Dear Daddy,
Yes, I am writing to you again. After all this time. Are you surprised to hear from me? Did you even notice when I stopped writing so often and then stopped completely? If you did you didn’t say, so I guess you didn’t care.
This is a good start, isn’t it! Can you tell how angry I am? Maybe I shouldn’t write to you in this mood, but I get in this mood whenever I think about writing to you, and I’ve been putting it off for so long I just want to get it over with and then it’s all out of my head. This is actually the fourth time I’ve tried to write this letter. I didn’t finish the first one. I started shouting at you and then I just the ripped the paper apart. I screwed up the second and third letters too. Before I finished them. So let’s see how this one goes.
Pierre is here this time. Sitting on the bed. That might help because he calms me down. He is my boyfriend. You didn’t even know that, did you? We’ve been going out for eight months. Mum likes him too, because he’s so polite. He’s only got a dad so between us we’ve got a full set. We joke about it, but neither of us laugh. It helps though, that he sort of understands what it’s like. I sometimes don’t even have to say and he just knows what I’m thinking.
You should thank him. It’s his idea that I’m writing to you. He says I’m only responsible for what I do and that I’ll regret it if I don’t do everything I can. Even if I don’t think I will now. He’s very wise for sixteen. Mum doesn’t mind either way. Whether I write. She says she doesn’t want to interfere in my relationship with you. Relationship, Mum? She shrugged her shoulders at that. She says as long as I don’t get upset if you don’t write back, then it’s up to me. I will get upset. So what? I’m writing anyway.
Well, I’ve only written a page and I’ve not even properly started. That’s because I don’t know how to start. I know sort of what I want to say, but I don’t know how to start saying it. Pierre says it doesn’t matter. To just write what comes into my head and you’ll understand.
Okay, so what’s in my head right now at this very moment is that you’re the worst dad ever. You’re even worse than dads that have died. At least they have an excuse. I’ve actually started telling people that you died. Then they don’t talk about you anymore. What do you think about that? I keep imagining seeing you again. You know what I’d do, I would just start punching you. And screaming at you. I wouldn’t feel bad about it either. You deserve it. I bet that’s what you’re so scared of. I’ve just sworn out loud. Pierre wants to know why. I told him it doesn’t matter why.
Do you even know why I’m angry? Do you even care? You probably think it’s because you and Mum split up and kids get angry about that all the time and it’s just a normal reaction. Actually, I don’t care that you got divorced. I’m not a baby. Everyone’s parents are divorced. So what? But at least they still see their children now and then. At least they do more than send birthday and Christmas cards saying, ‘love Daddy’. That means nothing. Everyone knows that means ‘from’ not ‘love’. So what makes you so special? That you can’t be bothered to reply to my letters, that you can’t be bothered to say more than two words when I phone you. When I used to phone you. I don’t bother now, do I? Another thing you’ve obviously not noticed. Because it’s not like you’ve started phoning me.
I’ve just sworn again. At you this time. Pierre didn’t say anything.
See! This always happens!! I don’t even want to write this letter. Why should I? I was going to tell you loads of stuff about what’s been going on. I was going to show you how friendly and mature I am now. Well, I’m not going to. I don’t want to. What’s the point?? You don’t care. I don’t even care. So there is no point. And you don’t even deserve to know!
Pierre is telling me to keep writing. I’ve just sworn at him too now. And I’m not going to keep writing.
Hello again,
It’s the next day. I’m calmer now. I actually feel better for writing all that yesterday. Whether you read it or not. I’ve just read it over. I want to change a lot of things but Pierre says to leave it exactly as it is, because that’s how I truly feel. So I won’t start over. But I will start differently. I said about telling you what’s happening in my life. I’m going to do that.
But now I’m thinking about what to say, even that’s hard. It’s been so long since I wrote that I’m not even sure what I’ve told you. I don’t even know what’s news and what isn’t. I could get upset if I thought about that too long. Moving swiftly on!
So you know about Pierre now. Do you know that I’ve decided to be a vet? I want to own my own surgery. We’ll care for all types of animals, but I personally want to look after horses. I even know what subjects I need to take. I’ve also become a vegetarian. I can hardly not be. If I’m becoming a vet.
Do you know that I had to move schools because I was being bullied? We had to move houses too because they knew where I lived. Luckily Mum works from home so we could do that pretty easily. I don’t see Pierre as much as I used to. Just at weekends. But it’s okay. Mum lets him stay over on Saturdays. Just not in my room.
It was really only two girls but they were the most popular girls so it was sort of everyone in the end. Mum thinks it’s because I’m English but there were two other English girls in the class and no one picked on them. I’m learning judo now. Because of it. Because I got into a massive fight before we left. They kept hitting me but I didn’t feel a thing. I had to see a doctor afterwards. Not that type of doctor. One who deals with ‘anger issues’. You know what she told me? She said a lot of children come from broken homes but they don’t use it as an excuse for bad behaviour. Can you believe she said that? Then she gave me tablets to help me calm down and sleep better. I don’t take them. Like I would after that! Like I’d do anything she suggested.
