Dead Dads

Well hell, Father’s Day is here again and for once I’m not think­ing too much about how I’m act­ing as a dad, and instead won­der­ing what my own father would think of me 25 years after I jumped out of his car because he was going to beat me when we got to his place.

Every­thing after this is pure sup­po­si­tion. I don’t think my dad was ever real­ly proud of me, all I real­ly remem­ber are the ways I dis­ap­point­ed him. I don’t nec­es­sar­i­ly think I want his approval now, but I do won­der if he would still feel dis­ap­point­ed in me if he saw me now.

Sim­i­lar­ly, I won­der what my grand­fa­ther would think and what kind of wis­dom he would have to share with me. 

I am tend­ing to think that I would­n’t navel gaze about this father­hood busi­ness if I had some sur­viv­ing ances­tral blood­line to ping for bear­ings on occa­sion. 13 year old Adam would not be capa­ble of con­cep­tu­al­iz­ing the ques­tions that 38 year old Adam has, and the dead don’t answer.