autumn twilight

I don’t call you often enough Dad. When I do, I feel there is some unspoken tension in our voices. I don’t want there to be, but there is. I don’t tell you often enough, that I love you, that it is your strength that has made me the man I am today.

I’ve always thought that we were not much alike. That we shared very little in common, and that this has made us strangers. That isn’t so. It wasn’t so when I was a child, singing on your lap. It wasn’t true when you took me to work with you, and we sat in the cab of a truck and pretended to drive. And it isn’t true now.

The truth is, there is more of you in me than I’ve ever really recognized. But that part of me that is you looks different, sounds different, and so it doesn’t show. Like you, there is nothing in this world that I would not do for my family. As you have grown to be the loving, jovial patriarch of our family, so I have grown to start my own. And I have found myself, time and again trying to make this family I’m building, as similar to our family as I can. We take care of each other, the way that you taught us to do. We are all siblings and partners, the way you and Mom have always been. We fight, like my brothers and I have always done, but let there come a threat from outside and we will turn upon it as one, because we are a family.

I remember a time when looking at you I was awed by your strength, by your love for us. I remember when you were injured, and I watched for years as you died. A piece of me died with you. Somewhere along the line, during your struggles with life, I realized that some day you are going to die. And when that happens I will never again be able to tell you that I love you.

Somewhere along the way, something inside me changed, and I decided that I would never need to lean upon you or anyone else for help. And so I took myself and tried to live my life as best I could, and I learned a lot of hard lessons. But I’m still standing, still here, alive and strong.

In your illness you taught me that I can survive on my own.

In your recovery, you taught me that survival is nothing without the things that make life worth living. I’m not any of the things I thought I would be when I was a child. I don’t have a college degree. I’m not a lawyer or a doctor. I don’t have any children of my body, and I’m not somebody important in the world. But I have built a life that means something. I have touched the lives of dozens of people, and some of those I have brought to my heart and made into a family. And I could never have done it without your example.

Through all the years, all the troubles we have had, you have not only survived, you have never lost sight of our family, and you have never for even an instant let us down or failed us in even the smallest way. I am humbled by the love that you posses, and I can only hope to model it in my life.

For years, I have watched you try to find a reason to live. I know that you saw me and my brothers out on our own, making lives, and that you began to think we may no longer need you. And I know that there were times when you were ready to give up, because we didn’t need you any more. I know from watching you, that you have found reason to live again in Mom, and in celebrating the love that is so plentiful in your life. I am grateful for every second of your life, and though I may have learned to survive on my own, and though I may not need you to hold me up or keep me from falling, I will always need you in my life. You are a paragon of love and the pillar of our family, you have sacrificed and given more of yourself than anyone could ever expect, and you have done so with an open heart and a shining smile in your eyes.

One of the greatest fears I held when becoming a man, was that I would not live up to the expectations you and Mom had for me. When I learned that I was gay I was terrified that you wouldn’t be able to accept me. But through all this, I have received from you a sense of burgeoning pride. I know that you may not always like the paths I’ve taken, I’d be a little disappointed if you did, for after all what joy is there in a son’s life if he can not do things his parents disapprove of? But I know that you are proud of me, and I am stronger and more whole for that.

And though I do not say it often enough. I am proud to be your son. Most people know that I have an elitist streak in me. I believe in striving to be the best, in improving myself and those around me. As an elitist, as someone who never settles for anything less than the best, who strives in all things, I am proud to say that you are my father. I am proud of your strength and your love. I am proud of the life you have lived and the gifts you have given to me in my blood and in my life. I am proud to see parts of you in myself, and I am proud to call myself your son.

I love you Dad, and even though I don’t call as often as I probably should, I will always love you.

Your Son,

theo