Up until I had my son, Father’s Day meant absolutely nothing to me. I was never aware of it or when it was, I never even thought about a need for one, I think the first I remember of it was when I was 15 and on a week away with other teenagers which happened to fall on Father’s Day and it was talked about. I remember that because I’d never really thought about it before, it was a bit of a revelation to me. I mean, I must have thought that one did exist, but I was never particularly bothered about it if it did.
My Mum and my father divorced when I was 6 years old. My memories of him before that time were of not a person but a general presence of fear around the house. I even feel that as I knew him so little that I shouldnt really have an opinion of what type of person he was or is, I only know what my Mum has told me over the years. I know how to contact my Father if I ever wanted to, but I just don’t see the need. My Mum provided the role of mother and father, and everything in between, and only she would deserve the recognition on Father’s Day. I am immensely proud of my mum for everything she has done for myself and my siblings over the years.
Father’s Day has now become a part of my life, and although I may not approve of some of the traits of my son’s father, one thing is true, and that is that he has an interest in seeing his son on a regular basis. Sometimes this is not easy for me, I miss J when he is at his dad’s and I am conscious of keeping a good, uncomplicated routine but, although not having a father around never really had an effect on me, I know that it did affect my brothers and I know how important it is to encourage a good relationship for J with his father.
So, nowadays, this has become the meaning of Father’s Day to me: A day out with Daddy for J and a nice little break for me.