When I was young, my family would always talk to me about my father and surprisingly everything they said portrayed a very negative, selfish and harmful person, who I called a very kind and loving word: “Dad”. 

   When you’re a kid, your family makes you pay attention and listen, do as you’re told whether you like it or not or even if you understand your actions. My relationship with my father was never honest, it never felt real because it was based on others. The root of thoughts and opinions I had about him came from the words of my grandma. Everytime, it felt as if it wasn’t me having a conversation with him. It was just my empty brain, empty heart, but mouth full of my grandma’s words. I would feel like a robot, mocking what my grandma would say, not even thinking about having answers of my own.

  Looking back at certain moments that are associated with my father, there are some that now, I truly regret. One time, when I was only eight years old, my dad called me and he wanted to see me, maybe go for lunch to my cousin’s house. My grandma told me to put the phone on speaker so she could listen to our conversation. Since I can remember I never answered my father without consulting with mom or grandma, as if he was a stranger. After I put the phone on speaker, and my dad asked me, I looked at my grandma. I gave her a look that was a bit lost, a bit frightened, like I was searching for an answer I couldn’t find or like I didn’t know what to do. All she did was move her pointing finger four times, left and right, in denial. Without even thinking about it, with no hesitation, I told him no. My dad asked why, and I gave my grandma the same look. I read her lips and said out loud: “Because I’m spending time with my family.” When I heard the words that came out of my mouth, my face went red and my palms started sweating. There was a laugh on the other side of the phone and then a long silence. Finally, very slowly and calm, my dad asked: “Why? Am I not part of your family?” I closed my eyes shut quickly, trying to stop myself from crying. I put my hand on my forehead and looked at my grandma the same way. She kept moving her finger again, this time she was angry. Seconds past, maybe a minute, I couldn’t get a sound out. My grandma tapped my shoulder violently, she pointed at the phone and whispered: “Tell him!” I closed my eyes again and gripped the phone tightly. “No,” I said. The words sounded so dry and weak, but managed to cause a lot of pain. “I hope you enjoy the time with your family, my dear,'' were the last words I heard from him before that terrible call ended and for the following month. 

   I regret trusting my family about everything, I regret not stepping up when I thought something wasn’t right, when I felt like what I was about to do or say would hurt my father’s feelings. I regret listening to their truth when I could find my own truth. Sometimes I feel like my family might have taken advantage of my childhood years, maybe because of the hate they have for my father, for the impact he had on my mother, they wanted me to show him that for that reason, I hated him. Or maybe there could have been things they couldn’t have told him, and I could have the role or the messenger. But now things are very different. 

   Over the past year my relationship with my father has taken a great turn. I noticed that I talk to him about my life, tell him about grades, friends, problems, something I needed help with. I erased every word and epithet of my father that was stuck in my head since I was four years old and started over. I started over with another point of view, my own. I am now able to have my own personal judgement about him, I’m able to create an opinion that’s not based on anything but what I see myself. I trust myself and not the words and hate form the past. It made me think that this specific thinking makes the difference between when I was a kid and naive, to now, when I'm more mature and more independent. I never asked for a positive or negative relationship with my father, I just wanted it to be honest. What’s important to me is that now it’s a relationship with me and my father only and it feels real.