This is a message of love and compassion to all those for whom Fathers Day is a complicated moment. If you had a difficult relationship with your father, I get it. You can scroll past the truly blessed, the ones who had and loved or still love their wonderful fathers…
…and you can land on the solid ground of your being here on earth at all. You’re only reading this post because, somewhere, somehow, your father engaged with your mother and some time later she had you.
And whether or not he knew how to be a father, you’re still here because of him. There is a place for that to be sacred. Something we can light a candle to and be grateful for.
We can also hold in our arms, tenderly, the confusion, the hurt, the estrangement, the weirdness of however it is we feel every Fathers Day. We can hold all that in our arms and rock, and hum, and let it be its own self, whatever that looks like.
So. My fellow Fathers Day Misfits, let’s make an altar to the ways in which our fathers shaped us. An altar to the imperfections that we all share. An altar to forgiveness that sometimes has to wait a very long time for ripening.
Let’s make a well-attended altar — with flowers, and bowls of water, and incense, and photos of beloved teachers — an altar to that moment when we finally stop resisting what happened (or didn’t happen) … and start opening to what is.
Tina Lear is a writer, composer/lyricist, former yoga teacher, and always mother of three really interesting humans. She is currently navigating the liminal world between her past and her future. Doing her best to be in the present. She lives in Floral Park with her beloved wife Elena and their big little dog, Ruby.