The worst nightmare that I ever remember having didn’t last long. I remember how there were no windows, doors, or walls. Everywhere I looked was just yellow. Yellow was my favorite color. Next, my dad appeared. I hadn’t seen my dad in almost two years. But then there were more of him. He just kept emerging and there were so many of him, that’s when it became scary. I was trapped and surrounded by a fence made of images of my father. Every one of them pulled out a gun and that was the last thing I saw.

This dream, particularly the last part, has always haunted me, in the back of my mind, it’s like a leech on my brain. This was a scary dream but I don’t think scared of my dad. He went to prison when I was little and that’s a scary thought as it is but I also had no idea why he was in prison. It was a level of uncertainty that didn’t affect how I saw my dad. He didn’t seem like a bad person, I was happy not knowing anything. I also never really bothered to know and it turned out to be better that way. about my dad until I got a certain letter from him.

Even though he wasn’t with me, he did write me letters, one every month. He was an artist so when I was younger, he drew me pictures of my favorite cartoons sometimes. He probably thinks I’m too old for that now because he doesn’t send me cartoons anymore. Instead, he sends me an allowance. But nothing he has ever sent me has been even close to comparable to that one letter.

It wasn’t even really the letter that mattered to me. With the letter he had sent an article he had written and sent to a magazine in hopes of the article being published. This article was more of a short memoir. It wasn’t that the article was well written or even a cool story but after reading it, I learned that I knew absolutely nothing about my biological father.

I knew my dad was in prison, I didn’t know what for or how long but I knew he wasn’t with me. I learned some things from this memoir, about my dad. The memoir had shot me with words of truth about my dad. Not about prison, but about his past. I thought my dad was a great guy; he knew he couldn’t be a big part of my life but he tried to at least be a part of it. He still cared. Before he started sending pictures, he was just an idea but then he did he mattered so much more. Then the memoir ruined it. I wish I had never read it.

It wasn’t just the memoir either. I had gotten so curious about my dad that I decided to look up why he was in prison. I wish I hadn’t done that either. I found a pdf that told me everything I needed to know and more. I wish I hadn’t found it. I had never felt so betrayed. I hate my dad for what he did but I think hate myself more for wanting to know. I had asked my mom numerous times but she refused to tell me. Now I know why, I wasn’t ready and I still don’t think I would be now.

Some things are just better to not know about. Sometimes people just shouldn’t be curious. Life is so much easier when some things are left unknown. That dream came true when I read the memoir and the pdf. I now want nothing to do with him. I don’t want his last name. I don’t want to be his daughter. It felt like my dad did shoot me, but I wasn’t the one dead. In a way, my father is dead to me.