Dear Dad,

The rubber tire of a bike rides along the pavement, grabbing each and every little rock that builds the ground to stay standing, but every time I manage to fall. That’s when you come rushing to see if I’m okay. You and I both know I’m fine, so toughing it out is the way to go. I get back on and you grab the back of the seat and handlebar to get me going. I’m screaming, “DADDY, DADDY DON’T LET GO! DON’T LET GO!” You say you won’t every time. Until the sixth time, I repeat myself, and you reply the same. But this time, it’s different. I feel different. Almost as if I am flying. Like I could go anywhere. 

I thought you were still behind me, but you were all the way back where we started, watching. I got scared and fell. I was fine thinking you were still holding the seat, but I look back and my confidence falls to the ground. Like I did. Like I always do. I always have been falling to the ground all my life. You were always there to come running to pick me up when I fell. 

I wish I would have said thank you for all the times you picked me up when I was down. I wish I’d said, “I love you dad,” like I meant it, other than having it come out sounding like I just had to say it. But dad, every time I said it, I really did mean it.

I regret not coming to you about things. Instead you found out from my mom, not from me. Even though it doesn’t it doesn’t seem like a big deal, I knew it hurt you deep down. You were thinking I didn’t trust you or you weren’t easy enough to talk to. Or it could have seemed like I didn’t want to talk to you, when in all reality, I wanted to tell you things. Things that were on my mind, or things that I was going through. It seems everytime I go to maybe talk to you, I catch you in a horrible mood every time. So I just brush it off and don’t say anything about it. I also just needed a girls’ perspective; I would come and ask you for advice and you would say to just brush it off, or to tell them off. But dad, like I told you in the past, that wouldn’t work in the girls life. It’s more ignoring than telling them off, and I just can’t brush it off. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you, but dad, I love you. I mean it.

Carly, age 14