Happy Dad’s Day

Happy Father's Day

Happy Father’s Day (Photo credit: Viewminder)

Today, is that day when those in the United States pause to celebrate their fathers. Of course, dads should be celebrated every day. In any case, I wish all the Dads out there a very Happy Dad’s Day. You may note that I refer to “Dad'” instead of “Father.” As you read this post, you will understand my reasons for doing so. In the end, you may disagree with my reasons, but hey, if we all thought the same way, life would be predictable and boring.

I do not have a father to celebrate. My birth father died last year, but in reality, he was a complete stranger to me, and certainly not a Dad. For most of my life, I never had one. My father chose to abandon me, my two sisters and Mother on my birthday when I was five years old. So for 11 years, I never saw or communicated with him. He didn’t even send my mother a dime to help raise us. Although those facts are my reality, this post is not about him.It is about all the men who don’t serve as mere sperm donors. Fortunately, I was blessed with a couple of those men who showed me what it meant to be a Dad. So, it is with this post that I recognize all the Dads in the world.

Although some will disagree, at a deeper level, there is a distinction between the monikers “Dad,” and “Father.” A man need not be the child’s father, to be a Dad. A dad is there for his family. He is the one cheering you on at your sports games. He is in the audience at any function in which you appear–even those boring school plays, band concerts and dance recitals. He supports your mother in meting out loving discipline, when it is necessary. He shares the responsibility of driving you here and there and after you can drive, stays up until you are home safely.

He is there when you are ill, if for nothing else than, to  provide love and comfort. Until he can no longer actively do so, he assuages your fears and protects you from all of life’s boogeymen. In the case of girls, he tries, in vain I might add, to counsel you about the nature of boys. If you are a boy, he teaches you to love, respect and support women. He provides you food to eat, clothes on your back and a roof over your head. He participates in all the memorable events in your life. The fact is, that ‘he is always there.’

Even if your dad has passed on, you have memories of him that act as a balm on days like this one. They are memories etched in your heart by the love that you shared. Studies show that, on average, girls with close relationships with their dads grow up with higher self-esteem and enjoy healthier relationships with men. Whether he is still here or has passed on, you share a bond like no other.

Let me hasten to add that divorce seems an inevitable part of life for many. Yet, a man remains a Dad by staying in the lives of his children. Although a father and mother divorce, the same is not true for the children. In fact, at times such as this, a child needs both their parents, more than ever. A Dad continues forging a relationship with his children, that is as strong as possible, given the circumstance. A Dad never uses a divorce as an opportunity to run away from his children or his responsibility to them.

There is not much to say about the ‘father.’ It is a fact that without a ‘father,’ you would simply not exist. He is essential in giving you life. In all too many cases, that is his sole contribution. The sad fact is that he is not there to share in the pangs and glories of raising his child.

So, on this day, I commend all the “Dads” in the world who are active in the lives of their children, loving and guiding them on their journey toward adulthood. Sometimes, raising a child is a thankless task, but the joys of doing so, far outweigh the pains. Thank you for being there through it all. You are a child’s first notion of ‘Dad,’ and as they learn by example, you are preparing them for the future. You are your child’s first hero.

I realize that not all situations are so clearcut, so forgive me if I failed to address all the variants of these complex relationships. As I say this, I’d also like to thank all you mothers who, like mine, tried to serve both roles, as single parents. We appreciate your presence, determination, strength, love and hard work. You, too, are our heroes.

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Creative Writing Saturday

A Red Lily

Free stock photo of red lily.

A Red Flower

Your lips are like a southern lily red,
Wet with the soft rain-kisses of the night,
In which the brown bee buries deep its head,
When still the dawn’s a silver sea of light.

Your lips betray the secret of your soul,
The dark delicious essence that is you,
A mystery of life, the flaming goal
I seek through mazy pathways strange and new.

Your lips are the red symbol of a dream,
What visions of warm lilies they impart,
That line the green bank of a fair blue stream,
With butterflies and bees close to each heart!

Brown bees that murmur sounds of music rare,
That softly fall upon the langourous breeze,
Wafting them gently on the quiet air
Among untended avenues of trees.

O were I hovering, a bee, to probe
Deep down within your scented heart, fair flower,
Enfolded by your soft vermilion robe,
Amorous of sweets, for but one perfect hour! ~ Claude McKay

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Quote Tuesday

Google Free image, see link.

