“No, honey, you’re not special,” he replied kindly. The
words stung, but that sting was immediately soothed by the look of pure love in
my father’s face. “No one is special. You see, every single human is . . .” he
paused to think of the right word, “amazing.”
I remember my father smiling and pulling me into an embrace
that said what words never could, “you matter. Absolutely. To me, you mater
more than anything, I feel so much love for you.”
My father was troubled in many ways, and most people would
find his inability to come down to the level of normal people a fault. I don’t. Daddy didn’t use words. His mind transcended
them. I knew beyond any shadow of a doubt how much he loved me. It was all
there in the looks and the hugs.
“You see, sweetie,” he continued with the same beaming love in his face, “most people don’t understand the source of their reality. It’s all here,” he tapped my forehead, “inside the connections of neurons in the brain. When you feel me hug you,” he soothed as he pulled me closer, “you feel a surge of joy. And you associate that with me, and you know that joy is special.”
He let the silence hang for a moment, while I enjoyed being
warm, safe, and comfortable in his arms. I realize only now how often he did
that. How often he was just . . . there for me. THERE when I needed someone to
make me feel safe. THERE when I needed basic human touch. THERE when I needed
someone to sooth the hurts of life. THEHRE when I needed him. I can’t help but
think sometimes that I became a lesbian simply because no man in my life has
ever come close to getting close to the bar my father set. In my childhood
mind, he was a god of kindness and strength, and when the cancer took him away,
I was left a hollow husk.
In my memory, my father continued, “That joy. That JOY
really is special. When you think about someone you love, your brain uses
special neurons, special connections in your brain for that person. Those
connections are unique. They are truly special. No one else in the world can
make your brain trigger those connections, make you feel those feelings.”
His smile was like the sun on my face as he kept speaking, “Most
people never realize the difference. They only know they feel something special
when they look at their children, and so they think their children are somehow
special, different, unique.” He grew sad at this, “so much pain is caused in
the world, sweetie, because people don’t realize what is really special and
important are these bonds and feelings we have for each other.”
He looked intensely down on me, “Do you understand? I don’t
just love you with all my heart. I love you in a way that is unique – special –
from everyone else in the world.” His green eyes bore into my soul with their
intensity, but I wouldn’t truly understand his words for years. “Every parent
sees their child like this, through the prism of love. That makes you special to
us. But if you start thinking that any one person is truly unique and special,
you start to see everyone else as . . . less.”
He grew serious, “no one is less. No one is undeserving. Every person on
this planet is amazing and wonderful and beautiful.”
He held me even closer and whispered, “never limit yourself
like that. See all people in all their wonder, so that you can grow full of
love and show them all just how amazing and wonderful you are.”
That was my father, always the hopeless romantic and
optimist. He had a heart big enough for everyone in the world but didn’t know
how to show it. An ancient pain, a deep shame, hit my heart, and I clenched my
fists. In my mind, my own voice echoed, “how disappointed he would be in you
now.” When my hands stopped clenching and shaking, I picked up the sniper
rifle.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. You’re wrong.”
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