fishercat
Dreamer of Dreams
- Joined
- Sep 22, 2007
- Posts
- 1,146
Dear Dad:
I'd say happy father's day, but you're not here. Things were so complicated between us, though you wouldn't acknowledge it. Now you're gone and I can't fix things, can't ever tell you how I felt all those years growing up.
This weekend I received the original divorce decrees and custody papers, and some of my old artwork. It just raised more questions that I'll never be able to answer. Who were you, really? Why did you keep leaving people? Why did you keep leaving me? I'll never know. I shredded the papers. They held no answers.
Among the artwork was a little book I made you. I must have been 6 or 7, just after the divorce. It was about ballerinas. My teacher had written a note to you in the back of the book. It said I missed playing with you, and "I'm being a good girl." Even then I wanted to be your good girl. I wanted your approval.
Now I wonder how much of the dynamic of our relationship has informed my submission. You would not approve of who I am, but I think in part I am your creature. All of my desires to please, to be protected, loved, trained, to be a good girl, were started because those little girl desires were never fulfilled by you. And so I go in search of someone who can fill those needs in a different way.
I still love you. And I wish you were here to tell you that. I like to think you know, and that whatever I have to do to heal and grow you will eventually understand.
Love,
Pumpkin
I'd say happy father's day, but you're not here. Things were so complicated between us, though you wouldn't acknowledge it. Now you're gone and I can't fix things, can't ever tell you how I felt all those years growing up.
This weekend I received the original divorce decrees and custody papers, and some of my old artwork. It just raised more questions that I'll never be able to answer. Who were you, really? Why did you keep leaving people? Why did you keep leaving me? I'll never know. I shredded the papers. They held no answers.
Among the artwork was a little book I made you. I must have been 6 or 7, just after the divorce. It was about ballerinas. My teacher had written a note to you in the back of the book. It said I missed playing with you, and "I'm being a good girl." Even then I wanted to be your good girl. I wanted your approval.
Now I wonder how much of the dynamic of our relationship has informed my submission. You would not approve of who I am, but I think in part I am your creature. All of my desires to please, to be protected, loved, trained, to be a good girl, were started because those little girl desires were never fulfilled by you. And so I go in search of someone who can fill those needs in a different way.
I still love you. And I wish you were here to tell you that. I like to think you know, and that whatever I have to do to heal and grow you will eventually understand.
Love,
Pumpkin


