First, since it's that day again, Happy Father's Day, Dad.
Second, and as always, I need something. It's always been that way and I'm only realizing what a needy son I've always been, how you realized it even when I didn't, when I loathed the fact you could see my weaknessness and would point them out to me -- in order that I could overcome them.
It never was easy having Superman for a father. I wanted to think maybe I was, in some way, as good, as smart and as strong as you. Eventually you told me I was, that I had been all along.
I'm not feeling that right now, and I need you to tell me "You can do this! It's a piece of cake. Just pay attention to what you're doing and don't stare at the ground/your feet/the bullseye/the wall/the girl/whatever it is you're trying to move toward. If you stare you'll lose your balance and fuck up. Then you'll just have to start all over again."
About to get an earfull
I've lost my balance, Dad, and I am pissed at myself. I need you to point out the obvious to me one more time. I've forgotten how to ride a bike or draw a straight line without a ruler or talk to a girl. I need you to pull me up off the floor like you did that night years ago when the blindfold was removed and you lifted me up -- raised me -- and we became equals in that darkened lodge hall.
I'd bring her by, this girl I can't stop staring at, to sit and talk with you and you'd charm her and tell her embarrassing stories and occasional bald-face lies about me and she'd laugh and I wouldn't get the stares and go all blank, because you'd be working the room the way you always do...did...and, well, life would actually be a little easier if you were here, despite all those years of you and me butting heads, you trying to teach me things I needed to know. Your ham-handed way of imparting wisdom may have been far from perfect, but in the end it all made a difference.
I need a refresher course on a few things. We need to talk.
You know, when I remember you it's not in a hospital room where I was reassuring you that "everything's under control" so you could leave the planet in peace. I can pull that up but I'd rather not, just as I prefer not to pull up all those tedious, predictable lectures, some of which made no sense then and still don't, but many actually do now. No, what I see when I think of you is always, first of all, the person in that darkened lodge hall, leaning forward, despite having spent a year with so little physical balance you hadn't even been able to walk, leaning forward and reaching down to lift me up off that floor, to raise me.
And now I get it. Suddenly it makes sense all over again. How'd you do that? I hate it when you make sense.
I also love it.
Thanks, Dad. Have a really nice day