Father's Broken Procelain

October 25, 2013
By eatclouds GOLD, Alexandria, Indiana
eatclouds GOLD, Alexandria, Indiana
10 articles 0 photos 7 comments

Favorite Quote:
Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation. -Graham Green

Dearest diary,

Today was absolutely awful. Father had the “No daughter of mine is going into show business” talk with me today over lunch. I tried to tell him about a recent opportunity for a part I had received. I was going to play Wendy in the Peter Pan play. It was a small part, and it certainly was not my dream to play Wendy, but at least it was something. I told him it wouldn’t interfere with my schooling or the almost weekly galas he was constantly forcing me to go to and I swore I wouldn’t bother him with it, but he would hardly even listen to a word I had to say because it wasn’t about going into law school or becoming a doctor or a CEO or something- ANYTHING but show business. My mistake was even telling him in the first place. But I guess that is the price one must pay when they have a father so prestigious and regal as mine. He is far from being the slightest bit sympathetic or understanding, so everything he says goes. His success is more important than his only daughter’s dreams. But I’ve decided today that I am no longer going to let him keep me from doing what I love. I was going to pursue my dream, regardless of what father ever said. No matter how many times he’d labeled the idea “ludicrous,” because acting is all I have anymore. I was not going to live the rest of my life attending galas and evening brunches and pretending like I am satisfied with my life, because I am by no means satisfied with being unhappy. I want more than money and meaningless conversations and boring afternoons. I wanted my father to love me for who I was and to stop dressing me like a porcelain doll, with frilly dresses and a painted smile. So now, I’m on a train, headed to the airport. I left a note for father, but by the time he reads it I’ll be too far out of his reach to pull back. I’ll be gone and on my way to happiness, and father will be left with only memories of his porcelain daughter. Maybe I will find love in New York. Maybe I’ll find faith. Who knows? I must go now. It’s my stop. I’ll write again soon, but for now I’m on my way to make Broadway my new home, because after all, isn’t home where your heart is?

Farewell for now dearest diary. Farewell forever father.

The author's comments:
For the girl somewhere out there in this cruel, cruel world, turning her dreams into reality.

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