Bad Dad

When I had lunch with my Dad when he was here, we talked about my half brothers and sisters. There are five or six of us in all. My dad is married, and has been for 18 years, and has a 17-year-old son, a junior, named Robert.
So I ask him over gumbo if his son is going to college. He doesn't know. Eyebrow raise. And so I ask if he and his son are close, seeing that they live in the same house. The answer is no. And I am like, how is that possible? He says that he is about as close to the son with his wife that lives in his house as he is to me. Not good. We text occasionally and he visits every two or three years. I ask him how this is even possible, and he says that it is because he is a bad father.
Bad Father. He said it nonchalantly, like he was saying his name. He went on to add that he works a lot and that none of his kids were planned.
This did not hurt my feelings. I was happy to hear him say these things. When I was kid, I figured he wasn't around because of something I did when I was too young to remember. When I was a preteen, I convinced myself that my mom had done something to make him go away. Now I see that his absence was no fault of mine or my mom's, and that is not only refreshing, but a big relief.
Before he left, he said he wanted to come back in November. I said OK, but I am not holding my breath on him coming. He may or may not. I just have to accept him for what he is.