dad

Sun, 29 Dec 2024 00:00:00 +0000

My father left when I was six and never stopped leaving. At school events, scheduled visits, personal lows, I scanned the crowd for his face and didn’t find it. I grew used to his absence and started to resent the appearances he made; when he did show up, I’d wish he hadn’t. At my college graduation, he parted with the gift, “I’m glad you’re not a fuck up like me,” turning my achievements into his own deluded, narcissistic pursuit of sympathy. He at least — and unwittingly — stumbled upon a truth: I succeeded despite his example and influence. Never because of it.

Mon, 25 Nov 2024 23:56:38 -0500

My thirtieth birthday party, the day before my actual turn from one decade to the next, was a beautiful night. My mom, both pre-emptively staking out her territory as an Italian-American grandmother and (past but an adverb?) fulfilling regrets at never having been able to throw me a childhood party, brought too much food and snacks and love — or staying up and out past the early afternoon, which is a kind of love for us; my friends, older than me in years and with busy families and schedules, brought wisdom and comfort in growing older gracefully; and my friends closer in age drove great distances to celebrate me — or at least, with me.

Drafts on cassie.ink

dad