Forgive me if I’m wrong, but my expectations of growing up with a father were different then it turned out to be.
They push you on the swings. They take you fishing and teach you how to put a worm on the hook, or even show you how to take the fish off the hook. They teach you how to ride a bike and just be silly together.
They show you how this world is a magical place, filled with optimism and happiness.
As you grow, they want you to realize that any man that comes along needs to have many characteristics to even be worth a second to your time.
Maybe it’s a fairy tale, but that’s what I thought. That’s what I wanted.
Instead, I had to drive with a drunk.
A drunk that would put my life on the line when he was going through his own shit.
Nights upon nights where he would be driving an hour away to get home after he’s been drinking.
Where I would sit there and stare at him even though I’m tired.
Yelling at him.
“Dad, open your eyes.”
“Dad, open your eyes!!”
“Daddddddd, your falling asleep!”
“No I’m not.” He would shout.
He was. His eyelids were folding over.
Till this day I get anxiety about driving, because of him.
I would like to stop being a baby about it, but that’s what he put me through.
The amounts of times we almost crashed. Yet I’m still standing.
Dad, I wish you would’ve taught me how to fish while you had your beers.
Or how you could’ve pushed me on the swings with no excuses.
Spent more time with me than you did your beer.
I was me. I’ve been me. You shrugged me off because your life became to heavy.
You can’t even look at my husband without recognizing he’s a person.
He taught me a lot. More then what you could.
It’s okay though.
As you sit in jail,
I sit here living.
Trying to forgive.