I’m getting angry again just thinking about it. So what? I don’t want to be calm all the time. Why should I have to be? It’s boring. No one can make me. If I want to shout and scream sometimes then why can’t I? Why should I have to be the good girl all the time, just to make life easier for everyone?? No one is trying to make my life easier, are they? Actually, it’s perfect I’m writing to you right now. You’re the perfect person to speak to about this. About doing what you want and not caring what anyone else thinks. Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? You always did. Even before. Is it fun? Does it make you happy? Are you happy living there all by yourself? Do you ever even think of me, or miss me? I used to think it was amazing. How you didn’t follow the rules. How you just did things because you felt like it. Mum seemed so boring compared to you. But now I think it’s just selfish. And mean. And everyone else has to suffer because of it. Everything is your fault. If I shout and scream. If I need tablets. If I tell people you’re dead. It’s all your fault…
I’m back. I had to stop for a while. If Pierre wasn’t here I’d have torn this up by now. I’m determined I’m going to finish though. But I’ll be quick, because it’s scary and I don’t want to lose it again.
I told you we had to move. It’s better at my new school. I’m much happier. My best friend here is from China. Her name is Feng Mian. It means to fall asleep in the woods while listening to the breeze. I like that. They take great care naming their children in China. She’s teaching me Chinese. Ni hao ma. It means how are you? If you just say Ni hao it’s like hello.
Mum and I are best friends too. Most of the time. Don’t tell Feng Mian! But you can have two best friends. I never realised how funny she is. Mum, I mean. Has she always been like that? I don’t remember you laughing like I do. She has me in stitches sometimes. Like you used to. Either she’s become very funny or I’ve just started noticing. She’s not as silly as you were. She says things with no expression and sometimes you don’t even know she was making a joke until afterwards. She does it a lot when we’re out. I think it’s clever how she makes these sly comments that no one else even notices. But I do. We laugh about them in the car on the way home.
I know that fourteen-year-old girls are meant to hate their mums, but I really like mine. I love her too. But you don’t get a choice about that. You sort of have to love your mum, don’t you? But you don’t have to like her as well, so, I’m very lucky. It’s just the two of us most of the time. We tell each other we don’t need men. Not when Pierre is here obviously. I sometimes think she’s turning me into a feminist. Or I’m turning her into one. Or you have turned us both into one.
I’ll give you an example. When Pierre told me I should write to you he explained it by saying that it’s better to regret what you’ve done than what you’ve not done. I thought that was so true. I told you he was wise. But when I told Mum she said that it’s a famous quote. Pierre didn’t tell me that. He let me believe he’d said it. It’s only a small thing, and maybe he didn’t even know someone else had said it first, but I don’t trust boys easily so any little thing like that makes me suspicious.
Do I sound older to you? Because I feel it. When I’m not going off the rails. It’s like there’s been a growth spurt in my head. We’re learning about relationships in school. Maybe that’s why I feel like I’m older. Mum says I’ve been through a lot for someone my age and that I should expect my experiences to change me. She says she’s proud of how I’m coping – even with the meltdowns and drama.
So, I’m just going to come out and ask it: do you still love me? Because I don’t think you do. That’s the only thing I can think of to explain why you don’t want to see me, or even talk to me. Mum says that maybe you were embarrassed about how you acted. And by the time you weren’t embarrassed anymore too much time had passed. She says being close to someone is a habit and you can get out of that habit quickly and then not remember how to get into it again.
I’ll tell you a secret that I’ve not told anyone else, not even Mum: I used to count the days after you left. I got all the way to 1,000. I used to write them down in a book before I went to bed. I had to stop because it was making me so upset I couldn’t get to sleep. Even after I stopped counting I couldn’t sleep properly. I had to see the doctor about that too.
And if you didn’t want to come here then I could always come to you. I’ve heard Mum tell you that she didn’t mind. Do you remember the last time I asked? It was just before I turned thirteen. I wanted to spend my birthday with you. Because I was becoming a teenager. I know you remember. You said you’d arrange something. But you didn’t arrange anything. You didn’t even mention it again.
So, what am I supposed to think, Daddy? If you do still love me you have a funny way of showing it. Everyone keeps telling me that what happened had nothing to do with me. I used to believe that. I really did. I used to think you had just left Mum. But now I think you left us both. And that’s the real reason I get so angry. Because I don’t know what I did that was so wrong.
And then I get angry at Mum when she tries to defend you. Not like Charmaine’s mum. Charmaine is another one of my friends. Only she’s not my friend anymore. She is one of the girls who bullied me. Her parents are also divorced. That’s why we became friends. She hates her dad, but only because of what her mum’s told her about him. I can’t remember Mum ever saying a single bad thing about you.
‘I don’t want to prejudice your relationship with your father. That’s not fair on either of you. He’s your father. Your relationship with him is your own business.’
That’s what she said just after you left. I remembered it word for word, even though I didn’t know what prejudice meant. I sort of do now, but not properly. Maybe I’m not as grown up as I thought I was and when I’m older I’ll understand it better. For now, all I know is that I’m fourteen and you’ve not seen me since I was nine.
But this letter will decide it for me. If you don’t write back this time, and properly, with a proper letter, then I’ll know I’m right. But I hope I’m wrong. Because I miss you, Daddy. I remember all the fun times we had together. If I knew that was the last time that I was going to see you I’d have turned around. Do you remember? In my room? I stood at the window watching you drive off. I was sure you’d come back. I waited for so long. I’ve changed so much since then. I’ve lived in four different houses. I live in a different country now. I’m a little taller and a lot fatter. But I’m still the same underneath. I’m still waiting at the window.
So please write me back. I don’t want to be like Charmaine.
Love Grace