I Love My Dad, But...

I love my dad more than any other family member. He's honestly been like my best friend since day one. He's one of the few people I can spend more than an hour with and continue to enjoy his company.

Up until recently, at least. You see, I'm not sure if he's changing or if I'm just starting to see how he really is, but it's become a lot for me to handle in such a short amount of time.

One thing about us is the fact that he has anger issues and I have anxiety, so when he starts getting pissed off and yelling (even if it's not directed towards me), I have a panic attack and cry. It was the beginning of this month when it happened after not happening for awhile—he and I were going up the state for Fourth of July to spend it at some campground with his then "kinda" girlfriend, and he started a screaming match with my nana (his mum) for pretty much everything you could ever imagine.

It was a lot for me to take because I'm not used to that at my mum's house, and while it does happen on a very rare occasion, I'm usually hidden away from the line of fire and in my room with music playing to drown it out.

I couldn't escape it then, and I started to cry. Don't get me wrong, I did my best to hide it (and I'm pretty sure he didn't notice... he didn't comment on it, at least) and it took a lot for me to speak when he'd ask me if he'd packed this or if I'd seen that.

When we left, things were back to being great. Country music playing, miles zooming past, whatever.

Then, about two days later, we were still up at the cabin, but everyone else had gone out to swim and whatnot while we'd opted to just stay in and relax for a little without being bombarded by "kinda" girlfriend's kids.

He decided that'd be a good time to go off about my grandparents on my mum's side, saying things like "Your grandpa's such a dick. He never liked me. He always has to tell me how much he disapproves of things like my bike, and then he goes out of his way to rub everything he has in my face."

Which, no, he doesn't, but you do.

I kept quiet, nodding and focusing on the puzzle I was piecing together, trying not to snap or say anything that would set off an argument since it was the only down time I'd had since before we'd left for the trip.

For a while after that, it was all fine, but even though he only lives a few streets down, he works two jobs and doesn't have much time for me and my siblings as it is.

This weekend, though, from Saturday night to just a few hours ago, it all started up again.

At first it was him blaming me for needing to get my spare change turned into cash so that I'd have more money for Warped Tour. ("Why didn't you do this earlier? Jamie, I need to be in bed, like, right now if you want me up in the morning. Why didn't you tell me that there was a Coin-Star in Winn-Dixie? We could've stopped there when I picked you and Jakie up.")

Important note: not only did I tell him that there was a Coin-Star in Winn-Dixie the second he walked through my bedroom door, but he waited last minute to pack (referring back to the 'why didn't you do this earlier?' statement), which was why the screaming match between him and his mum had started in the first place.

Anyway, my dad's known for joking around and such, y'know? And, like I said, I'm not sure if he's getting worse or if I'm just now noticing, but after an hour of being with him, I was ready to start a screaming match with him myself.

It's always stupid, sexist, racist, homophobic things. To start, there were these two motorcycles that passed us on the road with women driving and men sitting on the back of each.

"Look, the guy's are playing the role of the bitch. 'Hey, baby, I know I gotta vagina and boobs, but you can sit on my bike.'"

Now I, personally, took so much offense to that. Like, hey, it's me, your daughter, who just so happens to have boobs and a vagina. Are you trying to say that I'm a bitch? That I couldn't drive a bike? Did you ever once stop to think that the men had been drinking and the women had opted to be designate drivers? We passed a biker bar not even two miles ago.

I grit my teeth and let it go, thinking that that'd be it for the night since we were almost done with all of his last-minute errands.

It wasn't.

Not too long later, he started talking about how he wants to buy jet-skis and how they're going to be his next 'toys.' Which, y'know, cool, whatever, but that's coming from the man who still lives with his mother because he doesn't make enough to buy his own house. Just a thought from yours truly, but shouldn't your own house be the first thing on your list? He always expects me and my siblings to stay weekends with him, but there's literally no way all of us can comfortably sleep on the same damn couch. My brother and I could hardly do it for one night, and it's a big L-shaped one.

I did mutter a little bit about it, but he didn't hear and we moved on.

However, then he felt the need to talk about this 'psycho stalker bitch' and that 'ungrateful cunt.'

Which, once again, struck a pretty raw nerve. I, being a woman myself, demand respect, and with that, I also demand that other women are given respect. Something that he doesn't seem to realize. All of these 'bitches' and 'cunts' are ex-girlfriends, girls who broke up with him for whatever reason. Honestly, if I had been any of them, I would've broken up with him, too. None of them are psycho or cunts, that's all on him. At that point, he was ranting too much for me to get a word in edgewise and by the time he was done, we were already back to his place.

The next morning we were on our way to Warped, stopped outside of a McDonald's because I had "rushed him out of the house" with none of us eating. I woke you up when I wanted to leave and gave you an hour, but yeah, excuse me for wanting to get the most since this event only comes once a year and you always make me leave two to three hours before closing, on top of the fact that last year we were in traffic for seven hours because you didn't want to leave when I said I wanted to. Anyway, these girls are walking down the sidewalk dressed similarly to me—extremely tiny shorts and oversized tank tops.

What does he do? Feels the need to call them dumb whores.

"It's ninety-five degrees out. What, are you gonna call me a 'dumb whore' next? Just let it out now."

"No, you're my daughter; you're not a whore, and you're in college a year early so you're not dumb, either."

Are you.
Fucking serious.
With me.
Right now.

These girls, whom you know absolutely nothing about, are dumb whores for the way they dress when it's literally sweltering outside, but I'm not because I'm your daughter and you know for a fact that I'm in college? Really?

Not even twenty minutes down the road (literally) and he starts up again.

