<< prev = comments [25] = pings [0] = next >>


daddy's little girl
06/17/2007 = 09:51 AM

I was not my Daddy's little girl.

Not ever in my life. I was his kid, but I wasn't his special girl, and I was always very aware that this was the case.

I'm even less so, now, because I see him so seldom and, when I do see him, his only interest in me concerns whether I know if my brother is coming soon.

I know my father loves me, but I never felt as though he liked me, and it's even harder for me to make an effort to reach out to him now, when he is so very closed off within himself and his own happy little world than he was before the threads of his mind began to undo themselves.

This is patently hard for me to accept, because I adore my father. Worship him.

Notice that this is not in the past tense.

Having this adoration be unrequited my whole life was difficult, to say the least. I would watch him bestow the attention I craved onto everything that was not me and I burned with jealousy.

I repeat that I know he loved me. But I wanted him to be crazy about me.

He's still talking about that one band concert he came to where we played calypso music in steel band and how great that was.

He has no idea how pissed off I was that, in four years of band, he not only allowed himself to be dragged (yes, it was under duress) to one lousy concert, he also was late picking me up from all the other band concerts from which I couldn't catch rides from other people's families, so except for that one lousy concert, I always had to stand outside the school, in the dark, waiting for him, where he would finally pick me up and drive me home, not asking how I had done or how the concert was, just swearing under his breath about the inconvenience of having to come out and get me.

But that memory of that one concert, incomplete though it is, makes him incredibly happy, and he was a good father and provider my whole life.

If that memory is all I can give him to make his Father's Day happy, then I give it gladly.

Tags: Father's Day

drinking: coffee
listening to: nothing
will i visit him today: probably not; he won't notice and i'd just get upset