Bogged Down in Journal

It’s Father’s Day.

I should try to keep my own thoughts and feelings to myself and just enjoy a nice day with family. But, isn’t that exactly what my parents tried for my entire life to train me to do ?

Yes. The answer is yes.

“Do what I say, not what I do.” the mantra of the old man. Sometimes I can’t bring myself to care anymore. A few weeks ago, dad asked me if he’d like to meet on Tuesdays for dinner since he’s driving through town every Tues. I was like… meh. I didn’t even feel the need to come up with some excuse.
He hasn’t brought it up since.
I’m not busy on Tuesdays. In fact I’m not doing anything at all on Tuesdays. Probably enjoying a book or something leisurely.
And I won’t lie; I’m sad, mad, and torn about it. I’m ashamed that I don’t care, and that is enough of an oxymoron to make your head reel.

There’s a long history of my dad not giving a shit about me. I mean. He was there to make sure we had food, looked presentable and had a certain amount of respectable accomplishments to our names. We were not allowed, for example, to go a season without participation in at least some academic pursuit or sport.
But I was never a person. I distinctly, and vividly remember the first time my dad ever* asked my opinion about anything at all. I was 23 years old, and I was shocked to my core.
It was like he suddenly wanted to attempt a real relationship.
Too little, too late, dad. Sorry. You should have asked me when I was five.