dad

Today, I forgot my dad's birthday. Something I never used to forget, something I was always there for, something to be celebrated from the first cup of coffee until we all went to sleep. I don't even live that far away, but it wasn't until my mom texted me at 7:21 tonight that I called him. Maybe I'm a terrible chid. A terrible person even. Or maybe I just made a simple mistake in the busyness of university life. There is something strange and terrifying about growing up that doesn't quite hit you until after the first few years out of the nest. My dad was superman to me: an invincible, unstoppable, ever-so-calm force. Now, when he falls, he takes longer to get up. There's an extra wrinkle here or there whenever I go home. I never remembered him having that much salt in his peppery hair. Aging isn't a bad thing, but knowing that my time on earth with my dad is running out scares me more than my stubborn self wants to admit. My roommate is 4 years older than me, but her parents are 20 years younger than mine. I am so jealous of the people who will get to have their parents around for so much of their lives while I don't even get to share the first half. And yet, even knowing all that, I still forgot his birthday. Maybe I wanted to forget, forget that he is getting older and I am getting farther away. Forget that I need his help less and less. Forget that, like it or not, I continue to scare and disappoint him without even trying. So I'll sit here, crying over the immeasurable task of making up this enormous mistake, knowing that he will forgive me even when I don't deserve it. That's who my dad is: kind, too smart to verbalize, patient, and forgiving. I'm a failure who forgets birthdays. But at least I get to be his kid at the same time, for as long as the universe is willing to give us.