Dance With My Father

I had another dream about my father last night. I think something big is going to happen soon. I don’t know what or if it’ll even involve me but I have this feeling that something is coming around the corner.

I don’t open up much about my father for many reasons, one of which is: I’d really rather not think about him.

But I am human. I am his daughter. He is my father.

There was a time in my life when I didn’t hate him. When I didn’t hold such a deep grudge in my heart against him. In hindsight, I realize it was probably a time of denial, an ingrained duty of guilt that I spent time with him, was a “good” daughter.

He is a selfish man. Spoiled from the moment he was born. There’s something to being born to parents who lost their previous child just after her first birthday in a house fire. Something like the parents being so amazingly grateful for having been given another child that the child is put on a pedestal, made to feel like a prince, for his entire life, or until they are dead.

That was/is my father.

Everything is on his own terms. When he became a father, he didn’t develop those feelings of suddenly wanting to put yourself second because you have sired a child. My mother tells stories of how he used to get so jealous of my sister just after she was born. “You pay more attention to that baby, than to me.” Well HELLO! Kimberly was a small, helpless, newborn. Instead of reveling in the joy of creating life with someone she loved, my mother’s joy was one-sided. My father was proud of being a dad and I’m sure he loved us in some small way but his love didn’t reach much further than his ego.

I’ve had good times with him. I’ve cried on his shoulder during the rare times he was willing to put his own agenda aside to actually be a parent. I miss those times. I wanted to hold on to them forever.

But damage was done. Hearts were broken. Scars were left. He hurt my sister. He hurt me. It took me years to finally see him for what he is. And I decided to separate myself from him forever. It was what I needed to do for myself. Ironically, it was the only way I could have some peace in my heart.

I don’t know that if he came to me tomorrow and took responsibility for everything he has done, that I could forgive him, but I could at least respect him. I pray for his sake that one day he will.

My sister and I have carried his responsibility long enough.

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