Dear Dad

By Kennedy McIntosh

dear dad,

he called me beautiful.

looking back at it now, I don’t know why I felt so uncomfortable with those words

or why him saying them to me was repulsive

or why such affection is what always drives me away.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say things like that to me

without following it up with “you get it from me.”

I truly believed that.

I believed you when you told me that I’d better grow my hair back out

because boys like long hair better.

I believed you when you told me to never eat on a first date

after I ordered the large fries and you told the cashier to cancel them.

I believed you when I said mom was so beautiful when she was my age and I wanted to look just like her

and you said, “you probably won't. your mom was really thin. you have a bulkier body type like me.”

I believed you when you said the man is the king

and I’d better stop acting like a bitch and accept it.

dear dad,

will my value always be based on whoever validates it?

will they all silence me?

will I have to stop voicing my opinions for his sake? will he leave me if I don’t?

will I have to dumb myself down to make them feel smarter?

will I have to lose 40 pounds before they look at me?

go ahead and tell me. because no matter what I think, or what mom says, or what my friends say, I’ll probably still believe you.

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I am a first year student at CSUSM, majoring in Communication with minors in Film Studies and Literature & Writing Studies. The first poem I ever wrote was in eighth grade when my uncle committed suicide, but I didn't even think about it becoming anything more than a coping mechanism. In high school, I didn't know what I wanted to be. I dreaded family gatherings where I'd be asked what I wanted to be when I grew up and criticized for not having my life planned out like my older brother. With the fear of having the same financial struggles as my family, I was at a crossroads: I had to choose between doing something I was passionate about and something that was safe. About a year and a half ago, I built a bookshelf for all of my books that had been sitting in the garage. I found all of my poetry and fiction books as well as a journal of story ideas and poems I had written. Then, it just kind of clicked. Poetry has given me an outlet to voice all of my emotions and help me understand myself better.

Photo by jurien huggins on Unsplash.