Prodigal Dad explained — not excused

SALT LAKE CITY — Last week I wrote a column in my Prodigal Dad series on not knowing how to reconcile my responsibility to keep my family safe and my religious beliefs of forgiveness and tolerance, partnered with the real-time happening of my daughter’s wedding ceremony.

The catalyst of the story was that when it came down to the start of the ceremony, no one in our family had received an invite or an address.

There were myriad bad/sad feelings flying around: mine, my wife’s, my wife's family, my family and our family together — Myelda included. (Myelda is the name I made up for her when I started writing two years ago. Because of the personal nature of my writing, I always change the names — sometimes even the gender — of everyone involved but me.)

Related:

Prodigal dad not invited to daughter's wedding

After years of wasting time as a "part-time dad," it is inevitable that I don't have much positive influence on Myelda. There was just too much time not being there. I suppose there is a point at which your efforts really are too little, too late.

When I published the story in my weekly opinion column, some were confused and felt it was a “news story.” (Prodigal Dad has always been a weekly opinion on “Motherhood Matters" on ksl.com)

Others were upset with me for having published something so personal to all those involved, with comments made along the lines of “get a life, Cheney — no wonder you weren’t invited to her wedding.”

If I am allowed my personal feelings, then I can't begrudge anyone reading for theirs. When I write about something so personal — and, yes, I have written such before — those reading often insert a little of their own experience into the story and the result is the sum total of my experience and theirs. Sometimes it is a good thing, sometimes not.

Frankly, I was told to expect some negative feedback because of said personal approach I have taken with the column — that I am an LDS man who wants to be a better dad and husband, that trying to use the principles I have learned (and often taught) doesn’t automatically make me heaven fodder, nor does it make my relationships fit into perfect little boxes.

I write about wanting a better relationship with my wife and my kids — that even though I started out as the step-dad, I want more. In order to have this, I have had to recommit to putting them first.

But I'm older. I no longer have the emotional resources I once had. Where I was once publicly put together, I am now raw and inarticulate. Where I once looked good on the outside, I now feel better on the inside, and look outwardly silly at times. Where I used to have all the answers (so I thought), I now have to run my essays through a lawyer who often says to me, “you can print this, Davison, but I wouldn’t.”

Last week's essay may have fallen into that category.

I was not trying to cast myself as the good guy in a white hat wronged, nor was I going for putting the blame on “Myelda the ungrateful.” (Myeldest daughter is as ungrateful as her real name is Myelda)

My essay hurt Myelda's feelings. It was my running commentary on how I felt about her then boyfriend, now spouse.

Yes, my lawyer friend, I shouldn’t have.

Let me go on the record as saying that I am sick with worry that Myelda and her son will end up getting the short stick in a grand way. Myelda has a way of finding the worst luck and trying it on for a perfect fit, and I want to keep her out of that store.

My error on the side of safety for my grandchild isn't a problem for me regardless of public feedback. It's having been so big mouthed in my written assessment of who or what is the cause of the problem that I am dealing with now.

In the long run, concerning the safety of my daughter and grandson, I would rather be accused of saying too much than for not saying enough when I had the chance.

What I am saying is not going to change. What will change is to whom I say it. I will start making plans for that conversation. Maybe no one has ever established an expectation for anything different than what he knows.

And maybe I will find out something that I didn't know.

Now, if you will excuse me, I need to send this to Myelda for editing.

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Main image: The only photo Myelda (in pink) would allow published, and then only with a marker once-over. (Photo: Davison Cheney and daughter Myelda, DCheneyStudio)

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*Davison Cheney calls himself the "Prodigal Dad," which, by common definition, describes a father who has wasted resources. "A recent tragedy has made me stop to reconsider my life and what is important to me. I write this column with that in mind." Read more from Davison at davisoncheneymegadad.blogspot.com.**

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