I love my dad.

Growing up, he was never around very much as he was a cop. I would lay awake in bed until I heard his key twisting in the front door around eleven each night. Then, I would run out of my room and greet him at the door. We would talk, and he would bring home McDonald's. I would always share his fries with him. But the nights ended as his shifts grew longer. Soon I would fall asleep, and no key would turn. And as time and adolescence came on, we grew apart, and our only time together became time with the whole family on the weekends. And given the total lack of communication my family grew into for a long phase of time, our relationship grew to a state of almost non-existence. I recall in high school when I performed in my first musical, which became one of my greatest moments. But it was stilted as I searched for my dad at its ending, and he had not come. My mom said, "You know your dad." I knew then that I really didn't know him at all.

The next few years were full of rebellious distance from the family, which cultivated in moving away from home. In college is where I felt I had found my true family. I had people in my life who would talk to me openly and with emotion. And there was always someone to share a late night fries eating session with. My family became these people I would spend holidays with, and my dad a stranger. A man who I would see, but felt knew nothing of who I was. Then came Father's Day, 2000. On that day six years ago, I was about to board a red eye flight with two of my best friends to see New York for the first time. It was one of my greatest dreams, and my dad had purchased the plane ticket for me as a last minute birthday gift. I was of course very grateful, and being it was the holiday, I called to wish him thanks and offer my love. It was a call that changed everything.

There was a resonance in my dad's voice that normally did not exist. "I love you, Angel." "I know dad." Friends were in my room hanging out to wish my departing friends and I bon voyage. My demeanor was light. "I want you to go to New York and be yourself." "Of course dad. I always am." I was clueless. "No, I want you to be yourself. And know that I know about you. And I love you no matter what." I remember being instantly stunned by his word, for I knew what he meant. Still I asked him. "What do you mean?" "You know what I mean," he said. The tears came down my face. I pushed myself out into the living room. "I love you Dad." He told me again that he loved me, and that he wanted me to go to New York and to have fun. To be safe and to above all be proud of who I was, because he was. It was the last thing I needed to hear before I knew the next phase of my life could start.

Looking back, when the late night hang time ended circa 1985, a sense of abandonment came over me. And as I struggled to become a man circa 1990, he was not there either, and my sense became a chasm. And when the curtain came down and I went out into the crowd circa 1993, there was just no father to be had in my opinion. But that night in 2000, I was able to gather a glimpse that my dad knew who I was all that time. And since then, we have talked about it and grown closer, and I know that all those years I was missing him, he was missing me. And he was working more than he wanted to, but he wanted even more for us to feel like we could have what we needed. Cause he never had that growing up himself. And for trying so hard out of his love for me and my family, I am ever so grateful. And I am willing to let go of the abandonment and forgive all the time that we lost together. Because there can be a day like today where we can just talk and hang and share a story and a laugh. And having him in my life, on my side, makes me so happy. Through it all, I now see that my dad has been one of the good guys all along.

And for that, I love my dad.

What about it?