The human heart was—and remains—a mystery to me. But I’m learning. I have to. —Anthony Bourdain

I am my father’s daughter

I am not, in any way a daddy’s girl, but I can safely say I am my father’s daughter.

First off, we look alike. When I was growing up, people told me I looked like both my parents, but more my dad. I was annoyed because people kept remarking at my mother’s beauty, and did not praise my father at all, thus giving me the conclusion that I had the “ugly gene”. However growing up, I’ve gotten used to what we look like, and actually have some things that I got from my dad that I like, for one, the round eyes that can give away so much, which is both a good and bad thing. The color of my skin that will always look especially native, will not burn and give me age spots as fast as my mother and sister have. And lastly, the thick black hair that is infinitely unmanageable but will look great if a professional attacks it with a brush and hair dryer.

I’ve also taken a lot of his personality. We’re not very social, but we warm up when people take the time to approach us. We have unnaturally close ties to friends, and are unusually attached to loved ones.  We’re not very vocal, both positively and negatively, but we choose to do things to show our affection, or lack thereof. We tend to retreat to our own thoughts and shut down in conflict, but at times what we feel bursts out of us when we least expect it. (I guess it all the tucking it in.)

We are not the closest. I cannot claim to be the expert on his life and likes, or say that he’s the person I run to when I’m having issues in my life. We don’t talk as equals, always as parent and child. We clash opinions on a lot of things. We have totally different ideas of what constitute a fun day out.

But we understand each other when it matters and support each other when we need it. I know when he needs help and doesn’t want to ask for it, and he knows the same about me.

My father is flawed, and so am I. And this reflection of each other is why I am his daughter.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.