Recently I was watching this show about a guy who was putting himself through college. This guy looked more at home chugging beers, in the woods, listening to either country or Korn. Anyways, he was talking to a counselor about his plans, when the counselor says something to the effects of how he should be proud of himself, he's accomplished a lot, and to keep going on this track. The guy basically responded with, "What's the point, I have no family to support me? To back me up?" My heart broke for him. The counselor asks when was the last time he saw his mother. Then asks when was the last time he saw his dad. This is where my sympathy died, and I turned the channel. I'm not a cold hearted bitch, but the guy replies. "It's been so long, I can't remember. I don't know, maybe two months." What!? Two months! I haven't seen my father in about two years. Two fucking years. Granted my father and I haven't been close these last couple of years, but does that really matter? To some degree I guess it does, but a parent, despite the fact that the child might not necessarily contact them on a regular basis, should always be in your life. I mean right now, I'm sitting here wondering about the possibilities of my dad being dead. Ouch, right? But I have my reasons for wondering if they would even contact me to let me know he had died. When I was a little girl my then step mom's grandmother died. I loved this woman. She was so sweet and kind. She used to babysit me, and give me whole cans of black olives, and endless afternoons of cartoon watching. She was a great woman, and to this day I miss her. Anyways, about the age of fifteen, regular contact with my dad became sparse. Not because I didn't love him, or that side of the family, but because I was beginning to become a teenager with a boyfriend and a best friend. Finally one day, I called them. To this day I will never forgive them for what they did. This great woman, my (step) great grandmother had died. Not only had she died, but she was already buried. In the ground, gone forever. And they tell me this all over the phone. For fuck sake, we live in the same damn city! They couldn't have called me? It's always been that way to. I'm always the one to make contact. That's why I'm a firm believer that don't expect anything out of me, if you can't do the same. So yeah, I have reason to believe that my dad could be gone from the city, my life, or in the more permanent sense, dead. Fortunately, my uncle is the family pastor, so eventually my mom would find out. Then she could tell me. But how unfuckingfair is that? Why can't my dad actually be somewhat a part of my life. And another thing that's unfair, is that my dad, the man who probably thinks about me no more then twice a year is getting a post on my blog, and the great woman my mother is, isn't. My mom has had to put up with me for nearly twenty two years. All my insecurities, my weirdness, my selfishness, and she still calls me up nearly once a day to just talk. If anyone should decide that they get a vacation from me, it's my mom.

Anyways enough of this rant, dad, if you die before I get the chance to say goodbye, I hope your guardian angels will tell you that I love you, and sometimes, in my head, the song "Daddy's Girl" plays. And damn, I need to go back to elementary to learn about paragraphs.