“Do not worry that your life is turning upside down. How do you know that the side you are used to is better than the one to come.” ~ Rumi

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Traveling the Peaks And Valleys of Life

Cloudy Skys Above The Mountain Peaks, Wallpaperrs.com, Free images from Google

The answer is no — no cancer, that is. My conscientious and very compassionate surgeon called me on a Friday night, almost 7 P.M., to deliver the good news. The large lymph node that he removed earlier that week, was not cancer. He was hard at work on a Friday night because he didn’t want me to spend the weekend worrying.

He was right. I was prepared to spend all weekend and the following days until our appointment, vacillating between a feigned calm and outright panic mode.

Cancer doesn’t run in my family, it runs through it. (At 23 years of age, my cherished baby brother received a diagnosis of non-Hodgkins Lymphoma, and believe me, the irony was not lost on me that they were biopsying one of my lymph nodes.) Nevertheless, the incident caused me to consider the state of my life.

I feel schizophrenic. If truth be told, as of late, the outright panic mode is truer to form, but I am Christian for heaven’s sake and doesn’t faith mean that I be calm in the belief that God has me covered and that he would hear the scores of people praying and pleading on my behalf. It’s like George Bailey’s family and friends from “It’s A Wonderful Life” whose voices reached up to heaven in George Bailey’s most desperate hour of need. But, I didn’t feel that way.

The thing is that the past months have been so “challenging,” that I began to think that I was living a dream in which I woke to find myself participating in the Iditarod race, for which I was wholly unprepared. I have been mired and lost in the valley. I’ve had an appendectomy, a myriad of problems with my eyes which will result in, at least, a couple of surgeries, the awful cancer scare, worsened pain from fibromyalgia,  depression, and that sometimes stressful thing called “life.”

I am ashamed to admit that I haven’t dealt with most of the challenges well. No, at times, I’ve allowed my mind to run amok, assured that I had some terminal illness that would result in my impending death. I allowed myself to ponder what it would be like to miss seeing my g’children grow up, and lots of other shit. (I told you that I allowed my mind to have at it.) As the negative stuff increased, I allowed it to take hold. I like to think that I can handle anything that life throws at me, and I have time after time. This time was different, and I became a walking example of a stress “don’t. Furthermore, I hate myself for it. So, it is time to take control of the situation.

I am fully aware of the effects of the prolonged ‘fight or flight’ response. I know it but I am dwelling in it and I have to stop. It has a negative effect on my physical, mental and emotional health, and is a boon for my counselor. I look in the mirror and don’t know or particularly like the person that I see.

Screw that! I am shedding the withered skin of the last months and reclaiming Lydia. I am taking myself back. If truth be told, I haven’t been Lydia for a long time and I miss her. I really am not dwelling in the past, l am simply acknowledging the loss of my best self. In fact, I intend to be just that, MY best self. The self that is the authentic, one-of-a-kind, day dreaming, me, myself and I.

She has been there all the time, waiting patiently until I was ready to try her on again. Little snippets of her invaded my thoughts, but they were fleeting because I could not acknowledge her.

The desire to change came about innocuously. There were no roaring trumpets heralding in change. I used to love container gardening. Planting them and tending them would soothe my spirit. Watching them grow into mature plants delighted me. I had over 50 varieties of herbs. At some point, I lost interest in it. I couldn’t summon the energy to tend them. Whenever I went outside, the scores of empty pots saddened me, so I avoided the area.

“The wound is where the light enters you.” ~ Rumi

As Spring arrived, the urge to buy some plants, surprised me. It’s funny how playing in the dirt, getting my hands filthy, communing with the plants and flowers and watching them grow before my eyes, lit a spark in me. I unearthed myself in that soil.

The plants stoked a fire that reminds me of the woman who I was, the woman who I miss. With each flower that blooms and each plant that grows and flourishes, I feel stronger, more confident, more me. Although this Lydia is older, she is still compassionate, kind, loving and beautiful. She is ready to leave the past behind as she seeks her home, her querencia.

Granted, the peaks will not come all at once. It will take some time to understand the lessons that I’ve gleaned during my time in the valley, and I will undoubtedly stumble. But, stumble as I will, I accept it. I mean, isn’t that the nature of peaks and valleys? Yet, bud by bud, and blossom by blossom, I will embrace that wiser, confident me, who waits in the wings and welcomes me with open arms —  as though I never left. The warmth of the light emboldens me. Unlike Stella, I haven’t got my groove back (The reference is from an old 80’s or 90’s flick.), but I am sashaying my way there.

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