My Dad

My adoptive dad and I have an interesting relationship.  We are very different and we disagree about some pretty major things.  I appreciate everything he has done for me.  I appreciate and respect that he taught me a lot growing up.  He's my dad.  He will be the person to walk me down the aisle when I get married, he'll be "Grampa" to my kids, and he'll always be my daddy.  It's just how it is.  Yet, the two of us have never really gotten along.

First of all, we have very different personalities.  We have very different senses of humor.  I love to talk and I'm very animated when I get going.  My dad... not so much.  He gets offended when I don't laugh at his jokes, I don't like that he doesn't get mine.  I tell long and involved stories, he hates having to listen to them.  I stick with things (I'm going to nicely say that I'm persistent) whereas he says I beat things to death.  He always offers advice (which is sometimes good sometimes bad) even when I don't want it.  There's always a "but" in his response to me.

I have worked my entire life to try to please him, to make him proud of me.  I worked hard in school and brought home good grades.  He was proud of me, but it was fleeting.  Later, I noticed that my sister got a lot more attention for bringing home bad grades.  So I tried a different avenue.  I hated softball.  Soccer was my sport.  My dad only made one soccer game a season because he had to work.  I had more of a chance of him showing up to a softball game.  And sometimes he did, and it was awesome.  Every once and a while he would go outside and throw around a ball with me.  I treasured those moments.  I hated the sport, but I was willing to deal with it because it was the one thing that I could do to get his full attention.

I learned from my dad's mistakes.  I can see his point of view.  He worked really hard so that me and my sister could have things that he didn't growing up.  He worked and still works seven days a week.  He works massive amounts of overtime because the money was great.  He wanted to be able to buy us nice things and to pay for sports and piano lesson and such.  I get that.  I really do.  But at the same time, looking back I don't remember the toys he bought me.  I don't remember what camps he payed for with his overtime.  That stuff doesn't matter.  I remember standing on the soccer field looking at the stands and not seeing his face.  I remember all the times he wasn't there.  I remember going three weeks without seeing him once even though we lived in the same house.

I know what's important in life.  I know that it didn't need to be like that, and I also know that we can't go back and change things.  My dad and I have a new chance.  I'm moving home in a few weeks.  I'm determined to start over.  He has more time now that he's older.  He's maturing.  I know who I am now.  I know where my personality comes from.  We finally have a chance to start over and this time, maybe it will work.  Maybe we'll get along better.   Maybe we'll start doing things together.  I have hope for the future.