My father was the perfect parent.
When he was around, he showered me in gifts.
Took me to amusement parks.
Provided me with expensive, luxurious experiences.
The kind of thing my single mother couldn’t do.
My father was the perfect parent.
When he wasn’t around, the father in my mind continued in his absence.
Always took my side in fights with my sister.
Never blamed me for accidents.
Was there for me when the kids bullied me at school.
The kind of things my single mother couldn’t do.
My father was the perfect parent.
He loved me like Sonny Koufax.
He saved me like Peter Banning.
He dressed in drag for me like Daniel Hillard.
He gave the world to me like Harry S. Stamper.
The kinds of things my single mother couldn’t do.
My father was the perfect parent.
Because it was actually my mother.
I am a child of divorce and was no exception to the fact that I held my absent father on a godlike pedestal in my youth. There was nothing anyone could say or do to convince me of my bio dad’s true nature because they were competing with a perfect version of him I had made up in my head. As I grew older and my ability to think for myself matured, I eventually learned and accepted the truth.
I am enough.
