A survivor, a writer, a knitter a cook. Sometimes someone who kind of sews, a beginning painter, a diabetic. A singer. An amazon with a predilection for high heels and vamp nail polish. A wearer of red lipstick. A friend, a fiancee, a sister, a daughter, a soft place to land. Able to belch like a trucker, write the perfect thank you note and laugh at a fart joke.
Poetic, loving, struggling. Dark and divine.
flutter is a girl named Christine, and she can be reached at http://byflutter.com . but be nice, she bites.
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At times I wish I could say that I had things settled with my dad. But the truth is, as long as he is alive, things are unsettled. I find myself angry with him, hurt by his indifference. I find myself continually fighting the cracked heart of the little girl that he so willingly discarded.
My father is an addict.
He is an addict of all things. Gambling, flesh, substance. Mostly is addictions consist of a range of selfish things. Anything he wants he does, anything he feels he says. With very little thought or care to how it casts a long and demeaning shadow. I abhor being a daughter to someone so consistently uncaring.
But.
I dream still of running to him, having his warm hand wrap around mine and telling me he adores me. I still wish he would come to me and tell me that he was wrong. That I am good, that my sister is good, that my brother is good. That we were blessings and not burdens. That we were his joy and not his demise. But parents, flawed and real and human are not always capable of that kind of love. Maybe it is time that I realize that it is his failing and not mine.
Or maybe there is no blame to cast. But his coldness lays like a stone in my heart. Solid and foreboding. No love I have craved for or received from anyone else melts the boulder of his indifference. I wish it could.
August 16th, 2008 at 1:10 am
Thank you for sharing your space with me
August 16th, 2008 at 6:39 am
I hear and understand. In so many ways, you are not alone.
August 16th, 2008 at 6:46 am
I understand, honey, I really do.
August 16th, 2008 at 8:04 am
Write a book - you really should. You’re that good.
August 16th, 2008 at 8:39 am
I think that dream will fade but it takes a long, long time. What did it the most for me was realizing one day that I didn’t have something when I was a child, and nobody in the world could give it to me. I didn’t have it, and that is it. Nothing will ever replace it, but I’m ok and even stronger in some ways for not having had it.
And I still want to know how we got the same damn daddy. That sonofabitch gets around.
August 16th, 2008 at 9:24 am
I totally get what you are saying.I think my own experience has helped me to be a better parent to my own girls.
August 16th, 2008 at 5:42 pm
my dad is similar in different ways, but I know what you’re saying. The dream of having THAT dad is very much alive for me…you know, the one you can run to, the one you can talk to, the one who looks at you with pride and love…
great post, as always, flutter.
And awesome intro!
August 16th, 2008 at 9:03 pm
You have NO idea how much that post hit home. I could not have read it at a more appropriate moment. Thank you for sharing.
August 16th, 2008 at 9:52 pm
It always is those we want the most, love the most, crave the most that can hurt us the most. I’m sorry.
August 31st, 2008 at 10:57 am
excellent flutter - and great introduction.
I have been away on honeymoon but I’m back and catching up!
xxx