Gene\'s do not make a father.
I have my father\'s mocha skin and his almost black eyes but he\'s not really my father.
Don\'t read that too literally. If you swabbed my cheek and his the test would come back positive. He\'s my father but he\'s not my dad.
I harbor his god for saken last name but he is not really my father.
The man that is my biological father has given me nothing but bad memories and hate in my heart.
A father should be there for your first\'s. He should be there for your first steps, he should be there for your first words, he should be there for your first day of school, he should be there for your first dance recital, and he should be there for your heart break. There are so many fucking first\'s that my \"father\" has missed.
I don\'t know if he\'s been there for a single one.
A father should be there for you mentally.
When you and your best friend are fighting or when that awful boy at the pool says you\'re too fat for a two piece swimming suit he should be there.
He should be there to wipe the tears off of your face. Your face that is so pretty and you don\'t even know it.
A father should be there for you physically.
When you need picked up from a sleep over or from a volleyball practice that got over early you should be able to count on him to be there.
Except you can\'t.
If your \"father\" won\'t, can\'t, or refuses to be there for you physically or mentally he should at the least be there for you financially.
You can\'t pick and choose when you want to be a dad.
When you bust a nut inside of whomever you\'re sleeping with you need to buck up and accept the fact that being a father isn\'t a part time job.
I don\'t have a dad.
I am forced to spend a week with a man that doesn\'t know me every summer.
Small talk and dinner in my stomach every night for 7 days is supposed to make up for years of lost time and years of wondering why you don\'t love me enough to be responsible.
Years of hardly making ends meet.
Years of people asking where my dad\'s at and me not having an answer.
Years of mom playing both rolls.
Years of sitting alone on Fathers Day.
Years of mom crying because she didn\'t know how she\'d afford to buy me school clothes.
Years of me wondering why you always went to the other room to smoke those funny cigarettes with your friends.
Years of being ashamed of my last name.
I don\'t have a dad.