- My birthday has fallen on five Father's Day so far, this Sunday is my 30th.
- I don't remember the year I stopped talking to my dad, but I remember it was June 29th.
My father once asked me why I wear my scars like a badge of honor. The answer is simple: I survived. I was Daddy's little girl until I wasn't; both of us were consumed by our own self-destructive tendencies. I would give anything to unsubscribe from thoughts about my father on my birthday as we do for the litany of Father's Day marketing emails that haunt our inbox in June.
As of 2023, my birthday will have fallen on five Father's Days — except this time, it's a big one. My 30th.
I can't remember the year I cut him off
I don't remember the exact year I cut my father out of my life, but I know it was June 29th, 11 days after my birthday. That year, mid-mutual ice-out, he sent me an emotionless text on June 18th. It simply read, "Happy Birthday." No exclamation point, no "Have a good day." Nothing. Yet despite his cold acknowledgment that I lived to see another year, he demanded that I call my aunt on her birthday instead of sending my yearly heartfelt Facebook message. He wanted to know where his Father's Day call was. I wanted to know where my birthday call was. But the "do as I say and not as I do" shtick only survives so many drunken phone calls.
My once worship turned into an exhausting game of how many times he could make me hate myself and how many times I could forgive him. Except this time, I was done. It wasn't his slurred wish that my mom was using his sporadic child support on chemotherapy or calling me a greedy b**** with crocodile tears for asking about my promised college tuition. Of course, our final asinine fight had to revolve around birthdays and Father's Day, making the annual entanglement sting all the more.
On those days, I don't think of his cutting words or the angry red marks on my wrist that appeared when I childishly wondered why he couldn't love me enough to change. I daydream about getting waffle ice cream sandwiches by the pavilion in our small beach town that I once called home. I remember being Fuzzballina, Fuzz for short, before I insisted that he refer to me by my "grownup" name. I think of the crisp chill and adrenaline rush of watching the LA Kings score against Philly during our annual trips to the Wells Fargo Center.
Hockey was our thing
I saw my father for the first time in years at the 2023 Kings game in Madison Square Garden. He sat in row two right by the goal, so I couldn't help but notice that he cheered when my favorite player Jonathan Quick got pulled after a brutal performance. It ended up being Quickie's last game as a King, and I haven't been able to watch an NHL game since.
We screamed at each other plenty, but instead, I fondly recall our synchronized shouting during penalties and goals in my three-bedroom childhood home. It's the same house my mom helped pay for that he continued to live in as a bachelor while his children and ex rotted in a moldy apartment.
My old home had all my stuff in it
I hadn't stepped inside the tomb of my youth since I was around 8 years old, and he relinquished what little custody he had — when he bothered to show up at all. But occasionally, my brother and I could visit him with extended family. Still, it wasn't until high school that I reacquainted myself with my old home. I was immediately transported back to 2000. The entire place was a time capsule of my youth: Old drawings littered the walls, my beloved teddy bears haphazardly filled my old room, and every Valentine's Day card I ever gave him lined the kitchen wall — "Love, Alex" side out.
I had never understood my dad more. He spent so much time wishing to relive the past that he missed out on who I'd become in the present. We never quite recovered from that suspension of time.
As I turn 30, I feel trapped in the walls of my childhood, clinging to those carefree beach days when my biggest choices revolved around building a sandcastle or swimming in the ocean. My real castle still stands with my dad trapped in the dungeon of his own memories. And though our lives no longer intersect on this plane, our memories are forever connected in frozen time where I'm still 4, and he's still the center of my universe. I try to forget on my birthday, but deep down, I'd rather remember.