My Dad's An Alien

He looks my Dad. He sounds like my Dad. He even walks like my Dad. He’s not my Dad though.  He’s an alien inhabiting my Dad’s body. I cognitively know that my Father has left this earthly plain and my real Dad is  on a celestial journey to join his wife my Mother who left his side nearly 13 years ago. Sadly it seemed to me that when my Mother passed he started his wait for God to call him home but so much time has gone by that even he forgot to remember what he was waiting for. 

My Father and I were never the best of friends but I suspect that I am not alone in that some Fathers parented from the book they never read and that was how to rear a son with kindness instead of intimidation. This is not an indictment by any means I believe my Dad did the best job he could with the resources available to him. Trouble is that bringing up children in the 1950’s was still mired in the “spare the rod and spoil the child” mentality. A snap of the belt or the crack of a wooden spoon was the default setting as Sergeant of Arms. 

Today when he speaks to me in that subservient voice it stirs resentment inside me that I end up feeling guilty about. I couldn’t put my finger on why I felt a genuine hostility growing inside me. Then it hit me like a bag of ice across my face. I was never able to stand up to him even when I had left the nest for a home of my own. Was it a lack of courage not wanting to incur his wrath or was it that I was just holding him in high regard because he sired me? I suspect that I will never know but it’s too late now to do anything about it except treat him with a kindness as much for him as for myself.  

My Dad’s an alien and the entity inhabiting his body doesn’t know Jack.