Father’s Day


My father left us when I was barely a few months old. Took my mom’s spousal immigration sponsorship and bounced. Left behind his name and his dimples. Years later my mom decided to get married to a carpenter; a working class stone of a man who liked to wield his hand on his tools and, as we would find out, on his own household. I mostly remember a blank void from those few long years; staying outside to avoid what waited for me at home. We endured all this so I could have a “father figure” in my life. Little did my mother know that she was the best father I could’ve ever asked for. Much love to all the dads out there, the good, the imperfect, the accidental, the surrogates.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s