Pie in my face

just when i think,
mistakenly,
that
i'm blessed with some sort of spiritual standing
i manage to slam a metaphorical cream pie
in my own face.

as some of you know and some of you don't,
my biological father makes choices...
has made choices...
continues to make choices...

that I judge.

Why do I judge him? Why should I?

I was adopted by my mother's second husband. I have written about him before.
Advanced Education, highly successful, polished, well-respected, high expectations.
He worked hard to provide for my sister and me.
That is who I was raised by.

My father, who's DNA I share, did not attain these same accolades.

And so, I have spent my life
judging him
as
not
acceptable.

What would Jesus do?
What would Love do?
What would Life do?
What would I do?

What would I do......

The other day, I received an email from my dad's ex-girlfriend.
She told me that my dad,
who is living in Flagstaff in a hotel
still drinking
did not want to talk to me because I would tell him what to do.
"Chew his ass", as he says it.

I was wrankled.
Thinking....
all I do is care about him!
all I do is try!
all I do is reach in the face of silent apathy!
all I do
is try to make him who I want him to be.

Get Sober.
Get a job.
Read a book.
Try harder.
Get on the internet.
Call someone.
Do s o m e t h i n g.

Be someone other than who you are right now.
You are not ok with me.


I called him.

and
unleashed
my
14 year old
adolescent
pissed off
unrelenting
hurtful
holier-than-thou
opinions on him.

So, I guess he was right

after all.


This relationship with my father, though often in the background of
my "real" life, is one that continues to challenge me in many ways.
It has affected my experiences of

men
emotional security
addiction
family
acceptance
rejection
satisfaction
self-esteem

me.

I'm almost 42 years old, and I'm still figuring this out.


Later, I called my sister and she listened
while I cried
wondering why he just doesn't love me
enough to be everything he could be
for me.

And my fury, my lack of acceptance, my anger
started to make sense.

Pie in my face
I humbly acknowledge that I am yet a child
longing to be loved
by her
father.

I'm sorry I yelled at you dad.