Bracing myself: Holidays 2008, Part I

Dear predecessor of every feeling I will ever feel,

Remember that time a few years ago, when we were driving down Huron Parkway in that old little beat-up car of yours? You were at the wheel, of course, always in control. While I was probably deemed too young to operate such dangerous machinery. (Little did you know of the devious things I did operate.) I was in the passenger seat, looking out the window, spacing out to the blurry passing images. Not even stoned. It was claustrophobic in the car, suffocating, and I would have done anything to open that door and jump.

You spoke first. You reminded me of my ungrateful nature. You explained, albeit screaming, that you are not required to love me. That everything beyond food, clothing and shelter was extra. Just an extra effort from your twisted imagination.

Oh, you don't remember? Interesting how these things turn out. It must have been engraved into my young impressionable mind that day, as hot tears rolled down my cheeks. I expected a passionate slap across the face, too.

And now I am fighting every instinct not to follow in your footsteps, when I have to bite my lip so that "how was your day?" does not come out as "get the fuck out of my house". Because I am only required to send you a card and everything else is an extra effort. A special effort to make you feel accepted and to show you that, despite the distance, you have a family to turn to.

You're not required to love me, but I would like it if you did.

Consider this my olive branch,
Your daughter