To Feel What I Feel

Would Mean Nothing

"You're an idiot! How could you even think that this was ok? You know I was wrong about you because you obviously don't think at all when you do something." Dad says, trying to lecture me. I forgot the wrong I had done because he's so focused on calling me names.

"What'd I do?" I ask, racking my brain to remember.

"No, you don't get to have an attitude. I'm the head of this house, and you will obey me!" Dad yells. Tears spring to my eyes, and I wonder why I'm crying. I'm not even upset or I wasn't before I sat down. I stand up. No way am I going to cry in front of him. No way will he gain satisfaction from my pain.

"Y'know I actually wanted to know what I did, but I don't care now. You shouldn't be able to talk to me until I cry every single time. There's something wrong in that." I exclaim.

"I'm the dad, not you. I can do whatever the hell I want. Now you got me cursing." Dad spits, standing as well.

"Whatever."

"Sit back down!" Dad orders.

"No, because this ain't a friendly-conversation. You don't care about me."

"Of course this isn't friendly, I'm lecturing you, and I do care about you."

"Calling me names is you caring? Oh, then sorry. You know I ain't calling you names, so why you got to lose the respect?" I ask.

"You dropped it first by standing when I'm still talking to you."

"You called me a name way before I stood." I laugh.

"So, you're a baby. How is that my problem?" Dad asks. My eyes widen. Why do I keep thinking that one day he'll care when it's obvious he doesn't. I slide my left hand down my face in frustration.

"You're right, it ain't your problem no more." I say, walking to my room. I grab my bag and go for a walk. One more year then I'll be gone.