I’m a bad daughter, I missed my Dad’s birthday. I didn’t forget exactly, I knew it was the day of entrance into this world, and I thought about him repeatedly, I was just so busy with fifty other things that I didn’t send a card.
or an email.
or pick up the phone.
Yeah, I suck as a daughter. Not cool at all, considering he graciously offered his financial investment in my budding business. I haven’t taken it, I’m the independent sort, but the fact he offered at all means more to me than he’ll ever know. He’s a quiet kind of guy (except after a couple of manhattans and when he’s on vacation apparently), so he’s never given me much in the way of positive reinforcement. Like any self-respecting youngest daughter who tends more toward artistic impulses than conventional professions, I still seek his approval in some ethereal way.
If you recall, I flubbed on my sister’s birthday in May too, so I seem to be developing a pattern. Do you think I can claim early onset of Alzheimers, or just blame those erratic creative tendencies?
Ah shoot. There’s a book I’ve been meaning to buy the man. I’ll just head to Amazon and make it happen. He’ll forgive me. He’s my Daddy.