emo
My father will be coming here for a vacation next month. He'll be here for a week, and then he'll fly back to the States in time for Thanksgiving. He said he's sorry he can't stay for my wedding. He has his reasons, and I believe him. No big deal. At 27, I'm too old and tired for this Cats-in-the-Cradle shit.
But I'd be a hypocrite on the level of politicians if I say I'm taking all this with a Sam Milby smile. There are moments - usually Rhum-Coke moments late at night - when I fancy how it'd be like to have my father on my wedding. To see him march hand-in-hand with my mother. To feel the firmness of his hand as he congratulates me and my bride. Sipping my drink, feeling the familiar buzz in my head, I'd tell myself, I'd give anything for that. Unfortunately, fate has pushed me in a situation wherein I've nothing to give. Heck! There's not even much to say. And I'm too drunk to do something about it.
I'm not depressed, though. Far from it, in fact. I've attended weddings that could've been more memorable if only one or both parents from either side acted like decent human beings. I know of a guy whose wedding was boycotted by his parents because they didn't like the bride. What I have is small change compared to them. For that I can't be thankful enough.