Open Letter to My Father

Dear Dad,

I let you walk me down the aisle.  You stood on one side and on the other, the man who raised me.  That honour should never have been split.  You deserved no part of that day.  I was weak when I asked you.  I was weak during that time and allowed you in when I should have remained strong. For that, the splitting of that honour, I won’t forgive myself.  I no longer put my needs aside for others out of obligation.  This letter, for you as well as for me, is long overdue.  I should have said goodbye to you a long, long time ago.

Here’s why I was weak – I would do anything for them.  I was pregnant when you asked to come back into my life as if you were entitled to that position.  You took no accountability and we both tried to move forward without acknowledging the past. I would do anything for my children.  Anything - even give them an extra grandparent to dote on them when it was hard on me. 

But, here’s the thing.  The hurt amplified as soon as I held my own.  As soon as I held her lifeless body, I knew that I would die to have her.  Why didn’t you have those same feelings for me?  Why couldn’t love for me ride above all the other challenges you faced in your life (and I know you had challenges).  I guess a part of me hates people who use their past as an excuse for their shit future.  Now look at you, a shell of a man with nothing.  I hate you for that. 

I have happy memories.  Whenever I hear John Cougar Melloncamp I smile.  I remember dancing in your living room to that music from the 80’s.  We had good times.  You danced in the living room, careful not to spill your drink.  My happy memories were of a happy drunk father, not the angry drunk.  There was no security of those happy moments.  They weren’t truly happy because I knew at any moment they could turn. You could turn angry and violent.  As a child, that was so scary.  Your unpredictability scared the shit out of me - I was little, scared, missed my mom.  It never felt like you wanted us there.  You had plenty of opportunity to connect with me, to know me as a little girl, but you made the choice to ignore us on those rare weekends.  You chose to put us in the car and leave us outside of a strip club while you went inside.  You betrayed my trust from the most fragile of ages. 

At 13 I gave myself the best present.  It felt good to cut you out.  But the thing is, I held onto it.  I processed it as a strong move, a defining moment of my young life.  I was held by mom as ‘the strong one’ after that act.  But it hurt.  It hurt that you didn’t fight.  That you didn’t even notice.  Did you even notice?  Your lack of fight for me snowballed into my whole life.  I cut people out.  A lot.  It’s so easy.  You made that easy.  I grew up feeling so insignificant – like I was an option, never a priority.

I wish I was a daddy’s girl.  But here’s the thing: I am a daddy’s girl.  I wish I was your daddy’s girl.  I know you wished for that too.  I know that you think you have a role in my successes.  I know that you bragged about me, likely still do.  I know that that comes from a place of wishing I was your girl.  I used to lie and brag to my girlfriends too.  I created the image of a father that I wanted and I would tell them that you were just busy, a business-man, will buy me my first car, take me places.  None of it was true.  You were not that man.  You are not driven, successful, too busy, or placing me ahead of anything else.    After Penelope died, you tried to slide into this role.  I was grieving and you saw it as an opportunity to be the father you wished you had been.  You injected yourself into my life when I didn’t need you.  You made things feel worse.  Saw me grieving and asked your grown daughter to sit on your lap.  You wanted to hold me, I get that, but it just felt odd and uncomfortable.  I have a daddy, who’s lap I can curl into when my world has crashed.  That is not and will never be you.  Fuck you for trying.  You lost that privilege and will never have that back.

You try to take credit for my drive, my brain.  How many times do you think you have told the Smartie’s story?  Bribing me with smarties in the grocery store once when I was two had zero impact on my University scholarship, my writing, my acting, or my determination to succeed.  You know what did?  Rick sitting at the table with me while I did my homework. It’s always bothered me that you thought you could take credit for that shit.  You get zero credit. 

I’m hardened, but so soft because of you.  My boundaries are firm but very vast.  I lose my shit when someone says that they are going to do something that they have zero intention of doing.  I won’t do that to my kids, ever!  I know what it feels like to be let down.  My promise is my word because your promises never meant anything.  I’m learning to love myself.  I know to invest where there will likely be a return.  A relationship with you is not reciprocal. 

It’s hard to know what parts of me are a direct connection to your failures or to mom’s successes.  I see parts of my personality with both a positive and negative lens.  Each part of me can be seen as an amazing quality or too much.  I’ve been told that a lot.  I’m too much.  Sometimes I feel like I am too much.  I go too far on almost everything. But people respect it, seek it out, admire it. 

I like men who are in touch.  I never wanted the ‘bad boy.’  I married the most amazing man.  He is everything that you are not.  He is everything that Rick is.  I knew I was worthy of so much more than you and I never fucking settled for someone who would hurt me.  I choose right, he’s nothing like you.  As I walked down the aisle to him, I knew that I had done something right.  You did everything wrong, but somehow, I navigated without you and found him.

Fuck you, you shouldn’t have had the honour of walking me down the aisle to him.

My mistake.