It’s been 36 years. Well honestly, it’s been 32 that I can consciously remember since recollections of my life stop at around age four. I never recall memories of you living with us, although your presence was ever present in my life one way or the other. Either momma was mad cause you weren’t around or I was mad because even when you were around you weren’t. I remember conversations with friends who counted me lucky that I at least knew who you were and could see you every now and again. That at least you tried. Better to have a piece of man, right? I remember innocent acceptance; never really questioning why there were two different houses, different sets of children, numerous other women. I remember believing this was the way of things; weekends reserved without my consent and sometimes you’d show, show times you wouldn’t. As far as I knew this is what men did — treat you like their option while expecting to be a priority — and not knowing any different I was resigned to just take it all in. You were the adult and I was the child so…
The resentment began to bud at about nine. Never seeing your face at school programs that were important to me. Sharing the weekends that were withheld for time with you with your various girlfriends and their children. Wondering why I never heard from you during the week when you never lived more than twenty miles from my childhood home at any given time. I internalized my indignation, thinking it was something about me that kept you away even though in my heart of hearts I knew that wasn’t true. I’d done nothing more than been a child; the little girl you said you wanted and named before she was conceived. I wanted to be mad with you externally, but seeing how you reacted to my mother’s expression of anger I didn’t want to risk you leaving me too. Instead, I opted to hurt myself as a way of hurting you, even though I wasn’t conscious of my actions at the time. That desire to hurt was usurped by a desire to replace when I became old enough to foster my own relationships. Funny thing is, I kept choosing “you” over and over again by choosing men who were emotionally reserved; men whose attention, affection and respect I felt I had to “earn”.
I don’t know why I’m bothering to rehash this for you again. You’re no stranger to the story since you’ve played a major part in it since its inception. Maybe because I’m trying to hold on to the fantasy that maybe you are the way you are because you are ignorant of certain details. Maybe I’m still hiding behind the ideal that one of these time you’ll experience one of those dramatic silver screen type breakthroughs and realize your fault in our relationship’s breech. Most likely, it’s because I don’t want to accept the fact that you truly just don’t give a damn and I’m not as important to you as parental protocol (or my perception of it) says I should be. I’m sure that’s not the case as it would take an extremely hardhearted person not to care for their own child. I know you love me, by some measure of the definition, and for that I can say that I’m grateful and thankful. In that same vein, I love you as well, but as I look back over our relationship I have come to the painful realization that I have always loved you more.
Ten years ago we had a discussion where I expressed my disappointments in the type of father you had been. In that very same discussion you detailed your misconceptions of your role and what you thought I needed. I assumed that at that point we’d reached a middle ground of understanding of what I needed and what you’d try to be. Since we could not rewind time I was content to start constructing a relationship with you from that moment — a 26 year old woman and her 47 year old father. Unfortunately, despite our meeting of the minds on that humid summer afternoon, our rapport remained one-sided; me chasing you while you remained stubbornly fixed.
I’ve accepted this uneven exchange because I didn’t want to be deemed a bad daughter. The societal rule is, no matter what your parents do they deserve your love, reverence and utmost consideration simply because they “gave you life.” I’ve always found this rule odd since parentage is as much a “random coincidence” as any other mystery of life, but I still adhered to it because certain “habits” are hard to break. Looking at our relationship a bit more logically now, I’ve come to the point where I am tired of respecting you as my parent while getting the shaft as your child. I’m tired of making allowances for “how you are” while I’m perpetually denied what I need from our connection. I can no longer continue to give while you greedily receive and refuse to return the favour.
I am not a person of hypocritical values. I try my very best to let my actions match my words across the board with very little exception. But when I consider the idea that I would not accept the same continual disregard from any other man in my life that I accept from you, I could not help but see myself as anything else but a hypocrite. Although you make a big deal about me being your “grown child”, the fact is I am still your offspring and there are still things I expect, and deserve from our relationship. I expect emotional support, encouragement and a feeling that I am just as important to you as you are to me. I deserve as much as your child and as a woman, and I refuse to settle for anything less any longer.
To make a long story short, Dad, because history has shown you are not going to change, this “letter” is simply a statement of my release of my expectation that you change as well as the burden I feel to keep up our relationship on my own. Part of the lesson of growing up is learning that you must accept people how they are, as they are. I’ve done that with you. I have made every attempt to be reasonable, considering the fact that like me you are dealing with your own deep issues, trying to reconcile the type of father you wanted to be with the type of father you’d grown up with. But at the same time, I have had to be mindful that in order to make my life a fulfilling existence, I must set certain standards for what I will and won’t allow myself to give energy to. Chasing you will have to be one of those things that no longer receives my energy.
Because I love you, I wish you nothing but the best for the rest of your days. I pray you rebound from your recent health issues, and I pray that some day very soon you’ll see fit to meet me halfway so that we can cultivate some sort of mutually beneficial relationship. But for right now, for my emotional well-being and sanity, I have got to walk away. Hopefully one day you’ll fully understand.
Love Always,
Angela Michelle