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He Who Shall Not Be Named

August 28, 2012

The first real conversation that I have had with my mother in a very long time:

(Standing at the corner, waiting for the streetlight to change.)

Mom: Why didn’t you want to see your [biological] father yesterday?

T (glancing around): Because I didn’t want to.

M: But why?

T (looking away): Because I didn’t want to.

M: But why not?

T: I don’t want to talk about it.

M: He’s your father. You should love your father. You should be grateful….

T (thinking in her head): No he’s not. He doesn’t act like it. I paid my dues when I was younger. I only have one [step] father and his name is Ben.

(The light changes and the two are crossing the street.)

M: You know, it’s not his fault. I left him you know; we just didn’t fit.

(T is walking away.)

M: It’s not like he has an easy-going life. He has a tough one; he’s working hard.

T (thinking in her head): No excuses.

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