Dear, Whom It May Concern

Dear Dad,

To you, I could simply say four words. I fucking hate you. Then I could be done with it.

However, I could also say, I love you. Usually, it just depends on the day. Or how drunk you are.

You are the main reason I have no life. The reason I dedicate ninety-five percent of my time to be the best softball player I can possibly be.

I could never tell you just how much I hate that sport. Sure, it has it's ups, but it runs my life, and I hate it with every beat of my heart.

We spend every summer, fall, spring, and even winter traveling to play against "the best" as you put it. I come home after weekends thoroughly exhausted, physically, and emotionally drained. I sweat, give blood, and tears over softball because it makes you happy to see me play.

I want to be the best in your eyes. Sometimes though, I just know one day I won't. I will lose the game for the team and you won't want to have anything to do with me. I love being the athletic daughter. I see how much pride you have in me when you brag to your friends.

As of lately though, I wish softball didn't exist. During games, I occasionally wish I could get hurt to the point that I can never play again. If a doctor were to tell me today I can never play another day of softball, I would be the happiest girl alive.

You tell your friends that I'm going to do nothing, except win, and you always say I am going to go to Florida State, Arizona, or UCLA and be a star pitcher. How am I supposed to leave up to that!?

It makes my skin crawl when I think you have my entire fucking life planned out for me. What if I don't want to play softball in college because I am to burnt out?

What if I want to go to that art school, you know the one you always mock when we pass it on the highway?

People always wonder why I want to travel so far away for college. I've never told anybody this, but it's because of your sorry ass. I figure if I get far enough away the pressure and expectations will go away, too.

Then again that could just be hopeful wishing. But, I just wish one day out of the year that you are my father. Not my coach or mentor.

Oh wait, I forgot you are. It's around the time when the first beer is popped open.

Seriously, Barry you are a lousy drunk. You nearly killed us in a car accident once and you hardly remember because you were so drunk. Don't let me forget I know about your little prescription drug problem, too.

We get it. You work hard from five in the morning until ten at night, but there's no need for all those pain killers. God, I just wish I could get away from you. Although, that might come sooner than later at the rate you smoke those cancer sticks.

You say you want to quit. Well, do it. Damn it. For once in your life keep a fucking promise. I have no faith in what you say anymore because I always expect you are going to forget or simply won't show up.

I really have no emotional connection with you what so ever. I guess I love you. But like they always say love, sometimes is not enough.

You will never know how much you hurt me with your words. All I do is try to help and you cut me down. Yell and scream at me. I cannot take it anymore. If that means I have to ignore you for the next two years until I graduate, so be it. I have nothing left to say.

Because bottom line.

You don't know your own daughter and you never will. I hope you are happy.

Now I am going to watch this letter go up in flames at the bottom of the barrel with the rest of our memories together.

Sincerely,

The one who has given up on you.