Father's Day, 2026

Hey Foxy Friends. I wanted to write something longer than a series of BlueSky posts could reasonably handle, so I "stole" a platform from my friend @orso-xl.bsky.social (who made an emotional and heartfelt post about their own backstory) to try and put some complex thoughts and memories on digital paper.

Until fairly recently, I'd say maybe five or six years ago, Father's Day stirred up powerful feelings of irrational and uncontrollable anger, resentment, and loneliness within me. There were some years when I'd become completely nonfunctional because of these raging fires burning through my chest, which would inevitably give way to silent, smoldering sadness just before sleep would take me. But perhaps it would be best to start this story from the beginning.

I only have fleeting memories of my dad when I was a child. My mom and dad separated and divorced when I was still very young, and from what I gathered in snippets from various family members over the years, it wasn't too pretty. Whispers from my grandma about his infidelity. Auntie telling me that mom took everything from him in court. Mom accidentally letting slip that he broke her heart. I never got the full story from my mom because it seemed painful to recount, and now that she's gone, I suppose I'll never know what really happened.

Because my dad was out of my life so completely, I have few concrete memories of him. Wordless conversations atop my grandma's porch. Flashes of splashing around in the tub. A dark night lying together on my bedroom floor because I was too scared to sleep alone. For a time, my dad would still pick me up from school, take me to my grandparents' house, and see me for short visits. At some point, however, that completely stopped without explanation.

Perhaps because I was picked on at school for not having a father figure in my life, or because I saw my mom struggling with having to work early mornings and late nights, or maybe because of the growing feelings of abandonment and worthlessness that stemmed from his actions, I grew angry. I told a classmate, who previously picked on me relentlessly for not having a dad, that I was happy when her own father suddenly passed away. She cried because of my unkindness and I didn't care. I began to sulk and brood on every Father's Day, although my mom tried her best to distract and comfort me.

In my teenage years, my paternal grandmother, who had gotten very sick, wrote me a long letter, pleading me to forgive my dad for his actions. At that point, he had excommunicated not only me and my mom, but his sisters and his parents, too. In my selfishness, I stopped talking to my grandma after that, so furious that she would "take his side", and never went to visit her once before her sickness claimed her. To this day, I carry some guilt for making that terrible choice.

As I grew into an adult, the rage against my father subsided but did not disappear. In fact, it gradually transformed into an ugly beast that tore at my self-confidence and dampened any feelings of pride or accomplishment. It eroded my trust in people and made it difficult to make and keep friends. This added to and further complicated the years and years I spent burying my true self amongst lies and facades (though that story can be another long post by itself).

After years and years of therapy, I was able to reclaim some of the power my dad held over me. I realized that I had become a good and capable person without him, and I owed a lot of it to my mom. I decided to start calling her on Father's Day to tell her "Happy Father's Day", which tickled her and made her laugh, though I knew deep down she truly appreciated the sentiment.

About ten years or so ago, my mom gave me my dad's cell phone number and told me to try and call him, partially because she was morbidly curious about what he would say, and partially because she was worried the unknown would consume me later in life. It took me weeks of deliberation, but one day I decided to gather my courage and make that call. I did it from my boss's office at work, of all place. My heart was pounding as the phone rang. When he picked up, I wasn't sure what to say.

"Hey, this is Travis". "Who?" "Your son?" "Oh." An awkward silence. "I didn't expect you to sound so grown up." That statement tore down the floodgates. "Where have you been? Why haven't you been around? What have you been doing all this time?" "I'm sorry, I had a lot going on." More awkward silence. I realized this had been a stupid idea. We talked idly for a bit, nothing of which I can remember today. Then I told him, "Well, you have my number now. You can call me if you feel like it." He laughed. Then I told him goodbye.

Since then, I haven't seen nor spoken to him again. When my mom got sick in 2019, all thoughts of my dad vanished. My mom's well being took precedence over everything else. With her passing last year in December, my brain shifted back into a calmer state that I hadn't experienced for six years. With that shift came some familiar thoughts and memories, though they had lost most of their power.

In notifying my family of my mom's death, I reconnected with a cousin I had been close with on my dad's side. Between catching up and sharing stories, I asked her the inevitable question - "So, have any of you heard from my dad?" She explained that her auntie's friend, who was also my dad's old classmate, saw my dad walking around town from time to time, still healthy and alive. A spark of that old fire within me flared up. I was angry that my mom had suffered so much and was now gone, and my dad was still blessed with health and life. I knew it was a useless and dangerous thought, so I shoved it aside, though it lingered.

And today, well, it's Father's Day. My first one without my mom. She's no longer there for me to wish a "Happy Father's Day", and it hurts that I'll never be able to hear her laugh at me about it again. I did silently thank her yesterday, while doing a quick check-in of her now mostly empty townhouse, with a hand on the edge of her painfully vacant hospital bed. It was because of her that I'm the person I am today. She was both mom and dad, and everything I needed.

So, mom - Happy Father's Day, wherever you are. I miss you and love you. And dad - you've missed out on having a wonderful person in your life, but I haven't. Your power over me is gone. I've reached a new chapter and you're no longer a character in my story.