I Am Your Child

I am a child of divorce. My parent`s divorce became finalized in 1969 when I was six years old. My mother was granted sole custody and my father never fought it.

I am writing this because I wish to see change. Change in a system that helped to alter my relationship with my father for the duration of our lives. Our lives, he being 600 miles away at 52 years old, seem all too short.

We started out fairly normal. I remember watching a football game with him, smelling my mom`s pot roast in the air, being carried around on his shoulders, waiting for him to come home from work. A father-daughter relationship firmly rooted for growth.

As months went by, the climate in our house became tense. I felt impending doom. It finally erupted, and then a deathly lull settled. A tiny six-year-old followed her father around the house while he packed his suitcases, taking the personal belongings my mother would let him have, which did not include me. As I begged him to stay, he held me for a long time; finally he pulled me away as he left our house.

And so began my father`s weekend visits. In his absence, he was a stranger to me, a curiosity. No more leisurely afternoons in front of the TV. We now embarked on the most exciting trips appropriate for our ages - bowling alleys, movies, malls and toy stores. I never came home empty-handed. Then back to his motel room, his new living quarters, to sit and spend time with him until he dropped us off at home, never sure I would see him until next weekend arrived.

A new set of rules was imposed on our house. My mother took a job and went to school. My sister became my mother, cooking, cleaning and disciplining me. My brother, the eldest, became the man of the house, who also disciplined me but offered me affection. My father was spoken of very little; I only heard his name as he was being chastised for not visiting or blamed for a cheque that never arrived or came too late.

Several times I would burst into tears, overwhelmed by his absence and feeling a great sense of loss. Each time, I was scolded, told to be strong, to wise up and quit feeling sorry for myself. I was certainly not to shed tears in front of my father. How ironic. I was told not to display grief while I was told by my mother what a lousy father I had. At this point our relationship had changed considerably. The man who came to pick me up on weekends was no longer the strong, stable father I had known. I sensed panic, helplessness and guilt emanating from my father. I pitied him for his guilt and helplessness, loving and idolizing him intensely: my daddy who would come home and defend himself to my mother and siblings and be strong again. All these perceptions from a six-year-old.

My father and I lost so much time. Ordinary routine moments that will never occur again. Moments a father and a child both have a right to, things a father should be able to see and share with his children.

At 21, I am still the grieving child of six who aches for her father. I am an adult who bears the scars and festering wounds of separation and divorce. I do not offer specific solutions for this problem; I am only articulating what children caught in the divorce process are experiencing and cannot voice themselves.

To the fathers who read this---

I AM YOUR CHILD WHO LOVES YOU AND NEEDS YOU! FIGHT FOR ME!

 Taken from http://www.canadian.net/%7Efact/fact/library.htm