So Anyway, I Rang My Dad (Again)
So. I rang my dad again. I know. Growth is a journey. Apparently a repetitive one. Not a birthday. Not a dramatic date. Just a random day — which in hindsight was bold of me. Therapy didn’t cure hope. Rude. He answered. “Who is it?” Always reassuring when the man who helped make you needs a hint. “Dad.” “What do you want?” Straight in. No hello. Like I’d called to complain about something he’d already decided was my fault. I did the calm thing. The healed thing. Explained I’m not who I was five years ago. Or even last year. I’ve grown. Reflected. Learned to regulate. Learned when to shut up. Learned that silence sometimes means dignity and not dissociation (progress). He said he was at work. Told me to call later. Hung up. Efficient. Minimal. On brand. And yes — like an absolute idiot — I believed him. Hope turned up briefly. Hovered. Didn’t sit down. Just said, Maybe this time, then watched me embarrass myself. I rang later. Ring. Ring. Ring. Call ended. No argument. No shouting....