At 23, I just had my
first adult conversation with my father. We've been stuck in the "just a boy and his father" stage since I was 9 years old. Whenever we speak, he usually speaks to me like I'm two. Maybe he's been too ashamed to accept his obvious failure in the fatherhood department. Or, maybe it's always just been easier to treat me like a child, and to pretend I don't understand what happened between us. I don't know why -- all I know is, when I called him today, it was different.
Why call a man I can barely converse with you ask? Well, for the past few months I've been tediously working on a journalistic project that will require travel to West Africa for a few weeks to conduct interviews with government officials. With little funding, planning such an affair has become a rather huge task. I needed help, so I figured what the hell, why not call my dad. (A typical conversation with him is generally cold an indifferent. Mostly coming from my end.) But, today I needed him, and just like anyone wanting a favor for anything, I needed to put my personal feelings aside and put my needs first. Which, I will say, is hard to do when you're trying to forget the very painful past you share with someone. I remember watching and waving to my father back in 1991 when the family drove to New York on Christmas to give my father the proper send off for his "trip" to Africa. (Ironically, I'll probably depart from the same airport when I embark on my trip to the motherland.) It's hard to forgive the empty promise he made of returning soon -- let alone forget.
