Every year I forget a very special holiday. My parent will give me money to set aside for card purchase for said holiday or birthday, and I will absent-mindedly not check my bank account to see this cash conveniently given to me around the time of the thing I am forgetting. Usually, the day before, someone will ask if I got a card and I shamefully say no. How can an honest mistake happen almost religiously, you ask? Because I am the worst kid on the universes known and unknown.
Mom’s birthday, Mother’s Day… and today’s slip-up: Father’s Day. As I sit on my bed, with a flimsy piece of red, hamburger-folded construction paper, I struggle with what to write inside because my mistake will inevitably speak louder than anything I put on this paper. Explaining to my mom why and how I could forget a simple card for the man who made private education possible for me, made having shelter possible for me, made me point blank, period is just the worst feeling. There is no excuse. None. I am taking the L, along with the rest of the alphabet on this one.
I have no explanation for the root of my chronic forgetfulness other than to say that I am privileged to forget. We get cards to show love and appreciation to those who mean most to us. I think my parents have been so good to me despite their complete lack of parental role models, that I somehow didn’t let the idea of sharing my appreciation with them cross my slimy mind.
I forget that my father, Christopher Pearson, one of four children, had no real example of a loving and Christ-like father of his own growing up and in his adult life. I forget that he paid his way through school (while having two kids!!) after leaving the military. I forget the times he was on-call and worked ungodly hours to make sure my mom could spend the vital developmental years of my youth as a stay-at-home-mom. I forget that he sold his beloved car, the car my sister and I came home from the hospital post-birth in, to pay for our private school education and our home. I forget those nights when he would come home tired from work and STILL help my grade school brain do head-scratching math homework and work on awesome science fair projects with me. I forget that he is always there to wipe my tears when I am hurt and emotional. I forget the times he took my sister and I out to breakfast in the mornings before school just to understand us girls and how we were feeling. I forget how hard he works to pay for all the technology I break without fail. I forget how he buys my mother flowers randomly all the time to set a healthy example of what a loving marriage looks like for my sister and I. I forget how much patience he displays with me when I give him attitude. I forget how much he truly loves and cares for me. Because the truth is, despite me being a terrible child who forgets these true testaments of a great father, what makes him a father is the fact that I am his terrible kid and he would do and will do anything for me.
All of the sacrifices he has made in order to set my life up on the stilts of success he never had. THAT is something I should never forget. Well, now I have only made myself guiltier, but with this guilt breeds an overwhelming appreciation for this guy I call d a d. I think this computer could have water damage due to the copious amount of tears that all have seeped into my keyboard. Great.
So dad, the takeaway here is that you have overcome so much physically, mentally, and psychologically to be what you never received from a father. I sometimes forget that because I never truly captured the weight of it. But in this moment, however, I feel it. It is very heavy, and I may throw out my back from trying to hold it all! The way you love your stinky, money mooching, kid is the very essence of how God loves all of us.
Proverbs 22:6 says, “Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old, they will not turn from it.”
You have given me the ultimate direction in the life you made for me, and even when I am inching towards the grass (like when I turn corners while driving), just know that I as old as I get, I will never turn from the path God bestowed upon you to place me on. I love you. I am sorry for taking that love for granted. Happy Father’s Day, daddy!
Sincerely,
Your stinky, money mooching, kid.