Whatever...Love Is Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

every year.
    But the thing that makes me honor my father most is that he was able to own his mistakes. He has apologized to all of us for years. He cannot remember most of what happened when we were younger, but he apologizes nonetheless. It hurts him deeply to know that he hurt us. And my brothers and sister and I have accepted his apologies. We better understand his illness and the grief he was plagued by when he lost the life he had.
    He is a great grandfather to Jackson and his other five grandkids. They like hanging with “Pop,” whether it’s going fishing with him or learning to shoot pellet guns in the backyard.
    He has slowed down over the years, but still comes often to Los Angeles to see my brother and our family. Clare dotes on him as he sits on his scooter on our patio and smokes his cigarettes. (He always quits right before he comes and then starts smoking with me immediately when he gets here.) He fixes things around the house. He repaired the antique white French bistro chairs we had that were missing slats of wood. It took him six months. He sketched the exact dimensions and took them home to his workshop so he could make exact replicas. I can see the chairs now. We didn’t repaint the new wooden slats to match the old white ones. And we never will. We like them mismatched. It reminds me of my dad and his endless courage and grace to overcome the worst of what life might hand him.
    I don’t really know how many years it took to transform my relationship with my dad, to come to a place of peace with the things that happened in my childhood. My experience with my family reminds me of the fluidity of all relationships. If we can only allow our relationships to go through their changes and get to the bottom of our own rage, sorrow, and shame, then we have the opportunity to become stronger, and more open to love.
    My brothers and sister have emerged from our childhood as extraordinary human beings. They are my partners in many ways. None of my other partners will ever know what it was to grow up in that house. We have a shared experience. Instead of that making us more distant, it makes our bond stronger. My older brother, Joey, always says, “Friends will come and go, but you’ll always have family.” And I am confident I will always have these three in my life.
    Forgiveness is said to be the only balm for old war wounds. There are so many incredible stories of forgiveness for acts that truly seem unforgivable. I am in awe of the stories of forgiveness from heroes and heroines such as Nelson Mandela, Somaly Mam, Louis Zamperini, and many others. I’ve ventured into the battlefield a few times over the years and always came back with the same answer. Forgiveness is complicated. It entails a rational decision. It’s something you do as an adult. A child is not rational. A child just feels. I can’t tell someone to forgive. My siblings and I grew up in an atmosphere of violence and unpredictability. I can’t erase that, and, believe me, I have tried over the years. It is a part of me. But, yes, I have forgiven my Pop. And I can forgive others who have harmed me. But I couldn’t have done that without accepting that what had happened was part of me. For me, forgiveness as an adult is really about acceptance. Though the child within you may never forgive the wrongs, perhaps the adult self should just work on accepting them.
    I have come to see my father and mother as people, not just godlike figures who controlled my life. I have acceptance for where they came from, and what they were taught, who they were, and what their values are. Knowing and accepting doesn’t always take the pain of what happened to our family away, but it does help us to pull away the fear and trauma and see the good inside of each other. Maybe it even helps us to forgive ourselves a little more. And I know, it is far better to be a forgiver than to be bound by anger.

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    AM I A BAD