Write It Out

I have never had a close relationship with my father...or any kind of relationship at all, depending on who you ask. He doesn't drift in and out of my life every few months like most dead-bead dads. Mine takes this a step further. I see him once or twice a year. If that.

If I am honest, with myself and with you, my father has been the one person who I should have pushed out of my life completely. He's immature, childish, a drunkard and should have never been allowed to father the amount of children that he has. He's not responsible for himself or any of his children, including me. I don't even think he knows how to be a responsible adult.

When I was growing up it was my mother that showed up to all of my special events and occasions. He wasn't at any graduations, dance recitals, karate tournaments, gymnastic meets, swimteam meets. He was never there. He, however, was always invited.

I remember lying for my father at every turn. At dance recitals I would tell the other girls that he was at work, so couldn't take the day off to come see me, and I would have to beg and plead my mother to buy a tape of the recital so that my fellow dancers believed my story. At school, when he didn't show up to things like father daughter dances, the kids teased me and I retaliated with a lie that my father had been hit by a bus when I was small and, as a result, had died. I was putting lie on top of lie because I didn't want to be the little girl without a daddy.

I would call him to ask him to come visit me and he would promise to be there soon. He would never show. When he did show up, which was a rare occasion and he was always at least 3/4 drunk by then, he would push a wad of money into my hand. That was his way of saying he loved me. He would laugh drunkenly about what the relationship between he and my mother had been like before I was born, would sit on the hallway landing and croon up towards my mothers bedroom, would grab me and hold me as we watched the sun rise from the front porch. Then he would be gone. I wouldn't see him again for months.

I love my father. I hate my father. I am desperate for his attention. I want him to want to spend time with me. I want him to want to have to love me.

My father is a superhero. But the only time I really spend with him is when I'm the damsel in distress... Of course, even that doesn't last long.

So, the car broke. My mother was out going to a meeting and, according to her, it started to shake, grind, and wouldn't go in reverse. She, of course, called roadside service and parked in a church lot until they got there. A piece had broken and fallen off under the car.

It figures that the piece that broke was the size and shape of a rubber bottom of a crutch.

This is just a small piece in the long line of shit that has been happening and it is getting amazingly ridiculous. I'm sick of life getting brighter and more manageable then turning right back to shit on us. It seems like nothing will ever be as stable as it used to be and i miss the stability.

You know what? I need a fucking cupcake.

So, I woke up this morning to the blaring of my alarm clock...normally the sign of a bad day, but this morning doesn't feel so bad. The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. My boyfriend is already making me laugh. Today is going to be a good day. I can feel it.

So, good morning to you all. Have a wonderful day! I know I will!