Each year when Father’s Day rolls around, I feel something. For several years it was bitterness and longing. In the June Sunday afternoon hours of watching golf or NASCAR, I’d open Facebook and see countless posts of my friends with their kids and promptly put my phone in my pocket. (For those of you who are new here, infertility is a part of my story, and occasionally my writing.)
Before those years, it was hope and celebration. I’d call my dad or spend the day fishing with him. And, at least for a few moments each Father’s Day, consider what it would be like to be a dad.
This year, it felt like for the first time in a long time, I could get back to the celebration.
Father’s Day is complicated. Some people have great dads and celebrate them well. Some people are dads and (hopefully) enjoy a day with all the things and people they love. Some people have challenging relationships with their fathers or children and, well, that makes the day challenging. Other people are grieving that their fathers are not around anymore. Others, like the me of previous years, are reminded of what has been withheld from them.
One of the things I’ve always found odd is how people try to include me in Father’s Day. And, I understand why. As someone who had felt excluded from the day, I get it. People speak of me as a spiritual father or as a cat dad or try to make the day about celebrating men in general. And maybe for some people that is good and helpful, but (just being honest) that is not for me.
Father’s Day might be complicated, but in general there are those being celebrated and those celebrating. And I have no problem celebrating my dad and all the other dads in my life. I’m getting better at seeing the pictures of my friends as dads and being thankful rather than resentful.
But even when I was not good at it, attempted inclusion was only ever patronizing, a consolation prize meant to be given in a caring fashion, no doubt. But one that could never actually be received (at least by me). Such attempted inclusion was only a reminder of reality. But that reality is not bad. I celebrate this day. I am not celebrated.
It’s okay that I am not a father. And it’s okay that Father’s Day is not about me. It’s okay that I am excluded from being celebrated because I am not excluded from the celebration.
If you are struggling with longing to be a father, my friend Tanner wrote a beautiful piece about that which you can read below.
Thanks for reading. Thanks for caring. Thanks for being curious.
Andy