Thank you Father. Thank you so much.
I expected you to say no, but for you to crush me so effortlessly? No, I'm reacting badly. It wasn't too bad, what you said.
"Hey Dad, I'm meant to be part of a performance on the twelfth of December, which is a Sunda-"
"Yeah, you can go."
That shut me down for a minute or tow. I plucked up the courage to finish my question.
"I... I was wondering if you'd like to go?"
Straight off the bat, you were. And not with the reason against it I was expecting.
"I'm not interested in the theatre."
Not even your own daughter? You have never come to see anything I have ever been a part of. The only reason you ever went to see Callan's soccer games was because he was a boy, you are a sexist bigot, and he was doing something that you forced him to do. You know, I asked to play soccer. You told me that I'd be better suited to netball.
I asked to play soccer quite often actually. Almost every game of Callan's. He had about seven years worth of soccer. That's quite a few games.
You know, you backed up your reasoning when you saw I was upset that you didn't want to come. But you backed it up with "My father never once came to see any of my soccer games. I was in the top league for boys, I was in the fucking Bristol Boys." Yet you always say you aspire to be different to your father. And you went to the majority of Callan's games.
Fuck you, hey. Fuck you.
Actually, I lie. You did come to see something I was a part of. One assembly in primary school. Of course, because of that one incident, that makes it all better, that shows you've supported my dreams.
About two years ago, I did a performance that you couldn't come to. Callan taped it. Upon showing you the playback, the things you said were:
"Your costume is all wrong. You should have got Lak to make it for you."
"Your voice is too quiet."
"You shouldn't move about as much."
Then,at the end.
"You're not going to make it as an actor."
Not one word of praise. Of fucking course you supported me.
In the current situation, as an afterthought, you added the reason I thought you would. "I'm not going if your mum is there."
Yeah, it's a huge auditorium style church with quite a number of seats. I'm sure you're going to end up next to mum, and there's such a huge possibility of having to talk to her.
Even so, that, just that, I wouldn't have minded. It's no more understandable, but it would have been far less hurtful.
Later I asked you why you didn't like the theatre. You told me that it was full of pompous full-of-themselves twats. I said thanks, and you told me that you weren't calling me one, that I was involved in an amateur production, I hadn't reached that stage yet. Besides, my dream wasn't to act. Actually dad, my first dream was never to become a teacher, it was always to act. But oh well. I've changed that for you.
Anyway, I asked why you didn't want to come if an amateur production was different. You said "You just haven't experienced it yet."
I'm pretty sure I know who I work with better than you do, Father. Anyway, that isn't accurate reasoning.
"Besides, that isn't the only reason I don't like theatre."
"What are the others?"
You were silent.
"Okay, if you can't answer that, why did you supply that reasoning as the first reason against coming to my production?"
"It wasn't against your production, it was against theatre."
"But you used it in direct correlation to not coming to my production- the first reason you supplied, straight off the bat, was that you didn't like theatre; now I've asked you why you don't like theatre and you give me that reason.. does that not indicate that that's why you don't want to come to my production? Yet, you're contradicting yourself."
I was actually so fucking proud of myself, I was holding back tears and I still managed to give a coherent sentence. Yes, I'm weak like that, and react badly to small things.
"You're producing an amateur production, that doesn't apply to you!"
"Yet that's why you don't like theatre."
"Yes."
"And you're not coming to my production because you don't like theatre."
"Yes. Among other reasons."
"Yet that was the first reason you supplied, and the first reason you gave for that was that people from theatre are full of themselves and twats."
"Yes."
"And you believe amateur actors exhibit some of these qualities?"
"Yes."
"You believe people in my production exhibit some of these qualities?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Thankyou."
I walked to my room.
Later, when I came out, you asked if Callan and Danica were going.
I was feeling kind of bitter at this point. I knew you only asked it to see if they would be there for you on that Sunday. I ignored that and said "I don't know, would they want to? It's only me after all."
You didn't hear it, neither did you hear it the next three times. When you did hear it, you were silent for a second.
"What do you mean, it's only you?"
"Well, it's only going to be me they're going for, out of obligation. I don't like obligation. Why should they? If they want to go, they can go. If they don't, they don't."
"Jesus Christ! I asked a simple fucking question!"
I've never sworn in front of you, but I was so tempted to then.
"It's their decision. Don't ask me." Then, because I'm weak, and I was trying to hide tears, I came to my room, where I'm writing this out now, and posting it up somewhere later, so I can look back at your wonderful encouragement. You were right the first time you saw the playback. I'm never going to get anywhere in acting. So I'm giving up. Giving up the only passion I have nowadays. I suppose I'm crap enough that it doesn't matter. And I'm going to tell everyone not to come to the performance that would be coming because of me.
You know, I actually hate you. Once again, you've brought me to an ultimatum. I'm going to tell you all about my life after my sixteenth birthday. All about it. And then, judging by your reaction, I'm going to decide whether I want you to see me or not.
Fuck your concert tickets. Fuck the stereo. Fuck my clarinet, fuck my guitar.
You can have it all back. Sell it. Make some money. Should come to a grand and a half. Go on a holiday. Fuck off and never come back. I'm an ungrateful little bitch who doesn't deserve you, or your money.
Probably what you think.
Just, please, remember. Just because you gave up dreams of having a family and leading a happy life, doesn't mean you have to crush someone else's dreams. You've already crused mine. I've given up. I'm pursuing a sensible job, in a sensible career. Little Miss Sensibility. You've already crushed one person, you don't have to move on to everybody else.
You can live a happy life without a family. It probably doesn't help your cause tormenting the only family you have left. I respect you so much, Father. I just cannot live with this anymore. I'm fucking weak. It's time to make a decision.
It's not just this. It's everything. This, just this small thing, has pushed me so close to the edge, and I can fall one way or the other, but either way, I'm going to fall, and I'm fucking glad.
It's everything that's contributed to it. All those hours of arguments, of one sided yelling, of crying, and insults and death threats to mum and violence threats to us kids and mum and and occasional actual violence. It's all come to a head, and I'm not seeing another useless counsellor. I'm a fucking fantastic liar. I was still suicidal when I left my last, but she thought I was fine. These last few months have been the happiest of my life, and now, you've come along and made me feel like this.
You went to your room and lay on your bed for two hours at the end of that day.
Yes, you have fucking depression. I'm probably making it worse.
Deal with it. I've had to. Don't fucking complain that you want to kill yourself when I have tried four times. I was pretty fucking close to trying again on Sunday night. Not as close as I have been before. But it was because of YOU. YOU were the cause of three of those attempts. No, that's wrong. I was the cause, because I reacted badly to the situations YOU put me in.
Thanks.
It's down to one of us to make a decision.
So I'm starting it.
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