal guardian in the province. Since you were still a minor back then, I did what needed to be done and that’s that, ok?….. and I’d damn well do it all over again too!”

Sometimes our “‘fathers” are not obvious. They’re not always the stereotype. Yet any man who would set aside his own life plans for the sake of a younger human being – whether it be a sister, a neighborhood kid, or anyone else, in my opinion, that man is most certainly a father – the best kind of father, because that’s the kind of father who really would do anything for his kids and truly love his kids, no matter what.

So now when I reflect on Father’s Day, I can’t help but feel gratitude and proud of my brother. I know that although my biological father failed me miserably in many ways, my “bro-dad” has been the best kind the of father that I could have ever been blessed with. Honestly, I can’t even begin to imagine my life without Lloyd in it. I can’t imagine what would have become of me if he wasn’t who he is. The kind of man he is. I am who I am in no small account because of Lloyd’s faith in me, his belief in me, his love for me, and his genuine acceptance of me, exactly as I am. I will always be grateful and thankful to God for his presence in my life. Still, Lloyd doesn’t take, nor want, any credit for any of my successes.

As he once told me: “All I did was open the door, just a crack. YOU kicked it wide open.”