I try not to remember much about my father.
I don’t think he was a bad person, but he wasn’t the person I’d like to be and, sadly, now that I’m all grown up, I recognize that some of the things I least admired in him have become my inheritance, and I have to struggle daily to overcome the emotional detachment and passive aggression that I so often observed in him.
One lesson he never offered me was that of compassion toward all other beings. I had to learn that one on my own. So: because it’s Fathers’ Day and I shouldn’t say anything too negative, I’ll just say this: He probably couldn’t help himself. Whatever and whoever he was, my mother and my sister loved him, and that’s good enough for me.