"My parents split up when I was 2. My dad stayed by the beach and my mom and I moved to the city.
She told everyone they got divorced because she couldn’t get a job on the shore and dad wouldn’t move. Not a very good reason, but for a long time I believed her.
What I told people about my father was that I didn’t really care about him, that he just wasn’t a part of my life, and Don’t worry, you didn’t upset me, and Really, I’m ok, see? There are no tears in my eyes.
If you repeat something for long enough, you might just believe it.
Mom… she had 5 children, only one survived. I was her little miracle, she was going to protect it and no one would hurt it the way everyone hurt her. She even stopped giving me his letters, since I cried when I read them.
But the little miracle likes to play spy and eavesdrop on Mommy’s conversations. And she overhears something about her dad having a mental illness… Daddy’s coo-coo. But she can’t ask for any details! She’s to embarrassed…or too scared. Maybe I’ll have the courage to ask before I turn 20.
Every once in a while I get gifts from the beach. Polite girls call and say thank you. Then they go to school and cry for their poor daddy locked up in a mental asylum But they don’t tell people why they weep, no, they can’t shed a tear for their father, they don’t care about him, he isn’t a part of their lives, and you shouldn’t worry, they’re ok.
I wonder if Dad’s this stubborn too.
The miracle is too curious. She can’t not know the truth. She even dreams of her father and what could be wrong: At first everything is fine, and suddenly, Dad starts saying weird things and crying and ends up killing himself. As awful as it was, it gave her a hint; after all, it wouldn't be the first dream of hers that would actually become true.
It all dawned over me, I once read depression can me hereditary. That explains so much about myself.
It wouldn’t be the first prediction I had in a dream. Still, I can’t be sure until I ask someone.
Maybe I’ll have the guts to ask before I’m 20.
I wonder if Dad is such a chicken too.
It’s father’s day and I finally understand how hard he tries, considering his… situation. Maybe I should call him, it’s been such a long time since he last heard his little girl’s voice. After a couple of weeks and a 3 minute conversation with his ex-wife and daughter, he gets an ice-tray letter: cold and shallow. Still, he cries when he gets it, so he says in his response.
I haven’t answered him yet. I don’t really want to. See, I don’t care about having a relationship with him, he isn’t a part of my life. I just sent him that letter because he’s a good man, he deserves it…" I stop to take a puff of my cigarette and leave it on the ashtray. I drink a zip of coffee but it's cold already, from all my talking. He takes advantage of my silence to interrup and change the subject.
"Sorry I didn’t mean to pry…"
"Oh, don’t worry, you didn’t upset me, really, I’m ok, see? There are no tears in my eyes. Anyways, where did YOU grow up?"