Dear Daddy,
Why is it that you say you love me, but at times, it seems as though you don’t even know I’m here? You say you would like to spend time with me, but before I know, the summer is over, and we haven’t even sat down to eat dinner together. You play sports with me, you say I’m athletic and good, but you complain because I don’t play the sports you play. You try to be proud of me, and of my writing, but all you can think of to say is, “It’s good.” Sometimes I don’t even know if you read them, or if you shove them onto your secretary’s desk while you rush to a meeting. The little time we do spend together, usually in the car, you are on your two blackberries, reading emails, talking to co-workers, or talking to ’her’. Once, you even asked me what I thought about her, and I laughed. “You’re actually asking for my opinion, a year after you start to go out with her?” I say. You don’t want my opinion, because even if I said I didn’t like her, you would still be with her, no matter what. You say you are coming back, but a few minutes later, you say, “with her.” I choke on my drink, trying not to spit it out in utter surprise. “Oh,” I say quietly, trying to hide my amusement. You decide to tell me now instead of four months after your decision, like you did before, when you told me you had a girlfriend, and that her name was Natalia. You consistently tell me I should loose weight, constantly say that I should work out more. I got tired of hearing you push my self-esteem down, so I joined a sports team, just for you. I enjoy it now, truly I love rowing, but in the beginning, I was willing to become bulimic for you. I have lost 10 pounds in total, I tell you, you say, “good, you only have a little more to loose,” nothing I do is ever good enough for you, you expect so much from me, but I can’t do everything. Daddy I love you, but do you love me?
Love,
Gyliane