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As you grow, the dynamic between yourself and your parent(s) changes, and that's not necessarily a bad thing. We grow more independent, our tastes start to change, and we gain perspective. The following are letters to my father. Some will be heartwarming while others come from my broken heart.
To see things through the eyes of a child is an amazing and beautiful thing. Awe in the world, a belief in magic, there's a reason we call it "child-like wonder." But it doesn't just stop at Santa and the tooth fairy, the people in your life that you look up to: Your parents, teachers, family friends, they all have that superhero cape flying behind them type of presence. But long after the years of fort building and Christmas mornings, the realities of the world around make themselves known. Santa was just your dad eating the cookies after you went to bed, and your dad? Well, he's not a superhero—far from it.
I'm not really sure how we got to this point. Me, writing you a letter you'll probably never see, and you... well, I'm not sure what you're doing right now. I'd like to think you're pacing around, just upset as I am at the conversation we just had. Unfortunately, based off of said conversation, nothing with you is what I thought it to be.
You always hated lying. It was something I got in a lot of trouble for growing up, and it's a flaw that I focused on for a large portion of my young adult life. It was easy to tell the truth once you accept three things: The truth will always come out, if you find yourself lying, the faster you come clean, the easier it is, and that the truth really is freeing. You see, lies are an illusion, and when the truth comes out, that illusion shatters.
I caught you in a lie, and instead of owning it and making amends as you had taught me to do, you denied wrong doing. I gave you space to bring it up on your own terms because no one likes to be caught. But when I couldn't take it any longer, I gave you a second chance to explain yourself. You made excuses, and pointed the finger. You didn't even acknowledge your wrong until later, as if I had to get upset for you to think you had done something wrong. And the worst part? It's for my being upset that you apologized. You said you were sorry to me and that you would "work hard to make it up to [me]." But when I told you it wasn't me you needed to make your amends to, you showed your real colors. Your humility and self-disappointment quickly grew to rage. You were never sorry for what you had done, you were sorry you got caught.
I'd like to think that your hurtful words and misplaced blame were a reaction to being embarrassed or scared of what the truth might bring. I'd like to think that you and I will be able to get passed this. But illusions are like a mirror, and as I pick up the shattered pieces of who I once thought you were, I know I will never be able to put it back together like it once was.