One of the things I promised myself I would do once I got home was to look up my father. As the oldest in his long, long list of children, I felt it was my duty to confront the man and ask him the kind of questions I’ve always wanted to ask him. Ideally, I’d want to speak to him man-to-man and not get emotional over it all but I dont know whether I would be able to resist the uncontrollable desire to ask him: “why?” I resent the part of me that wants to ask him to help me understand “why he did what he did” or “why he left us” or “what happened”. Perhaps my resentment is just a deep-seated fear that I wouldnt be able to handle the truth. Whatever that means.
So, all I’m left with is grudges, bad memories, anger, disappointment and sadness that I’ll continue to carry with me until the day I become a father and experience the joys and pains of fatherhood for myself.