Fathers and Mothers

So, today is Father's Day. And I did what I do every Father's day: I call my mother and tell her "happy father's day, mom."

Yeah, you read that right. My dad hasn't gotten a "happy father's day" out of me since I was about six. That was the year he left my mother, two sisters and me because he never wanted kids in the first place. He missed being single. Yes, you can call him an asshat. I have, and still do on occasion.

My mother raised us girls being both roles, which isn't so unheard of in this day and age. Divorce is a common thing, though I don't think it should be, but really does anyone? Anyway, I think she did a rockin' job. My step-dad helped her through the terrible teen years, marrying her just in time for my thirteenth birthday. God bless him.

My father's role in my life was minimal. He would see us maybe two weeks out of the year, during which time he would throw cash and presents at us as a way to compensate for his guilt. At least, that's what I like to think. Today we have a somewhat easy-going relationship with each other. I call him if the car breaks down and S doesn't have time (or we don't have the money) to fix it. He's the one to call when you need the dough. Unfortunate, but I don't think he sees it that way. Money to him is all-important. But, that's a whole different post.

He's really trying to be a good grandpa. Which freaks me out. It's like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to up and leave, saying he never wanted grandkids anyway. I doubt that will happen, but the little bitch in my head says otherwise. Isn't family fun?

So, Happy Father's day, mom. Thank you for all you've done for me.