Not to become my father

For the longest time, the only thing I wanted was a father who would care about his only son. A father who would be proud of my very few achievements, who would be there when I needed him in the midst of my many struggles. A light, an example, a beacon. A father concerned at times, worried, possibly, and more than anything else : a father loving and caring. Caring enough to make me a priority above his own demons, his own frustrations, his perpetual need to prove himself, his many shortcomings and failures. I wish I had a father that would see in his only son a way to rejoice, a way to find serenity as I tried to make him proud too many times to count, as I tried to trigger his interest, challenge his mind. But I was and I am but a distant echo, a distraction from his own goals, from his own needs. I know now that he doesn’t need a son but craves the same thing that I do (for I am afflicted with the same disease) : an approval beyond reach and reason which, in truth, is only a source of everlasting bitterness and the main cause of our too similar selfishness. He never could break the cycle of fear for he never understood his role in it. Now the responsibility is mine and I will not allow the frustration to fuel itself more than it already has and this cursed cycle to hurt anyone else.


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