day 24 challenge

i really started my day 25 challenge about my friends first but then i had to stop.  there's no way i can talk about my friends without first addressing my parents.  so here goes.

day 24 challenge - a letter to my parents.

i'm glad my grandmother raised me because i could never seem to find a middle ground between the two of you long enough to find some balance.  i know you've given me a lot to be thankful for - a clean house, good food and most of what i wanted within reason. you gave me the opportunity to go to good schools and make decisions for myself.  i was blessed beyond measure but there were still things i needed from the both of you that had a profound effect on the woman i've become. i know by now that you've noticed i have a talent for writing.  every time you look at me, i'm typing away on my computer updating a blog you've never read, a blog you've never had the desire to read. a part of me doesn't want you to read anything i write anyway because in the past when i've tried to divulge pieces of me, you've ripped them to shreds with negative comments or judgements because i'm not writing about fairytales and unicorns.  then when you see the damage you've done from the look of disappointment in my face, you save the day, with saying, "you're a good writer though." am i supposed to say thank you? you raised me to be polite so i will say thank you for recognizing that i can write well but that doesn't mean i haven't noticed that it's not good enough to make you sit down and read it.  and mom, for the record, i have no desire to write children's books.  in the middle of an argument one day, you tried to prove to me how well you know me and that's what came out of your mouth.  it couldn't have been further from the truth about me but it was a perfect example of the truth about you.  you both spent so much time providing and taking care of me that you never got to know me.  i guess that's why life is so bittersweet to me.  i would give up everything i own just to hear you say the name of my favorite book or what my biggest fear is but you have no idea. and it's not because i never wanted to tell you but rather because you never bothered to ask.
i remember the day i stopped talking to you, mom more so than dad. i never really talked to you daddy, i just listened. you told me to be seen and not heard, so when you came around, i just took your advice.  but mom, i remember the day like it was yesterday, it's etched in my mind like september 11. details don't even matter because the point is everything came crashing down.  i tried to tell you something that was important to me, that was monumental, that would shake the very core of the family you wanted so desperately for me to have.  but instead of protecting me, instead of standing up for me, you dismissed me. you didn't have an ounce of concern in your face for what had frightened me so much that it took five or six years to even speak the words into the atmosphere.  when i walked out of your room that day, i vowed to never tell you anything else. i was twelve. i was twelve years old when i decided that you were no longer my mother because mothers were supposed to protect their children at any cost. they were supposed to be the one person who would kill and die for their child and you couldn't do either. you didn't fit into my definition of a mother and so i learned to co-exist instead of feel.  when i used to come home after school and practice and close my door, you thought i was going through puberty, i was going through hell.
and daddy. i'm so much like you, it's scary. i inherited your need for control in your emotional relationships and your temper - two ugly things in a very pretty little girl.  but i also inherited your sense of charm and intelligence which makes people feel close to me without ever really being close at all.  from you, i have learned how to be loved without loving, which can make a lot of people mad. their anger, though justified in addition to their unrequited love is still no match for the ferocious temper i have.  i'm not proud to say that not only can i spit words like venom, but i have no problem doing so.  it makes it easier to move on from someone when you hurt them so bad that every time you look at them, you can only see the damage.  but then again, we're both leos, born a week apart from one another.  so not only was i born as the leader of my jungle, your royalty runs in my veins.  but you know what always crosses my mind? the lion of a tribe never marries. he sleeps with different people at different phases of his life leaving pieces of himself scattered.  but he's so busy protecting and maintaining the duties of his social position, that he never makes the time to be vulnerable.  he doesn't get to cry, he doesn't get to sleep. he gives and gives and gives from a source that never empties. then he dies, relatively young leaving a lasting impression on all those who he impacted but never having been impacted by someone himself on a comparable level.  if i am to be anything like the lion or like you, my father, i already know that my desire to keep giving will never leave me empty but it will also never satisfy me.  another bittersweet moment of my existence.
as fas as the two of you together, i won't blame you for the relationships i've had or the relationships i won't. but i will say this, the way a man treats a woman in front of their child is where that child defines love, romanticism and the elements of an intimate relationship.  when i moved out to go to college, i had no definitions and created my own in a haste that at the time did me more harm than good.  daddy, i wished i would have seen you pull out chairs for mommy or take her on vacations.  i wished you showed up to the house when you said you would because a child was not meant to watch their own mother's heartbreak.  and mommy, i wish you loved yourself as much as you love daddy. at least then you would have recognized your worth and been able to teach me how to calculate my own. back to you daddy, even though i know how your mind operates when it comes to love, i couldn't help but hope that you would spare my mother.  for the record, i've never heard you say i love you to her and i can't remember the last time you even told me.  the unrequited love thing runs deep under the broken shards of  what we've tried to call a family.
but the greatest thing you both have taught me, that i've only recently started to value is that you're human. mommy and daddy are not superhuman. just a man and a woman who couldn't bank on intimacy to foot the expensive bill children come with.  the more i realize how human you both are, the more forgiveness seems divine.  whether we've done the best we can we the opportunities we were all given or not, i'm eternally grateful for the opportunity anyway.
i have parents, two people that may not know how to love me but have spent my entire life trying. A+ for effort.

p.s. i think it's pretty cool that my initials are a combination of your own.