I is for Indifference

I think I am more afraid of running into you
Instead of any natural disaster
Or sudden death
Is it natural?
Is it normal?
That I call you by your name?
Yet I only utter that name about three times a year
Another December passes
And onto February
We’re both a year older
I feel a little smaller
I think your ego got bigger
Do you think about it?
Do you wonder about me?
Am I the silent “she” you don’t tell your friends about?
I was the last one to take a chance
The phone goes both ways

But I think your prescription is dead
What is a father?
That doesn’t recognize he has a daughter

– Me, and my endless questions each day

I is for indifference, which may be an odd emotion, or non-emotion really, to depict a parent in. I had the chance when I was nineteen to finally ask my father, why. I asked him why he did not want me, and clear as day, he said “Because you did not need me.” Appalled, and unsure, I collected that this idea was not his to make. Assuredly, and obviously, I did not need him – I faired well without him, but would it have been nice to be able to claim a dad, and have someone to claim me? Of course, it is only natural.

My father is what you could call a narcissist. From a very early age, I could not be manipulated by his frequent lies, charming ploys, and attempts to buy people’s love. I have seven siblings, and somewhere along the line, they all caved to his manipulative tactics, and they expressed a desire to be accepted by him. Of course I wanted his love, but I wanted it to be real, and not momentary because I performed adequately in catering to his needs. I saw right through him, and as pathetic as it sounds, he was intimidated by me even when I was a child.

I could argue that he did not know how to love due to his upbringing and life experiences, but if we base my ability to love on my upbringing and life experiences, then I should be able to make the same excuse. His inability to learn to love and care for others is also a grand excuse to remain stagnant. He lacked a father of his own, and his father lacked a father, but that is still not an excuse to leave your child fatherless as well. It’s not an experience, it is an epidemic.

I have my father’s artistic ability, his analytical brain, his love for critical thinking games, and his interest in films and music no one else has ever heard of. In many ways, we are similar. I am tall like him, I have his hands, and we even walk the same. As similar as we are, our similarities could not bridge us, simply because you cannot bridge a space that you are constantly burning down.

In a way, I guess this is really an open letter to my dad. An open letter saying that if he wants to change and come back, I would still be here. That’s the harsh reality of being a child I guess – you never really leave your parent, even when they leave you.

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