Young

Coming to Terms with Father’s Day

As I sat and read this story, my heart hurt for so many different reasons. I guess any issues related to or about father’s hits home for me. My father was murdered when I was seven years old. My life was affected dramatically from this point on. Growing up I remember always despising all the girls or boys that had a father. I yearned to have a father that was real, alive, and with me. As the years went on all the men in my mother’s life (which were many), I referred to as “daddy”. I was a confused a child, that’s for sure. I really blamed myself in some sick way for my father not being there. As I grew into my teenage life (twelve years), my mother decided she didn’t want me and kicked me out. Thereafter, most of the men I came encountered with had ulterior motives. My mind was warped into thinking this was a way of life. It wasn’t until the age around thirty-three, that I came to learn respect for myself and body. I am breaking the cycle in our family. I have learned how to be a wonderful, loving, caring mother. I am raising my children without their father’s being in the home or involved much at all. I know how important it is that my children know it’s not their fault that their father’s aren’t here. I know this is a little off track from the story we read, but this is my reaction and feelings that came from it. The moral of my story is: my life may have been different if I had a father that was real, alive, and with me, or if I would have known it wasn’t my fault.