Excerpt

My life before this epiphany does not matter. It is a good thing. It wasn't so great anyway. I was the product of young love. The kind of love that made empty promises- the worst kind. And like most young love, it fizzled and died like it was never there at all.

My dad visited me a lot in the beginning. He came bearing, once again, empty promises that kept me floating above water, never letting my hope sink completely. Words like, 'next time' and 'you'll see' brightened my eyes for days.

Then Hallmark cards began to replace visits. But the words remained the same, 'next time' and 'you'll see'. And at seven, child resiliency said that was enough. The cards were enough of Daddy. They marched across my child-size dressers and hung like butterfly wings tapped to my windowpanes.

And when Daddy did come for a visit, money made him happiest. "I'll pay you back next time" and, "This money will make us rich, you'll see" The most disgusting part of this story is how the child reacts, how I reacted.

A Payless shoebox reverently held my savings of birthday and holiday money. It patiently waited for Daddy while I waited impatiently. Because he always looked so happy and pleased when I showed him what I had saved- just for him. Money has no monetary value to a child who is working for a parent's love and attention. All that matters is that the more you give the more hugs you get in return.

By ten years old, even the cards stopped coming. I blame that on Hallmark. They don't make cards that say anything about being sorry for not visiting in eight months. They haven't come out with one that properly says, "I'm sorry, but you're just not enough anymore." So instead of a card, the silence said it all.

But again, child resiliency protects the soul from breaking. "Who needs a next time?" and "I'll show him, you'll see." Somehow you change the situation around until it was your idea not to see him anymore. It's better that he isn't around. Because you're twelve and you don't need him anyway.

Child resiliency says, I'm better off alone.

Because at twelve I really was alone. My mom worked two jobs and I came home to an empty apartment. I would walk up the five flights of stairs, all the while hoping that she would be home. In the days that I ate peanut butter straight from the jar, I hated myself for giving money to a lost cause. Surely it would have been better used to buy bread.