DEAR SEAN:
My father has brain cancer. I do not have a relationship with him. I haven’t seen him in 6 years. My father is a sick man. He tore my family to pieces with sexual addictions, alcohol, drugs, and narcissism. He abused my younger sister. I hate this man now. But my heart is also torn for him.
I used to pray to God as a boy to change my father, to make him good. But this never happened. I feel like a bad son because I can’t have a relationship with my father. Do you have any advice?
Thanks,
SONUVA-BAD-DAD
DEAR SONUVA:
I decided long ago to never give advice. Namely, because advice givers are know-it-alls. And know-it-alls make life hard for those of us who actually do.
What I can tell you, however, is that I am the son of a bad dad, too. And if there is one thing I’ve learned: The real enemy is not your dad. The real enemy is hate.
My dad was abusive. I remember the first time he ever hit me. I was 5. It was evening. Supper was over. I was crying about something—the way 5-year-olds often do. I don’t even remember what it was about.
My father told me to hush. I didn’t. So, he hit me. I fell off my feet. My head slammed against the wall. I kept crying; he kept hitting. And he kept shouting, “Don’t talk back me, boy!”
My father went on to do lots of bad things. And shortly after he was released from county jail, after trying to kill my mother, he died by his own hand.
And that’s when I started hating him.
I’m sorry for writing such a downer article, but you need to know that I grew up hating my father. I hated him so badly that I did the worst thing you can do to a man. I forgot him.
My whole family forgot him. We never talked about him. Never mentioned him. My mother did not speak his name. His photographs were not in our house.
But the joke was on me. Because hate turns your insides black. Hate shrinks your heart. Hate will make you clinically depressed. You will lose weight. Your teeth and hair will fall out.
Hate will kill you. Hate is battery acid; it does more damage to the container you store it in than to anything you pour it on.
But something happened to me. About 10 years ago I decided I was done hating a dead man. I started therapy. I started writing about my dad a lot. I hung his pictures around the house. I even wrote a book about him.
And if my father were alive right now, do you know what I’d do? I’d look him up.
I would drive any distance to go see him. I would stand before him, chest bowed out, my shoulders squared. I would let him see me, all growed up. I would proudly tell him I loved him. I would not do this for him. I would do this for me.
Then I would turn around and leave.
And if that man opened his mouth to say anything in response, I’d turn around. I’d embrace him. And with tears in my eyes, I’d say, “Don’t talk back to me, boy.”
Sean Dietrich is a columnist and novelist known for his commentary on life in the American South. He has authored nine books and is the creator of the “Sean of the South” blog and podcast. The views and opinions expressed here are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the policy or position of 1819 News. To comment, please send an email with your name and contact information to Commentary@1819News.com.
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