Member-only story
My Inner Dad
Finding my absentee father by looking in the mirror
There’s an awkward distance between us. The kind of discomfort that happens when a girl hits puberty and a dad feels pressure to put more space emotionally between them because there’s now tits and ass on his little girl. Except in my case, he gave me up, both legally and physically.
I sit staring at him there in the mirror, because for a good long time that’s all we had. Me, the mirror, the omnipresence of the elephant in the room, because I never really knew him, but I wear his face.
“So… I have this little problem,” I begin because sometimes it’s hard to talk to someone so distant.
“Better than having big problems!” is the rejoinder.
“See, lately, things have been crazy busy. I’m fixing up a house to sell, working on making a camper livable, writing, and publishing five to six articles a week. And then on top of that, there’s all the other stuff, so…”
“Are you crazy busy or busy crazy?”
I stare at the image in front of me. “That’s not really a… okay. I guess I’m just overdoing it.”
I never really knew him, but I wear his face.
