For all the good fathers out there. You know who you are.
Their dad moved to Montana
the weekend before
Father’s Day
and my two teenagers
acted like it was no big deal
but I know the truth
but my Little Blonde Talking Monkey
reacted with her expected
shower of tears
and guilty anxiety
she tells me
“Dad deserves to be happy too”
as I rock her crying heaving
body
I suggested they each
pick out a Father’s Day
card for him
so he wouldn’t be forgotten
in Montana
(the reason he left: “there was
nothing for him
in California”
uncomfortably long pause
“except the kids”).
KC and Rachel were noncommittal
as they selected their
cards and then went about
dreaming of cell phones and new clothes
Sarah couldn’t decide
on a card so
I helped her read the sentiments:
“Dad, you’ve helped me
in so many ways…”
“I’ll never be able to thank you
for all that you’ve given me…”
each card flowing
with sentiment so undeserved
“Dad, you’re my best friend”
and I could tell Sarah
was getting bored by the search
but I wasn’t
I was getting angry
as I read each card
I kept thinking
Why isn’t my Pop here?
He deserves to be here
and I want to thank him
and I want to hear his laughter again
his simple and wise voice
but each card tugged
and sometimes ripped
at my heart
the injustice of it all
was pissing me off
here I am
eating my heart out
picking out Father’s Day cards
for an emotionally deadbeat dad
and I’ll have to
pay for the card too
why am I doing this?
Then I heard his voice:
“because you know
it’s the right thing to do, mijo.
That’s what I’d do.”
He was right.
So we left Target
and went home
and mailed off the cards.
Thanks, Pop,
I sure do miss your voice.
Happy Father’s Day, senor.