My father wanted me to be a doctor.
A scientist, a lawyer, a professor!
My father wanted me to be anything but who I am today.
“Writers are not rich” – he said,
“Writer? A world can go on without a writer,
This world could do without writers”
My father told me that my stories are not important.
My father told me that my poems mean nothing.
My father told me that this daydreaming is futile.
“You have to study hard and get accepted to a good college, you have to make me proud!”
But, what about me, Daddy?
What about my happiness?
What about all these characters in my head and those I meet every day,
Are they not important?
What about fiction?
What about imagination?
How long do I have to live to fulfill your dreams?
I know, no matter how much I do,
I’ll remain a disappointment to you,
You’ll never love me for who I am.
But, when you’ve given me everything I’ve ever asked for,
You’ve given me the best life I could imagine,
Why can you not give me this little thing?
Can you say, on this Father’s Day,
That you’re just proud of me?