Absentee father...

We’ve had our share of ups and downs, but somehow or another, we’ve managed to stick together instead of sticking it to each other… and for that, I’m grateful. I’m not gonna lie, there’s a part of me that secretly wishes my parents would have had toughed it out and worked through their issues, but within the first six minutes of a phone call with my father, I’m quickly reminded of why that could never happen. Don’t get me wrong… I love my father. He’s got a bone-dry sense of humor to match his sun-parched skin and we’ve shared a lot of laughs over the years, but talking to him requires an amplified level of patience and three different prescriptions.  Even then, it’s hard to stay on the line.

I don’t know what it is about dads, or maybe it’s just mine, but we (as girls) spend our whole lives looking up to them. They can do no wrong… even when they’re never right, but that doesn’t prevent us from trying to please them. It’s funny how life works; we spend most of it trying to become someone and the rest of it wishing we were someone else.  Either way, it would be nice if he’d show some sort of interest. Again, that might just be me.

Lately, I’ve been wondering what my true purpose is. Though part of me already knows, the other part still questions the answer. I guess the part that questions is the same part that criticizes, and the third part of me wishes everyone (everyone being me) would just shut the hell up. One of these days, I AM going to listen to the first voice and finish what I started… and even though I’m sure he’ll never bend a page, I’ve learned enough to realize that it’s not about me. I’m glad, for my daughters’ sake, that the cycle ends here. With any luck, her voice(s) will come with a mute button, but if it does not, I know her daddy won't let it stop her from finding herself... whoever she may be.