My father

We are very different, my father and I.

I am emotional, empathic, impulse-driven and passionate. Everything is grey area, everything up for interrogation and exploration. He is rational, reasonable, logical and business headed. The world is black and white and he knows his place in it. I declare war against the world’s injustices. He calmly bends it to his will or declines to pick a fight.

We are very different, my father and I.
I’ve struggled for years with this.
I’ve struggled with the aftermath of my parents’ broken relationship.
I’ve struggled with the belief that I am wrong for not being more like him.
I’ve struggled with the fear that I’m not loved because I am different.

Today I felt an unexpected, overwhelming affection for my Dad as we did food shopping together for dinner. It was unbidden, creeping up on me with a slow warmth within my chest that made me smile.

I observe the judgements he shares of the people around us – I always fight my own impulse to do this. For once I don’t feel uncomfortable hearing his thoughts. With a jolt of realisation I understand why he is doing this and it is okay. And it is okay that I choose a different path. And that he is good at some things that I am not so good at. And the reverse is almost certainly true.

We are very different, my father and I.
We are not so different, my father and I.