My father

For some strange and unknown reason, I have almost no memory of my father while I was living in Japan. I lived in Japan until I was five years old. The memories I have are of snow, strawberry milk(delicious!), butterflies(don't ask me why), my mother and grandmother. However I cannot recall my father being anywhere in my life during those early days.

My mother and father had gotten divorced when I was 3 or 4. Until this day, I believe my mother did the right thing considering what kind of man my father was. He used to gamble away all the money we had including the money my mother earned...not only that, he used to keep another woman stashed away somewhere in their own private apartment which he was paying for with my mother's money. My mother did not have an easy life back then. I have no idea why my mother chose him as her husband. He was handsome for sure...but that's not a good enough reason to get married to someone right?

We had to leave for Hawaii...to find a new life...to start a new life...I guess my mother just couldn't make it in Tokyo. My mother tells me that my grandmother who lived in Hawaii at that time invited us over. My grandmother had an ulterior motive, but that's for another day.

My father did come to visit us in Hawaii a couple of times and each time he did, I remember getting my hopes up thinking that this time, he would stay with us. I would imagine we would get to do some "family" stuff and I always looked forward to his visits. I still considered him my father and remember dreaming that we would have a "normal" family one day. However, sure enough, he would leave within a week or so. But why was he so kind to us...to my sister and I? He would always buy us toys and new clothes. He took us places while he was there. Later though, we found out that he had always asked my mother for the money to buy us things. My mother being the kind person she is, kept the truth from us until we were older. I guess she didn't want to hurt our feelings. We had to find out sooner or later and when we did, we grew to hate our father...the liar, the bastard, the asshole.

My sister never used to talk about my father. In fact she used to tell me that she wouldn't cry if he died. I can tell that she's hurting and has a lot of issues concerning our dad. I don't blame her. It doesn't affect me too much anymore...I mean it's kind of late in life to be concerned about it, isn't it? In fact, I hardly ever talk to him these days. Can't really remember the last time I saw him.

I have made my peace with my dad. I do forgive him for the past, even though he would never ever apologize to us about it. I realize that he's only human and he's not perfect. In fact, without him, I wouldn't be here. So I thank him for donating his sperm and I'm not kidding.

Dad, wherever you are, thank you for whatever little thing you have done for us. For being kind and giving us love the way you only know how when we were together.

I really do forgive you...and I do love you in my own unique way...because you are and always will be...my father.