Dear Daddy

Dear Daddy,

I shiver at the ring tone and display of your image on my phone. I desire to click “reject” yet am well aware that if I do, you will leave a voice mail in which you will shout at the top of your lungs as though speaking to an answering machine that I can hear “Ksusha, Ksusha, pick up the phone”. You will repeat the same question, time after time, as though I haven’t heard it before…”where did you disappear to???” and I annoyed will recite a few profane terms under my nose, knowing there is nothing I can do (since I have been unable to do anything about any part of your behavior in my 29 years on this earth under your spell). I will finally relax…just a little…I am well aware that you will ask the same thing you always do…”What are you doing? Where are you? When will I see you? And at that moment I will want to murder you! Is there any better way to say it? Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, I AM TIRED OF YOUR CALLS AND ASUMPTIONS, I wasn’t put on this earth to please anyone, not even you, and if you think that my life will take a backseat to yours, I SAY THIS….Daddy…WAKE THE FUCK UP! I am not interested in seeing you daily. Not even weekly. Once a month might do. You will sit across the table from me but you will stare into the distance. I will force a failed attempt to revive you by bringing up a topic for discussion, yet you won’t hear me as you are elsewhere. I will get pissed off for I will see you staring at the table next to us, or the waitress approaching, and I will know that your next comment will be about me. You will comment on my career, income, possessions and I will be embarrassed for I do not know the stranger at the next table and have no idea on how to respond. They will try to ask me how, who, what, where, when, and I will be signaling for the waiter to bring the check so I can stick my credit card in the pocket of the leather cover and pray that they are quick in sliding it through. I will write the total in, the faster they processed, the higher the tip. I will quickly walk to my car and pray that this event doesn’t reoccur soon, as I simply cannot handle it any longer. Daddy, I will get home and feel guilty. I will equate myself with the bad ones, the ones who always tore you down. Those who laughed or pointed a finger. Those who didn’t understand. Those who never will. I will answer the next time you call. Daddy, I will answer.

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