Day 6: “Daddy Issues”

Today I yelled at my father.  Yelled is an understatment, my head lifted off my shoulders and it spun around puking green demon vomit all over my father.  My father is an ex-Naval officer, still working in his 60s, trying to make a living and putting my younger brother through college.  He’s been gracious enough to pick me up when I’ve fallen over the last 20-something years of my life and for some reason he is always the brunt of my banshee screaming.

I was the kid that parents wished they could put back.  It’s like that toy you get from the sand treasure box and quickly return it to get something new.  My brother is the super awesome secret prize that only one person can get out of that sandbox.  You know what kid I am- they made a movie about it called Problem Child.  Great movie, but there’s a reason why they didn’t make the sequal Problem Teen or Problem Young Adult.  I was the Problem Child, Problem Teen, and Problem Young Adult… I was probably the Problem Baby and from what I’ve heard, I was the Problem Fetus.

You’d figure someone in my position would appreciate my father taking me in when I was 14 and rescuing me from San Francisco when I was 18 and rescuing me from my ex-convict boyfriend when I was… well, let’s just say way too old to be playing around with boys THAT bad.  So why does my dad get the brunt of all my pissed off psycho glory?  I mean, he gets the Muhammad Ali version of the Veronica wrath, and yet he’s the one that means the most to me in my life.

The fact is that I still view my dad the same way I did when I was 5 years old.  Invincible.  He’s capable of everything and deserves some hot young dame that will make him feel like he’s 22 again- who also knows how to cook, clean, and never cries.  (Sorry, interested ladies- he’s married!)  I expect things from him that only a superhero could handle and I spit out venom bullets because he’s bullet proof.

The reality of this situation is:  I’m too old for this shit.  My dad will always mean the world to me and I am the rare specimen of slut out there that isn’t whoring myself around because my father neglected or abandoned me.  Unfortunately, there’s just been no one else that could compare to him:  he’s bared the brunt of my wrath with excellent bulletproof strength, loved me unconditionally, and even gets my head out of my ass.  No guy I’ve dated has been able to bare this wrath of mine, and quite frankly, shouldn’t.

I have to learn to say to myself, “Come on, Veronica!  Shut your damn mouth, take a xanax, count to ten, and down a Modelo like the rest of the working adults out there!”  Then pop in the dvd of The Princess and the Frog, because Raymond never fails to put me in a good mood.

Here’s to 360 Days- Veronica Graham, Don’t make me light my butt!

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