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Bother of the Year...

Well, Today is Father's Day. I'm not going to call my father. I didn't buy him a gift or send him a card, either. Some day this is. My dad has done so much damage by simply existing. I think back to the plays, the award banquets, the birthdays, and the nights I sat up waiting for someone only to find out that not matter how much you may love them, they don't always love you. I never asked to be a cynic. Part of me wishes that I could just get over it. But that part of me seems always drowned out by the resonance of the child who had to be an adult because her father never would. The thing is, he doesn't care. He never listened; he's not listening still. He never will. Happy father's day, you useless son of a bitch.

I hope my REAL dad knows how much I appreciate him. He never made me feel as though I were anything but his child, and he was there for me when all others fell away. He was such a good father, that I feel almost guilty to even dote on the one that conceived me. There's a holiday worthy parent.