h2>Dating : Crappy fathers get a Happy Father’s Day too
Because after all they are still dads
Yesterday was Father’s Day. I texted my dad and told him Happy Father’s Day. I don’t know why I bothered honestly. I know he never cared about me, he wished me dead and had told me repeatedly how much he hates me. Yet I opened the gate for him to try to tear me down.
As I sat there after hitting send to the text to my father. I thought about everything he has ever done or said to me. In the mist of my thoughts, I heard my phone ding. I look to see my dead-beat father has text me back.
“Thank you, baby girl. Are you to see me Thursday? Your mom is coming to take me shopping.”
Okay. Well you’re welcome. Even though I know apart of me feels like you don’t deserve it. But hey kill people with kindness, right? But no, how are you? What have you been up to? Nothing. Just are you coming to see me?
I’m glad I am older and know better to expect anything more from that jerk.
He wants to see me, yet he was the dad that didn’t want me around. I remember when I was little. He couldn’t stand being in the same room as me. He liked me better if I was outside playing or in my room doing my own thing.
As I got older, I learned how to stay on his good side and try to avoid him if I could. Just so I didn’t have to hear those hateful words that always cut deep. And made me wish I was invisible or a different person. A child that he actually liked or loved.
What stuck with me most and still does. Is how I was thirteen and was always feeling sad. I never knew why or understood why. It was like my dad knew. One evening it was him and I home. My mom was at work that evening. I hated that. Because I didn’t like being home by myself with my dad. But anyway, I fell asleep in the rocking chair in the living room. He woke me up with stomping around. So, I got up to use the bathroom which was also to avoid him as well. Honestly it didn’t work. I came back into the living room as he is walking out of the kitchen. Which was connected to the living room. He screamed at me.
“Why are you so freaking lazy? You can’t seem to do the dishes or anything around here.”
I decided to walk away. But I stopped mid step because he wasn’t done. I knew I would be in bigger trouble if I walked away. Then for the first time I heard him say.
“I wished you were never born. I hate you. When you turn eighteen, I want you out of my house.”
I ran into my room and broke down. As a kid growing up, I was use to him telling me how stupid I was or he would call me a twit.
Now we’re on a whole new level of being bullied. And it’s by my own parent. I was so hurt that I just wanted to lay there and die. Maybe then he would be happy. I was afraid to tell my mom any of this. I feared of being judged, starting an argument or being told I needed help. Maybe I did and possibly still do. But to me I felt like that would make me a bigger target in my own home.
Here we are years later. My mom knows some of the stuff he said. Mostly the stuff that bothered me the most. It’s been almost 2 years since I lived with my dad. And I hardly ever see him. I love my dad. Because well he’s my dad. But I’ll always keep my distance. It just seems like it’s for the best.
After moving away from him. I wrote a poem about him. It was a way to release the pain and help me move on.
I feel somewhat happier. I’m no longer walking on eggshells. I’m no longer scared to be who I am. I’m finally writing again. And aiming high for my goals. I am no longer ashamed of telling my story.