Family is different for everyone. It’s not limited to blood, and sometimes people who are related to you aren’t family. Whether you believe in nature or nurture, you’re doomed to be weird (in some way) like the people who contributed your genetic makeup/ raised (or helped raise) you.
Sometimes that seems horrifying (especially when you’re a teenager) sometimes it’s funny. Eventually you realize your parents are just people, imperfect like the rest of us, and if you’re lucky you can love them for it, just like they love you.
Because it was Father’s Day last Sunday, I was thinking of the things my dad gave me. Like the line I draw through the middle of my sevens, like he does. I also sometimes add lines to other people’s sevens, which is very probably a quirk all my own.
* * * * *
To My Father
You carried me on your shoulders
when I was small
and longing to feel tall
You carved out time
sometimes in the strangest places
but your friends were nice
to me
even when I wasn’t nice
to them
You shopped for clothes
I kept outgrowing
and braved the feminine hygiene
aisle
like it was nothing
to be embarrassed about
You balanced what I needed
with the occasional cotton-candy
indulgence
Thanks for that
