What I'm about to share might be too much. You may start this and go "Oh Jesus, if I had known she was in a dear diary mood I might have just spared myself from the beginning" and thus, if you do not care hear to me gripe and complain for however many paragraphs it takes to get this out, then please move on to candystand.com or something and waste your time there. If you decided to stick around, hold onto your hats. This one is a fucking DOOZY.
I do not talk to my father. Anyone who knows me knows that. The fact of the matter is that I do not like my father. I don't deem him a "nice" individual. He isn't kind. He's actually quite selfish. And mean. I could elaborate on those but I won't because I'm nice. Just know I have my reasons for decidedly not conversing with him. It saves everyone a lot of grumbling and fierce shouting in the long run. For the most part I live at my parents house and we just avoid one another at all costs. Like we're the others invisible counterpart. It works well.
Well. It DID work well. See, as much as I dislike my father, for whatever the reasons may be, I'm not cruel to him. If he asks me a direct question (which is rare) I will answer it. If he needs me to hand him a pencil, say, I will hand it to him (pointy side out) and if he were drowning in the backyard due to a sudden quick-sand portal that opened up where our septic tank used to be I would throw the guy a freaking rope. In the same manner, when it is Father's Day or his birthday or Christmas I extend him a card, a gift, a well wish. He is still family, family still deserve some perks of having to share a living space.
You might be able to see where this is going.
This weekend I went home to spend time with my family. I'm terribly homesick for my mother's ludicrous dogs and my flannel sheets and the way the house smells like feet and cinnamon potpourri (a special home creation)and so I went and the plan was to celebrate my birthday in the same manner that we celebrate everyone's birthday every year. A gift, a cake, singing, etc. Nothing elaborate. Hell, I'm 25. It's not like I need a clown (although I wouldn't object). I just need them.
And it didn't happen. It was supposed to but it didn't work out. My brother and my dad ended up working on Sunday and what should have only been a half a day job turned out to last until late in the evening until I had no choice but to drive back without seeing them. My mother and my sister sang to me over a pitifully delicious cake and took pictures of me crying because I am simply that pathetic. I guess I was looking forward to the celebration more than I thought. I guess I was considering how much we put into everyone's birthdays every year and just felt so jipped. So forgotten and it was silly of me to get so upset, especially since my mother and sister tried so hard, but I did. I cried uncontrollably in the car the entire ride to Kalamazoo. What was worse is that I didn't start crying, like full on rumbling tears, until I realized that they had made it home shortly after I left and still hadn't called me to tell me they were sorry. I think it was then that my disappointment grew to something so much more.
I love my brother. He may be 21 but he just a child and therefore perhaps doesn't realize quite yet just how much his actions hurt me. My father, however...well, get in the fucking game dude. Sure, maybe we don't talk. Maybe your selfish and cruel actions finally caught up to a point where you proved me right BY FORGETTING YOUR OLDEST DAUGHTERS BIRTHDAY?
Just, if you can for a moment, think back to the moment you wanted me. Think back to the day when you decided to be a part of my creation. When I arrived and you held me for the first time and you said to yourself, "she is going to be something great" and you realized that I looked more like you than I looked like mom and perhaps that thought gave you the smallest sense of pride. Maybe it didn't. Let's pretend it did. Let's pretend for a second that you celebrated that day, the day of my arrival, the day your life was changed forever. Conversation or not, I'm still your child. Relationship or not, you still owed me that phone call and apology.
The celebration of a life still deserves a birthday card.
Needless to say my father doesn't read this and I'm sorry you had to. Perhaps it's a bit hypocritical for me to expect anything. "You chose not to talk to him, what do you care if he gives you a card or calls?" and yeah, maybe you're right. Maybe I'm bringing about my own misery. Maybe this is part of the deal that comes with not speaking to your father and I should just face that fact rather than fight it or complain about it.
And perhaps another part of that deal HE should live with is that I'm so totally paying someone to shit in his Christmas stocking this year as an act of retaliation. Forget your daughter's birthday? Lesson: Learned.
