It's almost been five months since my father passed away, and the pain still hurts. I won't lie, there are days when I feel okay and fon on. But then there are days where I just can't stop myself from crying all day. I took a month off from work to try and adjust, and it did help. But the one thing I am sick of is some of these people who act like I should get over it already. Get over it, just like that?
Well, let me tell you something you God amn shit eating mother fuckers out there. I don't give a flying fuck what you pricks think! I had a father that did his fucking best to raise me! There would be days where he wouldn't eat just to make sure my mother and I did! He was a musician and he was a mechanic. there would be days where he would work in the morning, go straight to a gig, and sometimes not come home because he had to go straight back to work. Why? To make sure we had a home, we had clothes, and we had food. And even though he was tired and hurting, he did his dmandest to spend as much time with me as he could.
This man taught me how to play baseball, who taught me about music. He taught me how to stand up for myself. He taught me that there was more to music than just words and notes. He and my friends treated me like I was one of them. My grandparents keep saying he was a horrible father because I was exposed to musicians, drunks, drug users, drug dealers, strippers,and assholes growing up. But because I've seen what that shit has done to people, I don't want to use it. I didn't stay out late, I didn't run away, and I treated my parents with respect. When I was being picked on and beat up in school, he came to the school to chew out the principle's ass for not doing anything to stop it. He even threatened the bullies who harassed me when he saw them making my life a living hell.
Unlike other fuck heads out there, my father didn't want to avoid me. He wanted to spend as many days with me as he could. For years, we went to an Astgros game for father's day. During Summer vacation, we would play mini golf at Garner State Park, go swimming in the Frio, or share a chocolate malt at the drug store. On weekends, we rode our bikes through our neighborhood, saw movies at the dollar theatre down the street. And for my birthday every year since I was six, we went to the Rennaisance Festival. We talked about books, movies, music. He taught about the Texas Revolution and how much it matterd. I remember trips to San Antonio, and he would walk me through the 13 day seige and tell me, and show me, who fought where. Who died where. He even took me to see the reenactment at the San Jacinto Monument. I even miss when we would just walk the mall on weekends and not even buy anything or browse the stores. When he became a Mason, i did the best I could to help him.
Anyone can be a father, but it takes a real man to be a dad. My father was a dad! In every since of the word. He had his faults, and he won't win father of the year. But he was a better father than most mother fucking assholes out there. I learned more from him then what I would learn from any fucking school out there. So don't you dare tell me to get over my father's death! I hate the fucking attention, fuck it! It doesn't bring back my dad! My closest friends are in Crosby, and I'm having to be strong for my mom. So how about all you mother fuckers just back off, and let me grieve for a man that was more than a father than over half the people on this fucking globe will ever know!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!