Dear Dad
Dear Dad,
I have decided to start writing letters as a therapeutic means of describing to you what you’re missing. I’m not writing you these letters because I feel as though you are particularly deserving, but I am doing so selfishly. Writing, to me, is a form of expression, and though you may never read these letters, simply letting my suppressed emotions loose is greatly satisfying.
Halloween was last week, and while taking my friend’s sister trick-or-treating, I couldn’t help but recall the Halloweens of my childhood. I remember how good you were to me when you used to take me out as a child, just you and me. You’d drive to the rich neighbourhoods, and I’d have to walk the seemingly endless driveways to reach the mammoth houses. Though my efforts were always fruitful, as I retrieved an gross amount of candy. Despite the fact that you would chauffeur me to all the affluent neighbourhoods in our community, I was still reluctant to share my candy with you.
This year I dressed my dog up for Halloween. I refuse to wear a costume, so I live vicariously through Seamus.
I always think of Liam on Halloween. I often wonder how he’s doing, what he looks like, how he acts. Children change so rapidly at that age, and one of my biggest regrets of our estranged relationship is the fact that I rarely see Liam. Though I am the first to admit that I am generally not a fan of children, I do miss Liam immensely.
In fact, he must be nearing three years old. I can vividly recall the day of his birth. I made a special trek to the-city-that-shall-not-be-named solely for the purpose of Liam’s birth. I wanted to be there to greet him. And I was. I got to meet Liam the minute he was born. I feel as though this has somehow contributed to my attachment to him.
School work has been overwhelming these days. I know that you are disappointed with my choice to pursue journalism in university, as it is a constant reminder of the wife that you hastily left. You have periodically accused mum of pressuring me into pursuing journalism, accusations that I find rather comical. I’m quite happy with my course load this year, as heavy as it may be at times.
I’m still playing my saxophone, and this year am in the same school band as Ben. On Friday we had to play at my school’s commencement, which I initially wrote off to be aggravatingly dull. Though I claimed to be disinterested and fatigued, I secretly sat in awe and wonderment. Next year I will be prancing merrily across that very stage in a fit victory. It is difficult for me to grasp that this is my last year of high school. I still feel like the same ten year old girl that watched in horror as you packed up and drove away.
The commencement begged the question: will I invite you to mine? I honestly doubt it. You have done nothing in the way of supporting me, so I feel as though inviting you is essentially giving you undue credit. You didn’t invite me to your wedding, so I don’t feel as though I am obligated to invite you to my commencement. Call me vindictive, but I don’t think you are deserving.
I always wonder whether or not you will realize the err of your ways. Will you regret the years of our lives that you’ve missed? Will you subconsciously hold yourself accountable?
Only time will tell, but until then, farewell.
Sincerely,
Your Daughter
