To all moms, because the truth is, behind a slightly above-average man is usually a bigger, even better woman.
I don't think my dad was any less great because he had an even greater wife. My dad was my first superhero. He made me think that having someone else's heart was normal and easy. But my mom was essential in that huge lie too!
For the past five years, I've credited my mom for fulfilling the fathering role. Since my dad died, she basically had no option but to fill the vacant position. I had never realized this was something happening long before. Even before my dad died, she was filling in his shoes. My dad was not particularly lacking any fatherly skills, or not that I recognize. I don’t think my mom would consider him not up to the parental standard either, but for sure, mothers tend to complete others’ assignments. It’s a female thing, I guess—women’s nature to work in silence, without any sort of acknowledgment. Or might I say the nature in which the world positions women. I don’t think we have much of an option to escape the tremendous burdens of motherhood or the duties that come with it.
For example, I was amazed by the number of Father’s Day posts on my feed today. This might be based on a lazy hypothesis of just my own perception, but I swear so many more people posted to congratulate their fathers today than they did for their moms on Mother's Day. I just find it weird how, even in the slightest of events, like an insignificant Instagram post, women—in this case, mothers—tend to go unnoticed. Even with someone as close and loving as your mother, you often can't even perceive when you are being slightly ungrateful.
Back to fathers now. Don't get me wrong; I do appreciate men. Fathers too! I do not hate men, really. I also don't rant out of spite because I have a lacking male figure in my life. Even though my dad is not here with me, he was always very much with me growing up. And no resentment has built up in me to write about mothers on Father’s Day.
Either way, I would never write out of rejection; I write out of perception. I have loved my father all my life. I still miss his presence, and probably—though with time it feels like it’s fading away—it will always haunt me. I can talk marvels about my father. He was an effortlessly brilliant man. Quick, sharp, extremely funny, and a bit peculiar. Scary sometimes, especially for people who didn't know him—at least that’s what my friends have told me. For me, he was the softest man I’ve ever met. Sensitive to all, especially to me and his daughters. Of course, I am only saying nice things. Speaking negatively of the dead feels wrong. Or even speaking badly about your parents! I think I rarely do that. It's hard to still comprehend a person once you don't share daily life with them. Because in my mind, I can't comprehend that he is not off somewhere else. I don't imagine him in nothingness. I imagine him as if he had kept on growing; past whatever this is (pretty sure this is just a coping mechanism for comprehending death).
Well, part of comprehending death is letting others fulfill the role of those not there to fulfill it. And that was my mom. And that’s why this day belongs to her now. My new father, officially as of 2019. But again, she had been helping my dad be a father since forever. So by now, I am not sure if this date might have belonged to her long before my dad passed. My dad barely knew my best friend’s name. Now thinking about that, it feels like it is very much part of the dad's job requirement. I don't know, maybe he was perfectly fulfilling his role.
As I write, I tear up a bit. A bit for my dad, a bit for my mom. A bit for me. I don't know who did what, or what was supposed to be done by whom. I just know that they were a bit like superheroes. The real effortlessly chic kind. Making it all seem so perfect. Like when the tooth fairy money arrives and you just can't seem to understand how that happened. Sleek. And when you understand it's your parents, it all seems rather unreal still. How did they even manage to do all that? A fairy with magic powers seems a bit more capable of orchestrating a child’s bliss—parents, not so much.
At least for me, choosing which parent to appreciate seems easy, not that I have much of a choice! (I clearly understand that even with both of your parents alive you can appreciate them simultaneously, but I can't help but brag about my situation). All this might come to is, being a parent is being able to make magic. And being a kid is believing it. Because why did it all seem so easy and doable at a young age? Nowadays I can't even grasp the idea of them handling me—and don't even get me started on handling me and my two sisters too.
Te amo matilda