Children, divorce, men

Em’s Dad Farts

I have always told Emily that God took “all the good parts of your dad and all the good parts of your mom and rolled them together and made you!” 

Very openly, I can not think of one redeeming quality that her dad processes.   One “good part.”  So I finally decided  that only God alone would know what “redeeming qualities” he might have …and there MUST be something since God created everyone and God is good.  So for now, exactly what these qualities are,  remain a spiritual mystery. 

When I say this people assume I’m bitter and angry and can’t see past my anger to acknowledge his good qualities.  Not at all. It is merely fact that I don’t know what his good qualities are because I don’t know who he is…I mean REALLY is…not the person he pretended to be for 8 years. 

I know that he never really was employed with Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue and that the “school” he attended (that is printed in my wedding announcement) is really a school for kids grades K -12.  I know that he did not, in fact, save a man moments from dying…the way his first letter to me indicated. I know that he did not watch a man drown and that the therapy he was attending with me for post traumatic stress never actually happened. I now find it ironic that the same man who for 8 years said “what kind of man hits his wife? how tough are you that you can beat up a woman” then spent a night in jail for 3rd degree assault against me. I know that the person who I trusted enough to move 1/2 way across the country for never once told me the truth about anytinng…ever. 

When my attorney asked me after my divorce hearing what it felt like looking at him I was honest when I said …”Nothing.”  It’s like looking at a stranger.  No, not “like” looking at a stranger.  It IS looking at a stranger. I have no idea who this man, who is the other half of my daughter, is.  Who he REALLY is.  Instead I know that he is a chameleon and will “become” whoever he needs to be to manipulate the current situation.  The lies that were my life are enough to fill a book.

How can I tell Emily what’s good about her dad when I don’t know who he is?  Yet I look at this beautiful, sensitive, dramatic, strong-willed, determined little girl and I know that there MUST be something good in her dad…something I can’t see…that made her. She is perfect. There is nothing about her I would change. So unless she was immaculately conceived (which I would almost believe except she physically looks like her dad) there is something incredibly wonderful that God took from her dad and put into her.

At night I’ll sit next to her and rub my hand over her forehead. I tell her she has “Aunt Jean’s forehead”.  (I used to tell her she had “Aunt Laura’s Crazy Wild hair” before she was bald!) Then I rub my hand over her brow, her “Dad’s brow.”  Then over her eyes. Her “Dad’s eyes.” Her “Grandma’s grey/green” eyes with “Mommy’s dark brown rims.”  I run my finger down her nose “Uncle Jamie’s nose.” Over her cheeks “Mommy’s cheeks.”  Over her lips “Mommy’s lips.” Down her arm to her fingers “Aunt Laura & Pop Pop’s fingers.” Then I trace her body from the top of her head to her toes and say “Mommy & Daddy’s long lean body.” She loves this. She says “Do it again!” and giggles. 

So tonight when she FARTS like a frat boy eating BBQ I almost gag.

“That, Em, was a fart that would make your dad proud.”

She looks at me without hesitation.

“That’s because my long lean body is made from you and dad.”

“Yeah Em? And where did that fart come from?”

She smiles without missing a beat “My dad.”

Another small reminder in the mist of everything, life is good. Afterall, I no longer sleep next to said farting dad.  Since Em loves the “gross stuff.” Maybe this is the quality she inherited from her dad…maybe this is the “good stuff” he donated in his genetic material…

She’s a quality farter.