All He Needed Was An I Phone

I was scrolling through my text messages, deleting and such I came across several LONG messages from my dad. His text messages read like novellas. He has a knack for writing.  I don’t mind reading them.

Until now I haven’t known how to segue into my relationship with my dad and introduce him as a major player in my life. It’s a touchy situation. Unlike the relationship I have with my mom, my dad and I communicate. My step-mom reads my blog and there are situations that I wouldn’t want to reveal to her at this stage of the game.

Childhood was a turbulent time in our house. Parents that argued over the color of the sky on any given day, my dad working long shifts as a welder, consuming too much alcohol and my mom trying to keep up with the Jones’s; a recipe for disaster. My sister and I caught in the middle of their crap.

Cheese Wiz in his beard. A kick in my butt leaving Star Wars. A kitchen table, a loaded 45 magnum and threats. Just a drop in the bucket regarding the nightmares I could share. Often times the only reason I remember an “event” is because my sister has said, “remember when yadayadayada.” Sometimes it is better not reminisce.

After my parents divorce, the relationship between father and daughter was nonexistent. I do wish he would have reached out to me. I was a kid, I was acting like an idiot. He was the adult acting like an idiot. So many years lost because of our stubborn gene pool.

It wasn’t until I married a man with similar interests that a new relationship was formed. When Corey was born, another facet of the relationship birthed as well.

There is about an hour and a half of highway between us. Our visits are few and far between, twenty-five years later. Over the years we have talked on the phone in an attempt to fan the flame as it has occasionally almost suffocated from silence.

I do so yearn for fond memories of my childhood. There are some but why is that the hostile memories take precedence?

To date, I can count on both hands the amount of times I have heard the words “I love you” from my dad. Flip side of that is, I can count on those same amount of fingers the number of times I’ve told him I love him. I don’t fault him anymore, he didn’t hear it from his dad. I have tried to break the cycle with my own children. Although my heart  exploded with love for my two kids the moment I felt them wiggling in my belly, those three words did not come easy for me. I love them but I have to make a conscience effort to say it. I know they need to hear to hear it. The absence of I love you will leave you jaded.

One of the sweetest gestures I have from my dad is a handwritten letter about a newspaper article he found relating to Texas history. The old man’s penmanship could be compared to the letters strung together that comprise the Declaration of Independence. Absolutely beautiful.  He communicates well via the written word, the beauty of the delivery is a perk.

As I was reading our banter back and forth through text, it came to me. All he needed was a freaking I Phone.

Some of his most heartfelt sentiments towards me are found within the lines of the eloquently typed texts. He has feelings! I always knew he did, he just had no dadgum clue how to convey them.

People complain about technology destroying relationships. Not me. Not today at least.

Within each press of the keys on the I Phone keyboard he has compromised  words of softheartedness that I needed to hear all of my life. How proud he is of me. How strong he thinks I am. Those three words.

As he gets up in age and his physical health continues to deteriorates due to job related circumstances beyond his control my hurt hurts. Much time wasted.

Oh how I wish he would have had access to an I phone when I was growing up.

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The Old Man

 

 

6 comments

  1. Thank you for sharing this. Looking back at my own childhood has made me do everything I can to shelter my daughter and keep violence out of my home. Thankfully, 20 years after their bitter divorce, both sets of my parents had brunch with us and hugged afterward. It was beautiful. But it took so much pain and too many decades of hurt. I’m rambling. Love your post.

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