The "obligatory" Father's Day post

Today is Father's Day. The third Sunday in June is not as rough for me as Mother's Day still is. The transition out of the earthly realm for Mum still feels close and raw at three years, while Benji's (our father) was seven years ago. Also, admittedly for me, and bitterly for our father, we siblings always were closer to Mum than we were to him. The responsibility for our emotional distance lies with both of us. That distance increased after our parents' separation and divorce after almost forty years of a difficult marriage.

I am never ungrateful or unthankful for what Benji did for me, though. I am thankful that both of my parents did not do what some parents did in the 1960's with babies who were born with spina bifida (they didn't want them). My parents nurtured me, and helped me through a somewhat slow development period. I was not able to walk on my own until I was three. In some photographs, Benji is holding me, as in the one below.

At Benji's memorial service, seven years ago, I shared a memory of a photo I do not have, but the image is vivid in my mind. My parents, a colleague of his and his wife, and my youngest brother were in a Rochester parking lot, posing for a picture. Mum was holding my youngest brother, still in his infancy. I stood leaning against Benji's legs, as he held both of my raised arms. My tiny feet looked like they could have been in motion, but he was keeping me from stumbling or falling down.

I told his friends gathered there that he held me up in that scene. And throughout my life, when I had troubling moments, he held me up. I would always remember that with much gratitude.

I did not tell them that there were moments when he held me back from doing something because I was "different." That confusion of being told I could be anything I wanted to be, but not being able to do certain things to get there because I was "different," lingered for quite a while. But where I am now, in terms of my education, my independence, is thanks to him.

My relationship with him in his final years, was still a little distant, but still improved. The last time I saw him was almost two weeks before his death. He wanted me to have his Urdu poetry books, since I was the only child in the family who could read them. He said, "You can't have them now, though," which made me chuckle inwardly through the tears that I felt welling up. I had a feeling that was going to be the last time I saw him.

Always remembered. May his memory be a blessing.