Philippa said to me yesterday “this might be the last Fathers Day where you don’t get a card!”
I said “Yeah, you’ve said that before. I wouldn’t make any assumptions, love…”
It’s rare for me to buy into the sentimentality of these days, but I did find myself thinking about my own dad. It didn’t take long, obviously, as he wasn’t around long enough to make lots of memories. But I couldn’t help drifting back to thoughts of my youth and how hard it was not to have my dad around much. I didn’t even realise it at the time, I just kind of got on with it, but it wasn’t great, and I look back now and feel really sorry for that little lad that I used to be. Growing up in a house with no other male presence, save for the social drop-outs my mum used to bring home drunk for a quick screw.
I wonder now whether that isn’t the reason I’m apprehensive about fatherhood myself? Maybe I’m worried that I have no reference point for how to be a good dad so I’m scared I’ll mess it up. Or maybe I’m worried that I’ll do what my dad did and bail out of the family as soon as I can instead of sticking it out and trying and make it work.
Or maybe I’m just a coward.
Either way, I feel unexpectedly emotional about it all. And as usual, I’m going to react to those emotions by burying them under some alcohol.
Excuse me….
RC 22-6-15
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