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I spent the entire day with my father today. Today was the closest I've seen my father be to the man I remember seeing last time in '95; the man I remember as my father. Sure, he's still Granholm Sr., but he's different. And every now and then today, I saw him relive those times that stick out in mine and my brother's memories with a tint of shame in his face.
That irked me a little. Those were the memories that he left us with, and I don't know about my brother, but it hurt me a little to see that shame in his face. Of course, I'm sure I and my other siblings would like to remember him better, but he never gave us the chance to remember him any other way. For better or worse, that's who we remember; and it's unfair to us that he feels bad for being the way we remember him, the way we loved him.
We accepted him with his limitations, and we loved him. Even though he was a drunk, and did things he now considers embarrassing, that drunk was an outstanding father to three kids who weren't even his. That drunk was loved and respected by four children. He wants to be someone better, that's fine; but it'll never be the man we grew up with.
I can forgive the traumas he visited on me. I understand that we are all human, and make mistakes; mistakes that we might regret later in life. I still love him. But if he wants to dismiss the times we shared with him because he might consider his past actions as reprehensible; that I'll never forgive him. That's who I remember fondly. That's the man that I chose to emulate when I was my niece's age. That's the man I chose to make proud.
It's just a shame that that man is gone.
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