You can’t go through life being drunk and stupid.
I feel that I was born to be a dad.
It’s me being mad over all the times I haven’t been able to hug him in the past six years, for the days I wish to but can’t hear his voice and all the words of advice (and probably 90% yelling) he has for me. It’s not being able to participate in Dad-Daughter brunches or dinners, or not taking screenshots of FaceTime selfies or bad Dad joke texts.
I see you looking in the mirror and all you can see are the flaws he pointed out about your hair or your skin or your eyebrows. I see you struggling to see them as features rather than flaws. I see you trying to remember the last time he made you feel beautiful and I see you trying so hard to accept yourself.
He tells me the things I need to learn in the way I need to hear it. He always tries his best to be what I need to and drive me to become better in being me or finding me.
I do love you. I know I never said that enough. Or at all, I guess. Did you really need me to? Didn’t you know? I’m sure you did, I’m sure you knew. You had to.
Thank you for teaching me that I am worth something.
You can love shopping and love sports. You learn to not limit yourself to what you enjoy because you find the human experience to be too complex to categorize it.
Everyone in our family has a significant other, and you were always my plus one.
At one point, my relationship with my father was such a struggle that I assumed we’d be estranged as soon as I moved out of my parents’ house. Thankfully, the older I got, the more my father and I managed to understand each other.