I found myself sitting in the middle of the woods with the man I’m supposed to call "Dad." I sat there and watched him cry and seeing the tears stream down his face felt oddly satisfying.
At the tender age of five my parents divorced, and when my dad left my mom, he left me too. I grew up without a dad. I never attended Daddy-Daughter dances, he didn’t know my teachers and never met my friends. At school plays, I would painstakingly search through the audience to find his face but I never did. He was gone.
I learned to never expect anything from him. To never get my hopes up because more often than not every hope I had would crumble into a million little pieces. For 13 years I lived like this, skeptical of his every word, disappointed and sad. So very sad.
When he got remarried and inherited a five-year-old stepdaughter I was angry, jealous, hurt and bitter. I was angry that he got a second chance to raise a daughter. I was jealous that he would be there to teach her things like how to play basketball or drive a car. I was hurt because he knew more about her than he ever bothered to learn about me. And I was bitter because he got to be happy; he got to have his happily ever after.
One of the biggest days of my life rolled around, college move-in day, and once again, he wasn’t there. I looked around the dorm and saw all of these dads lugging furniture and clothes into their daughter’s rooms. I saw dads giving their daughters words of advice, toolboxes and tearful hugs goodbye. For the first time in so many of these girls' lives, they wouldn’t see their dad every day, but for me, it was just another Tuesday.
So as I sat there and saw my father cry for the first time, I was pleased, happy even. Because for the first time in my life, he admitted to being wrong, to doing wrong, to abandoning me. He apologized for never being a dad, for never expressing his love to me, for never showing up. Everything he said was everything I have wanted to hear for so long. This grown man who was so strong and the manliest of men was hunched over weeping and begging for my forgiveness.
Forgiveness is such a simple word, but it holds so much power. With it comes the ability to begin anew and to mend relationships. It’s not an easy thing to ask for or give, because how can you forgive someone and trust that they won’t hurt you again? Perhaps the key to forgiveness is trust. You have to trust that someone’s apology is sincere and that they deeply regret the pain they’ve caused you. Maybe I’m being naïve in forgiving my dad, but at least I will know that we tried to form a relationship. And if anything, I have hope. Hope that maybe one day I will tell him I love him and mean it, hope that maybe one day he’ll walk me down the aisle. Only time can tell, but I truly believe this may be the beginning of a new era for my dad and me.
