A letter about my dad, who I don’t hug anymore
I read a quote on a screenshot from Tumblr that talked about even though their father stopped hugging them, at some point they also stopped hugging him back and I thought about that for a while.
My dad has had the same routine for years. He’d stay downstairs watching TV after his radio programs until about 11pm and then he’d go to bed. The house would be dark, except for the living room which seemed to blast with sound and light. When I was around 3 or 4, whenever I couldn’t sleep or I’d had a nightmare, I’d creep down the stairs with my raggy teddy clutched to my chest and go to him, focusing on the light seeping under the living room door because I was terrified of the dark. I’d snuggle in between him and the sofa, put my thumb in my mouth, and when I’d wake up I’d be back in bed.
I returned from university one summer and he took me out for a pint or two, choosing the beer and asking what I’d thought of it. We chatted in the noisy pub for a while about various things, nothing of particular importance to me but he looks at me and says:
“It’s nice to talk.”
“But dad, we talk all the time.”
“Yeah, but we never really talk…”
Later that week we went to Lidl to do some shopping. I asked if it was okay to share the basket and he says it was. As we get to the check out, I load my stuff and go to put the divider between our purchases and he moves it behind mine and pays for it all without saying anything. Similar things occurred regularly: he’d keep a cold IPA for me in the fridge during summer; he’d buy me the brand of noodles I’d like if he saw them in the supermarket without asking; he’d make me my own portion of shepherd’s pie without vegetables because he knew I didn’t like the texture. But when was the last time we hugged?
I was 15. I was screaming at him for something. I don’t remember what, probably to do with the way he raised me versus my brother, but at some point I remember the screams turned into sobs and he approached me and just hugged me without saying a word. I think before then I’d thrown a kitchen roll at him, but he still hugged me. I realised then that it was the first time in five or six years that he had hugged me, and I’d just thrown a kitchen roll at him. Why did I do that?
Although, the other day he commented: “You don’t look like the type of person to exercise.”
I responded that he didn’t look like the type of person to have cancer. He laughed. I meant to hurt him.
Maybe that’s why we never talk, because it ends in him making a slight at me and my appearance and me reacting.
It’s been 8 years. No hug from him, and no hug for him.
