Father's Footprints

Father's footprints are a series of faded, remnant tracks in the dirt of a man who may have once had direction on his journey, but somewhere along the way, got lost.

In my opinion at the time, my father strayed a bit too far off course, a bit too often, and a bit too long. Go far enough, often enough, long enough, and you'd find yourself lost too.

When I think of his choices in life and how he went about them, I see footprints crisscrossing over themselves several times over, in all directions. Every left turn made was a wrong committed, from empty promises, no shows on pick-up days, no calls for weeks, and a general lack of responsibility for the life he created, it still saddens the inner child in me. To a child all those moments matter, they all count. there are no moments too big or too small that your parents shouldn't be a part of, after all you are a part of them. It fills one with severe feelings of disappointment, anger, resentment, and betrayal. Emotions that are all too gripping causing a young child to become consumed in fits of sudden rage and inconsolable sadness.

The reality for a mother who watched the joy on her four kids face as she told them the good news, "your dads coming to take y'all on vacation for the weekend." I remember us frantically running around our room, grabbing clothes from closets, baskets, and drawers. Screaming for our mother if there was something we weren't able to find. We shared unsolicited opinions about what we should wear for the day and those opinions were okay because nothing else mattered. Dad was coming to get us. We'd yell across the hall queue ourselves in line for the bathroom to shower and brush our teeth. One after the other we occupied the bathroom. the walls were left dampened, the air, hot, droplets of water lay across the sink along with strands of hair. We knew better than to leave it that way of course. but with the excitement of the moment, it seem there was not time to clean the bathroom and straighten back up the rooms we had torn through readying ourselves; we did our best.

Then, one by one at our own intervals we came down the steps and lined our bags near the door. We occasionally made checks to ensure we had everything. The four of us spread out across the living room and waited. We talked, laughed, consider what we would do over the weekend, and watched tv. My mother and youngest sister just carried on their day not minding us too much. But as time passed my mother noticed a change in us. The pitch and volume in our voices dropped with the joy we felt. Our interactions with each other became fewer and fewer. It seemed a minute didn't go by that we didn't ask her to call him; he never answered. "Where is he?" "Is he still coming?" She watched as our joy turned to hope, hope to sadness as that day passed by slower than anything I've ever experienced in life. My mother knew the truth that broke heart her too much to tell us early on.

I can't recall if he did call and say he wasn't coming but whatever confirmation we got, by late night our faces were drowned in never-ending tears. It was a sadness that poured from the four of us that leeched onto our youngest sister who hurt to see us hurting and eventually our mother who up until that point tried desperately to keep her emotions as calm and collected as possible for our sakes. A family of six, five children who sat around wailing to their mother sitting on the couch, weeping for them, sat in that dimly lit living room for what seemed like the rest of the night trying our hardest to console one another.

The experience changed me forever. It sticks with me like a tattoo. The pain of it may fade over time but I'll always have it with me.

But it wasn't all bad with my dad.

For every right he made to correct the path he was on, I hold memories of the time spent laughing, playing games, meals cooked, holidays spent, and vacations taken, though few, are cherished deeply. It was in those moments that filled me with joy, feeling that the man I called dad wanted to be a part of me as much as I wanted to be a part of him and vice versa. In those moments I considered the lefts, the wrongs, and hoped, prayed, he stayed right. There in those moments were glimpses of the man, the father, I knew he could be and that my siblings and I needed.

I remember when we finally got our vacation, years had passed between the story I told and this time. We were on our way to a family vacation in North or South Carolina (I don't remember which). We were a bit older then and knew better than to get ourselves too worked up. We readied ourselves at a leisurely pace that day and didn't bother dropping suitcases at the front door. We carried on with a normal day as if we weren't going anywhere. He arrived a bit late that day with his wife and her daughter. We loaded up the car and get on the road.

Once we realized it was really happening, we allowed our excitement to build gradually over the course of the road trip. We joked and played games, sang songs, typical road trip stuff. Then when we arrived at the big house they had rented for the weekend, we were greeted by our family. We were over-joyed. We paced through both sides of the house, looking around each and every room, greeting cousins, aunts and uncles spread randomly throughout the house. It was a good time even though we arrived a day later than everyone else and were a bit tired from the trip. It didn't matter, time with family energized. That day passed and we said goodbye and went to a resort for a more intimate family vacation with just us.

