Misplaced.

I seem to have misplaced my father. I can't find him anywhere. Truth is, I don't know where I left him. My fault really. I don't call the old man enough times. Sure, I can be like the rest of my siblings and bitch, moan, whine and complain that he never calls. That he never passes by to visit or doesn't inquire about his family. Like them, I can be bitter that he now pays more attention to his current family (that being his woman and her two almost grown kids) more than he pays attention to his own flesh and blood. I can be angry that he doesn't help out financially even when he promised he would. I could be upset that he has slowly turned into a ghost these past couple of years and I know nothing about him; he has almost become a stranger. I could be mad...but I'm not.

I do have a father. That's more than most people can say in this God-forsaken world. My dad did raise me. He was a great father. Still is, too. His absence changes nothing. Sure, I misplaced him. It isn't the first time. He always goes hermit on me from time to time. Hell! That's probably why I do it so much. Aside, from my nuclear family, I usually keep blinders on and am oblivious to anything outside of that circle. Moreover, my father and I are also very similar in regards to the way we feel about our family. We don't have to say it everyday but we love everyone. It's just that we sometimes have a tough time showing it.

My Old Man is just like that, I suppose. I guess I am a chip of the old block. I'm becoming more and more like him everyday. Still, I miss him. Maybe I should've told him that before he went underground. Perhaps I should redouble my efforts to find him before he actually goes underground and I never have a chance to tell him how important he is and has been to me. You tell yourself there's always time; you convince yourself that you'll tell a person you love them tomorrow but tomorrow is never guaranteed. To be honest, that's my biggest fear. That I won't have time to say the words that need to be said, even though they technically don't need to be said. If he goes, I'm scared I'll misplace him somewhere in my heart. (Sounds foolish, I know but it's the stuff of nightmares for me.)

I wonder where he's gone. I wonder if maybe he's ashamed of me sometimes because I haven't achieved what he had hoped I could achieve but I purge that idea from my head as quickly as I think it up. He's never been ashamed of me. It's kind of ironic that I should dwell on that now considering I used to pride myself on thinking that, since I had a father growing up, that I wouldn't need him anymore if he chose to leave. I now see the error and folly in that line of thinking. We never stop needing our dads. I have a proud father. A loving father. A misplaced father. Perhaps even a misinformed one, too. Maybe, just maybe, he thinks I'm ashamed of him. Maybe he just doesn't know the truth. He may have simply forgotten that he can do no wrong in his baby boy's eyes.