"Oh, I thought that was a dude."

"Uh... why?"

"Because her arm's all covered in tattoos."

"Girls can get tattoos, too, y'know..."

"Yeah, but I don't like it when they have too many."

"Then it's a good thing she didn't need your opinion or approval, huh?"

"Well, I think girls with tattoos are sexy, but too much is just too much."

News flash: women don't live to make you happy with their appearance. I was so pissed off that I could feel my teeth grinding together.

Day goes by, I'm all over the place, jumping around, meeting bands, whatever, and it's slowly creeping towards the last band I'll be able to see for the day, the one band I was dying to see—Air Dubai. I've met the band twice now, had long conversations with a few of the members, and they're honestly some of the sweetest, most down-to-earth guys I've ever met, and on top of that, I'm a huge fan of their music, so I was more than excited.

I'm up at the barrier for their set, I'm singing along with all their songs, just feeling so fucking happy about getting to see them again. I'd said when I'd been talking with them only a few hours prior that I wouldn't miss their set for the world, and I could see them all full-on grin when they recognized me. It was a small crowd, I'll give it that, fifty people at the absolute most, but it was just really great.

Their set ends, we leave, and my dad says, "I didn't really like them."

Which, yeah, I know because he told me before, but I mean, it doesn't really concern me all that much because I understand people have different taste and even though we're very close, we're also pretty different.

I told him I knew that, saying I'd played them for him before and he said he wasn't hooked on it, but then he continued to say something along the lines of: "It sounded too much like black people music."

I am white. The entire crowd was white. Of all the six members in the band, only two of them are half-black. Even then, why the hell does skin color matter? Who decided that only certain people could listen to certain things?

Oh, but what got me about it the most was how he said, "I'm not a fan of rap." The man who practically idolized Eminem for all of the years that he and my mum were together and had, not even six hours prior, said that he wanted to get Falling in Reverse's newest album because he really liked Alone (if you haven't heard it, listen to it real quick and you'll understand how it pertains to the story), was saying that he wasn't a fan of rap.

It was silent, we listened to Fashionably Late as I looked through all of the CDs I'd gotten, and he asks, "What even is Journey's?"

I answer, "It's a store."

"Oh, like Hot Topic?"

"No, Journey's is more skater, 'swag' stuff."

"What's swag?"

"Like... the YOLO people, y'know?"

"Gay people?"

"No."

"It's a wigger store?" (White n****r.)

"No, that's not what I said."

My voice was tight as hell when I spoke, let me tell you what.

We were both about ready to pass out at that point, me from not having slept for over twenty-four hours then and him from being out in the sun so much, so conversation ceased, we made it home, my brother and I said our goodbye and thanks, and that was that.

Well, yesterday was my dad's birthday and my mum came to wake me up to say, "Come on, gotta get up now. He's gonna come get you soon, you don't wanna miss his birthday."

Another important note: he missed my sixteenth birthday to go on vacation with his then-girlfriend. One of the biggest birthdays a kid can have, and he blew it off and had my nana bring me what he'd gotten me so that he could go. Honestly, I can't remember my fifteenth or seventeenth birthdays, but if he did show up to those, he was late and only stayed for about five minutes before ditching. Thinking back on all this now is honestly making me really fucking upset, damn.

Anyway, he missed one of my big birthdays yet I'm supposed to be there for his 38th—which, alright, the only people to really celebrate with him that aren't work friends are my siblings and his mum, but honestly.

I get up nonetheless, go hang out with him for a little bit, and after a while of just lazing around, my nana calls me into the kitchen to help her set up candles on the cake. I do, I bring it out, we sing happy birthday, and he starts complaining the very second the cake comes into his sight.

"Wow, a ghetto birthday cake."

We had to use tea light candles because my nana couldn't find regular birthday candles and wasn't able to call me because she didn't have my number and when she'd asked for it to call me to ask if I'd bring some over, he would go off about how we'd "be over in a little bit, you can talk to her then."

Next, immediately after a knife was brought out to cut said cake, I said he had to cut it because that's what people do on their birthdays.

"What? I don't want to cut it."

And then how the first piece had to be his.

"Jesus Christ, fine."

Then, not even two bites later: "There's too much sugar in this."

To which I tried to reply as calmly as possible, "Dude, chill, it's your birthday. Toni and nana went through a lot to get this ready for you, and it only happens once a year. Just relax."

And he dismissed it, continuing to complain about everything under the sun.

Like, dude, I get that you're sunburned and tired and everything like that, but two of the four of us here are feeling the exact same way. Can't you just be happy that you have all three kids together and hanging out with you for the first time in God knows how long?

Then, about an hour later, he starts talking about Air Dubai again.

"I'm not really into n****r music."

Like, that's fucking great, but not one single person wanted to talk about it except for you. You are the only one who was thinking about it. None of us were even talking, yet you felt the need to blurt that out. I'm trying to get over it because I love you, but really? Fucking seriously?

So, basically, in the course of less than a month, I've all but come to resent the one person I love most in the world. He's sexist, homophobic, racist, and feels the need to make rude, petty comments about everything. Some of his favorite things to make comments on, of course, are the things other people do that he hates... things that he himself does on a literal day-to-day basis.

I honestly don't know what to do about him anymore, and I just want to go back to when I was more or less blissfully ignorant to what he would say. I've tried to tell him to stop on multiple other occasions (honestly, I'm not even going to talk about him trying to push his religion onto me or how he thinks he's a good person because he's religious since that's happened more times than I could even dare to begin to recount), and nothing's worked so far.

Here's to hoping that he finally learns to, at the very least, bite his tongue around me, the same way I do for him.