To The Men That Built Me

Jaded

I tried countless times.
But I simply couldn't compete.
With whoever and whatever it was
That kept you at bay.
That kept you from being a father.
Or at least being a father to me.

My mother knew you wouldn't answer my calls. But she let me call collect anyway. She knew you wouldn't write me back. But she bought stamps anyway. She knew you were a piece of shit. But she let me find out on my own.
I did find out. The hard way.
That nothing I did was ever going to be enough.
No amount of prayer was going to make up for lost time.
That's all it was.
Wasted time.
Time I can't get back.
Time I can't use to think of anything good between us.

There's a few memories of you that comes to mind.
And they are painful.

Like the day you asked me how to spell my name and when my birthday was. I was only 10. How could you not know?

There's the day you told me that you'd be too busy to attend my graduation. I graduated with honors---by the way.

The unanswered calls. The unreturned letters. The visits that never involved me.

And the list goes on.

August 2006. My phone rang. And it was you. Someone must have told you that I made it. Without you. You called to say how proud you were of me and how much you loved me. And I believed your lies.

There's three distinct times, I recall seeing you. The epitome of inconsistent. Here for a few days. Gone for a few years.

So I grew cold. And numb. And close-minded to the idea of ever knowing you.

A woman should never beg a man for anything. Especially his time and love.

Yet here I was. A daughter begging her father. Continously falling on deaf ears.

How can I not hate you? I have every reason too.

If I can protect my future daughters from anything, its to be shield from the void and wrath of a fatherless life. To deter them from the gut-wrenching and soul-crushing heartbreak of feeling unwanted.
To have a father who is nothing like you.

May they never experience a jaded love.