And even though I know why you do the things you do, I still have a knee-jerk reaction every single time. Why? Why did you ___? Why didn't you ___? You're like Mad Libs, only the answers aren't funny.
And I could get over this denial of reality, if it didn't impact everyone you deal with. There will always be the wife you didn't defend. The son you didn't reprimand. The me you didn't take with you when you walked out of room when the moron who molested me came in to pick up his daughter. Your house. Your daughter. You left me and walked out, even though you knew what he'd done in his own home.
It took Mom years to forgive you. But I think I was so used to not being protected, that I was more angry at my cat for letting the jerk pet him. My cat was a better father. Heck, and he was such a little pathetic idiot, too, that guy. When I turned twenty I would stare him down in public if I saw him. He was scared of me.
You didn't even show up when I called you to tell you Mom died. Two friends from across the Pacific came, but when I called you didn't even think of coming. Your two offspring lost their mother, the woman you claim to still love, but you didn't come for us. You didn't help me sell the house, you didn't help me sell her stuff, and you didn't help me move.
Dad, you're a nice guy. Anything but strong, anything but a real father, anything but what you truly want to be. I don't wish you ill, because your lack of spine has made your life pretty sad. I love you, but I reserve the right to give up on you. I'll always call you 'Dad', but you aren't.