Three Mistakes for the Price of One
My first mistake was not being born with a dick dangling between my legs. The second was my lack of talent in the STEM field. If I had just one of those things, maybe my father would have poured love into me as much as he did discipline. Maybe I would have been told stories of his youth, being able to stuff my mouth with these secrets like a chipmunk, to deal them out to our children and their children like the way my husband will be able to.
Still, in the words of one of my favorite poets, Staceyann Chin, ‘I am glad to be born bloody snatch in just the right place,’ even if it was the first sin I committed against my father. My dad is a wonderful provider, even now his wallet is always open for the ones he has taken under his wing. My father was a fireman. He should have been an engineer of some sort, but he is more than fine with his career as a fireman. He always enjoys working with his hands. He is well into his seventies and his hands refuse to rest.
Growing up, I had never felt that my father was proud of me, so eventually the pride I had as a fireman’s daughter disappeared before I was ten. I say ‘feel’ out of kindness to myself; I know that my father does not feel proud to have me as a daughter. Before I was eighteen, I had hardly heard my father say he loved me. The first time I…
