♛ Dear anon – this is a painful question… when I reflect on my own parenting, I have to compare myself to my father. Certain things were, unfortunately, passed down. Even as I tried to be the father he couldn’t be. Interestingly, he had told me little of our family’s origins, for his own reasons, and I had to hold back alot of similar information from my “children.” In my case, however, it was for their own safety. And sanity. Never made that comparison before.

Father’s Day as we know it didn’t exist when they were alive…

Of course, Claudia and I would have special occasions at the slightest excuse, so we did share many nights in celebration of our bond as father and daughter, with and without Louis’ involvement. There were some things he just wouldn’t do! 

One such night might include riding out on horseback to the old plantation, she loved the closeness of being held tight to me, the rush of the speed of the animal. We would pretend it was a haunted house, and would hunt for ghosts. I might hire performers in different rooms to play out a story for her. She knew it was an act, but she loved it anyway. 

Dinner together, of course. Watching her play with her food was always entertaining, especially when she would look back at me, see that I was proud of her, and then grin wide enough to show her beautiful little fangs!

When I reflect on my father, I see him as mostly an angry presence… it seemed that there was little I could offer him to earn his affection. Even when I provided well for our family (and I use the term “family” loosely here), the most I could ever get from him was a grunt of disappointment in how long it had taken me to do it. One couldn’t simply waltz into a supermarket and just pick up a few packs of prepared meats, I had to chase these things down! With tactics! And weapons! 

When we were together at Pointe du Lac, my father had mellowed somewhat by age and infirmity, and we did spend some pleasant evenings together. His hands trembled when we played chess. Those same hands that had struck me countless times for the most minor infractions; it seemed my whole body was allergic to them, even in my altered state. He wanted the comfort of touch in his blindness… but I could only bear to hold his hands in mine a few times. Fortunately, Louis’ family was kind to him, and they brought out a side of him that I hadn’t seen before. He spent hours listening to Louis’ sister play the spinet. She had lost a father, he had never really had a daughter, I was grateful to her for whatever bond they formed between them.