What a Jerk Kid Wants to Tell Her Dad

Hey Dad.

//// No, this is not one of those articles written for a late father—the usual “Things I Wish I’d Told My Dad When I Had the Chance.” My Dad is very much alive, still doing his morning swims every morning (even during winter). But I was never close to him and since my parents divorced early, he was more like a third-degree uncle and it would be weird for me to tell him anything intimate. So yea, it’s still pretty much the usual “Things I Wish I’d Told My Dad When I Had the Chance.” ////

I'm sorry.

I’m sorry that I didn’t like you. At least not that much. To make matters worse, I don’t even remember feeling obligated to like you as my father.

I remember hating how you always tried to "sneak" me out of the house for “adventures” when Mum was not in. To be frank, I actually liked our “adventures,” but I just hated the idea of spending time with you.

You had brought me to some really odd places and do really odd things. To the mountains just to check out some old bridge you used to walk through every day; to far away hot springs and piggybacked me while you swam; to watch the seagulls returning from migration and feed them my favourite bread; to make me ride with you on your motorbike when you knew how much Mum disapproved of it; to see how far you could get to the middle of the lakes by jumping on rocks with me in your arms; to go fishing for hours just to free the fishes again; to practise your martial arts and asked me to walk and jump around on your rock-hard back.

On hindsight, these things sound fascinating right now, but I didn’t enjoy them back then. I don’t like you because you were always sweaty and smelly when you hugged me, while Mum always smelled like floral bath gels. Your goofy fashion sense was eyebrow-raising even for the three-year-old me and the contrast couldn’t be greater when you stood beside Mum. Mum was always the fast and bright one and she liked to call you stupid jokingly, so I thought you were really stupid and never looked up to you for anything. Your scribbly handwriting was awful, yet you liked leave messages and wishes on the first page of all the books you bought for me. I remembered consciously avoiding the first page of my grade one piano book right because of your handwriting.

Looking back, I could tell that you've really loved me and had really tried to establish the father-daughter bond between us. There was one time you excitedly told me about an amazing book you had just finished reading, Wolf Totem, and even bought me a new copy as yours was kind of tattered. But I just casually chuck it onto the shelf and laughed at you when you said you wish to become a wolf in your next life.

That episode is an epitome of our relationship. You always trying, and me always pushing you away. So many times. Again and again.

Until eventually you left for good.

Still, that didn’t change my life at all. I grew up as a happy kid, and couldn’t really relate to any of the typical divorced-family trauma or angst than people assume that I would have.

Not sure if it is the age, but I find myself thinking of you more and more lately. Sometimes I think of how you would go home each day, opening the door and greeted by dogs instead of your kid; how you would just heat up and eat whatever that is left in the fridge; how you would spend your night away in front of the TV; how you would go swimming by yourself every morning at 7am; how you would read till you fall asleep, and the lights would be left on for the whole night…

Sometimes when I come across other picture-perfect families, my first thought is that I too shall find myself a man who'd be a great father to my kids. Then I thought of you. And got reminded that sometimes being a good parent may not be enough. Sometimes in a broken parent-child relationship, it is the child who broke it.

I guess after all these years, all I really wanna tell you is that I am sorry. I was very mean to you and you didn’t deserve any bit of it.

And yes, one more thing.

I think wolves are the most amazing animal in the world. Really.