Sunday, June 17, 2007
Father's Day.

My mom likes to tell a story about my stepfather. They owned a dry-cleaning business together, and he'd flirt. Women would come in and he'd say, "hey, what time you getting off work?"

One of the ladies called his bluff. "No no," he stammered, waving his left hand in the air. "I'm married, see?" But she kept at it, making him more and more flustered.

My mom thinks this is the greatest story about her man. Oh, how faithful he was. Wasn't it funny he had to point out his wedding ring? Personally, I find the story disgusting. I feel my stepfather's lack of boundaries ruined my childhood, and I've never forgiven him for it.

I've gone to his grave many times. I've tried to talk it over with him. I'm an adult now, with my own flaws. I have my own menagerie of sins and pain. I don't understand why I simply cannot forgive him.

Is it because I consider this his problem, and not mine?


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