Unlike Mother’s Day, which falls on different days in different countries, courses for horses if you will, Father’s Day seems to have the same date the world over, or at least, the two countries I have called home and therefore my world. This is one of the reasons that I don’t forget it. The other reason is I had a strange dad.
For most of my life he was a professor, a university lecturer of Physics, no less, but with a strong background in engineering. And when I say Physics, I of course mean Quantum Physics. I kid you not. He enjoyed confusing me with oft regaled stories of how a thrown tennis ball was simultaneously (and never) anywhere in the universe during its path of flight, those bushy eyebrows raised, with their singular, exceptionally long strand each tickling the roof of the car. He reminded me of a caterpillar, the cartoon ones anyway. Slightly bulbous, round features, bushy scruffs of reddish hair everywhere. This as he drove me to school, dance class or some other place that most certainly did not need a tutorial on the spooky behaviour of the universe at any distance. Maybe that explains why I love talking about that kind of topic though.
He disappeared when I was just hitting awkward tween years. I was devastated, as any daughter would be, and I think my family held together just for me. My sisters… I never saw them cry, and we rarely talked about it, even when we moved back to Japan, but I had this sense… Father’s Day is a mournful time for me, when I remember the greatness I lost, and the many moments I never got to have. That’s why last week, I stopped when I found some of this things in the attic space, why we don’t go up there very often.
I wasn’t sure about sharing this but I decided that maybe the fact that I’m considering it is a sign that I’m moving on – a little further.