It will always be one of my fondest memories from my father. We spent time playing games in the pool, eating meals he and his wife prepared, fireworks on the beach that we lit, and watched a display from the balcony of our room at the resort.

When the weekend was over, I remember being sad as my brother and I took one last swim in the pool (My first and only time being sunburned, confused and scared the hell out of me but my dad made sure I was good). It wasn't because we were leaving but because It all felt surreal. It was as if that weekend was a dream and going home meant waking up to the harsh reality that was my father's choices and the effects, they'd have on me.

Maybe the pressure was too much for him, because even though he turned right when he did, he managed to overshoot the path he was on and ended on the other side back in the weeds. At that point, all he did after was go left. For all the rights there came a slew of wrongs. His footprints now resemble a chaotic pattern of imprints in the dirt that made it hard to notice the good, the bad, and the path he was actually on. There was no telling where life might lead him.

I remember the last grievance I allowed myself to suffer from him. I graduated from bootcamp, and it was planned for him to be there. The entire ceremony I searched the crowd for him amongst the families though I had found mine at the beginning and he wasn't there. I kept hope but not knew the truth. I confirmed what I already knew afterward when I hugged my mother and Joe afterward. Then later that day I met my new-born niece who had come along on the trip with my sister in hopes that she could see the ceremony (She wasn't able to use the ticket because it had my father's name on it). I felt a flash and anger and disappointment when I learned why he didn't come but decided not to hold onto those feelings, at least he came to my going away party is how I rationalized it.

After some time had passed of me not speaking to him. I began to teach myself true forgiveness and it all started with him. I had forgiven him a lot growing up but maybe that could be chalked up to the resilience of a child. This time around, I decided to forgive with intention, not to lessen his guilt but to lessen my own pain. it was tough at first, every phone call I had with him, whether a few states away or across the world, was an inner battle with my own sadness, anger, and bitterness.

As time passed, I learned I could only forgive him through understanding him in a sense. We never had a heart-to-heart conversation but when we did talk, I listened. I heard how he yearned to better himself and his situation and how worn down his choices in life had made him. I didn't feel sorry for him. It did, however, help me to understand that each of our paths in life are vastly different. Some of us get together very early on, some of us "on time,' and some of us later in life. Whenever the time comes, better late than never.

By my early twenties, when I reflect on my father's footprints, something special had happened. There in the dirt amongst hordes of other footprints are two fresh prints of a man ready to start again. Each step thereafter wasn't a correction of the past, but of the growth of a man who now notices how his choices affected others. Though there may be the occasional veer off from the path, it's nothing major. I reflect on the man who does better now by gathering with us on holidays and birthdays, at times to just hangout, and showing up for my nieces and nephews.

As I near my thirties (knocking on the door), I'm thankful for the lesson in forgiveness and understanding that allows me to move on from emotionally, spiritually, or mentally painful/harmful situations with the core of myself still intact. Pain, as it happens and will happen throughout the duration of my life, no longer consumes me. I able to express the way in which those things make me feel while not adding to the guilt or pain of anyone else. The experience has also taught me to take people's words with a grain of salt. I've learned to do this without negativity involved but as a conscious reminder to myself that we are only human and are flawed because of it. I've learned never to set high expectations for any one person because we have our own lives to live and choices to make. I now set a standard by which I demand people to treat me and if they fail to do so or simply make the choice not to, it's okay. I can leave.

What I'm most thankful for in retrospect, is the contrast between how I felt when my father was there and all the moments when he wasn't. From those feelings I understand the importance of showing up for the people I've committed myself to who are a part of my life, from family, friends, and a significant other. I know the toll disappointment takes on a person and the ways I can alter them, especially my nieces and nephews so I have a greater sense of value for all my relationships that I nurture in any way I can, when I can.

As I progress through life, I'm sure I have plenty more to learn from the steps and missteps my father made.