I met my biological father for the first and last time when I turned 18.  

I wore my favorite olive green outfit that matched my eyes. He wore a bright blue polo that matched his eyes. 

The night was fine. I had a photo from it that I shredded after he denied me and said he didn’t want to be in my life even now. 

I often wondered if it didn’t matter that I graduated with a near-4.0 and got into a good school. I wondered if he was disgusted that I wasn’t skinny. 

I weighed way less then than I do now. But I think a part of me figured that I’d never be good enough for him at any weight. 

Just like his stupid skinny self wasn’t good enough for me since he was a horrible person inside. 

Anyway. Today is the annual “fuck him” day. Father’s Day is for real men, so sit down, pipsqueak. 

And not that you care, asshole, but I continue to do just fine without you. 

I’m a long way from where I want to be. But I’m closer than I’ve ever been. Can you say the same?

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