The phone rings last night at 12:30. My grandmother is very sick, so we don’t unplug the phone at night Just In Case. Mr. Kitty registers the ringing first (makes sense, as he’s a light sleeper), and jumps out of bed to answer it. After a few minutes he returns all grumbly. “Who was that?” I ask. “<Mr. Kitty’s Daughter>. She had a funny feeling and wanted to call and see if I was okay.”
That “funny feeling,” you vapid, selfish, spoiled brat, is called guilt. And it does not require a phone call at 12:30 at night to this household. How about calling your brother, who no doubt was still up cleaning the brand-new rifle his mom bought him? Or how about waiting about 3 hours, when your father would actually be awake? Or, gee, how about actually returning his call at a decent hour when he left a message telling you happy birthday? Hell, could you have spared a moment or two of your time when you were in town all weekend? Then you could’ve seen for yourself that he was fine without you here.
It was your decision to move to Florida so you could save money for your wedding (though explain to me how you’re managing to save money when now you have the extra bills like rent, utilities, car payments, etc). It was your decision to sneak in and out of town at least three times since you moved without even a hello to your father. It was your decision to get your father’s hopes up by telling him you wanted a closer relationship, only to cruelly spurn his every attempt to spend time with you. It was your decision to not consult him at all about getting married, or about any of the wedding plans. You may now lay in the lumpy, moldy, bug-infested bed you made.
Your father is a wonderful man. Despite health problems that should have killed him before he was 25, he gets up every morning, plies himself with medication, and goes to work helping other people make their lives better. He comes home, takes more medicine, changes clothes, and heads out to work on our new house. If he’s in bed before 11, he’s lucky. If he gets more than 3-4 hours of sleep, it’s a good night. He has never denied you anything, even after you pulled him aside at his grandmother’s funeral and told him he was going to burn in hell. Even when he was unemployed, he paid his child support on time and in full. It was never, ever enough for you.
You don’t deserve to have him as a father. And I am going to dance in joy come September, when the child support is cut in half because of the unbelievably stupid decision you are about to make, and you actually have to learn what it’s like to be an adult in the real world. Gods, I hate you. And you are exceptionally lucky I didn’t answer the phone last night.
-BK