Sequel: Butterfly Cry ›
What You'll Never Read
The Letter
Dear Mom and Dad,
I suppose that you could say that this is a letter that I never want you to read. That makes me a coward, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to get out these things that I feel inside. Maybe this is me just trying to figure everything out. No matter what it is and no matter if you ever read it or not, the first thing I have to say it: I love you. No matter what else is said in this letter, that fact will always remain the same. It cannot change because what I feel for you can never change. That’s the easy part though. Now is when things get tough and explaining to both you and me starts to really matter.
How old am I?
That is a question that I have found myself wanting to ask you lately. I know the answer that you’ll give me, and while it might be correct, it isn’t the right answer. It isn’t what you think or even if it is, it isn’t the way that you act or how you treat me. I am twenty years old, not fifteen. I know that you love me. I know that you want what is best for me. I know that I live under your roof when I visit back home. But does that mean I have to ask your permission every time I want to spend the night at a friend’s house? Should that mean that I have to ask every time I want to use my own laptop? And it is mine. I did buy it. I used my own money. Something that I am proud of.
I know that you want me to have a faith, a faith all of my own. So why won’t you let me, especially you Mom. I know that you loved me and raised me and want what is best for me. But can’t you trust me enough to let me figure that out on my own. Sometimes I am not going to go to church. Sometimes, I am not going to feel well, but that doesn’t mean I should have to feel guilty for it. I want to be able to stand before God on judgment day and say that I made this choice all on my own. Not: yeah listening to Mom and doing what she told me was good right? I know that you want to save me from making mistakes that you have had to face, but we all make mistakes. It’s unavoidable. To think that I won’t mess up in my life is not feasible. Sometimes though, you have to know when to let go and when to let me mess up on my own. I’m a good kid.
I’ve never had sex.
I’ve never smoked.
I’ve never had drugs.
Sure I drank that one time, but I was eighteen and in Germany and I didn’t get drunk so why do you still feel the need to coddle me? I want to know what life is like with me being my own person. And maybe I should appreciate that you care enough to try and guide me but sometimes the guilt can get to be too much. The pressure that I might not be doing good enough gets to me and I mess up even more. So please just, pretend like I’m not fifteen for five minutes and see what you’re doing.
My weight is another issue. I know, I’m a big girl. I know, I could probably stand to lose some weight. But am I really that fat? Do you have to call me on it so often? I’m never going to be a small tiny thing, I have curves. My hips will only ever shrink another inch or two maximum. I have felt the bone through the small layer of fat there. I can’t lose fifty pound feasibly. Give me fifteen. That I can manage. After that, I don’t know. So trust me to know my own body well enough to know what I can and can’t do. You don’t live in it. You never have and despite the fact that you are both nurses, you aren’t always right.
But despite everything, I still love you. Sometimes I won’t remember to call you or to jump onto facebook. I don’t have a great memory, just like mom. I forget things. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you. It just means that I got distracted. Love me for who I am and stop trying to mold me into what you want me to be.
Love, Your Eldest Daughter
I suppose that you could say that this is a letter that I never want you to read. That makes me a coward, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to get out these things that I feel inside. Maybe this is me just trying to figure everything out. No matter what it is and no matter if you ever read it or not, the first thing I have to say it: I love you. No matter what else is said in this letter, that fact will always remain the same. It cannot change because what I feel for you can never change. That’s the easy part though. Now is when things get tough and explaining to both you and me starts to really matter.
How old am I?
That is a question that I have found myself wanting to ask you lately. I know the answer that you’ll give me, and while it might be correct, it isn’t the right answer. It isn’t what you think or even if it is, it isn’t the way that you act or how you treat me. I am twenty years old, not fifteen. I know that you love me. I know that you want what is best for me. I know that I live under your roof when I visit back home. But does that mean I have to ask your permission every time I want to spend the night at a friend’s house? Should that mean that I have to ask every time I want to use my own laptop? And it is mine. I did buy it. I used my own money. Something that I am proud of.
I know that you want me to have a faith, a faith all of my own. So why won’t you let me, especially you Mom. I know that you loved me and raised me and want what is best for me. But can’t you trust me enough to let me figure that out on my own. Sometimes I am not going to go to church. Sometimes, I am not going to feel well, but that doesn’t mean I should have to feel guilty for it. I want to be able to stand before God on judgment day and say that I made this choice all on my own. Not: yeah listening to Mom and doing what she told me was good right? I know that you want to save me from making mistakes that you have had to face, but we all make mistakes. It’s unavoidable. To think that I won’t mess up in my life is not feasible. Sometimes though, you have to know when to let go and when to let me mess up on my own. I’m a good kid.
I’ve never had sex.
I’ve never smoked.
I’ve never had drugs.
Sure I drank that one time, but I was eighteen and in Germany and I didn’t get drunk so why do you still feel the need to coddle me? I want to know what life is like with me being my own person. And maybe I should appreciate that you care enough to try and guide me but sometimes the guilt can get to be too much. The pressure that I might not be doing good enough gets to me and I mess up even more. So please just, pretend like I’m not fifteen for five minutes and see what you’re doing.
My weight is another issue. I know, I’m a big girl. I know, I could probably stand to lose some weight. But am I really that fat? Do you have to call me on it so often? I’m never going to be a small tiny thing, I have curves. My hips will only ever shrink another inch or two maximum. I have felt the bone through the small layer of fat there. I can’t lose fifty pound feasibly. Give me fifteen. That I can manage. After that, I don’t know. So trust me to know my own body well enough to know what I can and can’t do. You don’t live in it. You never have and despite the fact that you are both nurses, you aren’t always right.
But despite everything, I still love you. Sometimes I won’t remember to call you or to jump onto facebook. I don’t have a great memory, just like mom. I forget things. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you. It just means that I got distracted. Love me for who I am and stop trying to mold me into what you want me to be.
Love, Your Eldest Daughter