Risk Assessment

I have been thinking about what it would take for our reconciliation.

Clearly, it’s not calling me on Christmas expecting me to answer because well you know Jesus and Christmas spirit. You have never known your daughter well.

I decided 2 years ago that you couldn’t buy me anymore either because the price was too high for what I was getting.

So I’m starting a list.

1. Admit it

You cheated, you lied, you stole, then you lied (and continue to lie) about cheating, lying, and stealing.

The first time you left, I was 6. I don’t really remember this but I attribute this to my mother doing another one of her expert cover up jobs for you.
Then you disappeared for a year to live in Chicago with one of your mistresses. This one I remember. I remember you saying you didn’t want a family anymore. I remember my grief stricken little brother being told that he had to be the man of the house now–at 7-8 years old. I remember my role as my mother’s confidante intensifying. From that moment on, I would know everything that happened between you two.
You are currently married to one of said mistresses. You moved to California and immediately stopped spending holidays with your children.

You were absent (at best) my entire life. There are stories upon stories about you stored in my memory, but they mostly involve you just not being there when everyone else was.

You took what wasn’t yours by way of spending my college fund and then puzzled over why I didn’t finish school earlier. You stole from my mother and your son, but left him enough to get by and then paid for his education out of your pocket.

Newflash: when your dad makes a shit ton of money and is still claiming you on his taxes, it’s awfully difficult to get financial aid and when you’re suffering from a chronic illness, it’s not easy to just go get a job that would make enough money to pay for tuition.

And it’s not even boo hoo, I had to get financial aid to pay for college–that’s not even the issue. It’s the dishonesty, the selfishness, and the going behind everyone’s back to spend your child’s college money rather than your own enormous paycheck. I planned as if I would have that money and to have it be gone at the very last minute–it made things very different and much more difficult. I would be finished with college and financially independent if not for this cycle of promises and retractions of said promises. Life would be drastically different for the better.

If you could only admit to even 1 or 2 of your mistakes, we could move forward. I wouldn’t feel as if you thought everything you’d done was okay. Hell, I’d know that you were at least aware of your own actions.

I know, dad. I know your own mother was fucking crazy and you probably have some attachment disorder going on that has never been addressed. I know you’re inherently anxious and nervous, worried about fitting in and succeeding. I know I scare you, I know I embarrass you with my honesty and political opinions, my lack of blonde hair and a size 2 waist and a business degree.

You have never known what to do with me because you don’t understand that all you ever had to do was just be and we would work it out from there. I’m messy, I’m opinionated, I’m loud, I’m not like anyone else, I’m not like you–but I’m kind, I work hard, and I love humanity and the world fiercely. I know you don’t understand it. It doesn’t make financial sense to you. You can’t predict me with an Excel spreadsheet and a line graph. I wear clothes from Walmart and Target and drive a sensible car, I don’t have anything I can wear to be admitted to one of the country clubs you belong to.

We are polar opposites. You are metal and I’m nonmetal. You are non polar and I’m polar. But I still see you, Dad. I see your good parts and I know that you are not all bad.

I just can’t afford you anymore.

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