6 Things my conservative dad taught me to make me woke AF
I don’t really *do* Hallmark holidays. I don’t like the consumerism, I don’t like the obligatory nature of it, and yes — as a mother (but an introvert first), I would happily eradicate all Mothers/Fathers Day type activities from the calendar.
But. I can’t escape the fact that tomorrow (as I write this) is Father’s day, which gets me to thinking about my dad.
The truth is that if he were still alive today, I’d be baking a black forest torte and grilling some steaks — no card, no gift, other than my time and love. I certainly wouldn’t be writing a holiday-themed essay (which I hate) about fathers, for Father’s Day. We’d debate some political nuance, and I’d bait him into taking a hit of my medical marijuana, and he’d tell me his army stories for the 249th time. We’d laugh, and yell, and solve the meaning of the Universe.
But he’s not here. He died from melonoma over ten years ago now, and while the world celebrates dads, I can’t not think of mine.
So, in place of a black forest torte and a good rousing political debate, I’m ruminating here, with you, about my dad, and what he taught me.
Because honestly, I consider myself damn lucky. A lot of women are running around out there with daddy issues because they never felt their dad’s approval, or because he was never there, or never paid attention to them. But I’m not one of them, which I consider one of the greatest gifts the Universe has given me.