My Turn

You know what, Dad? Fuck you. Those were MY jeans. So what if they had holes in the knees and I wanted to wear them to church? I was 14! That's what 14-year-olds do — they act out. They rebel. It's not a sin, for Christ's sake. I didn't even want to go to church; Mom was making me. And she made me change, too, didn't she? So what was the problem, huh? So what if I sulked through the whole Mass — you weren't even there! You never came to church with us. You thought it was a waste of time just as much as I did. So how could it have even remotely mattered to you what I wore there?

Those were MY jeans. I paid for them with MY money, from the job YOU made me get, and you had NO RIGHT to slice them up each leg with a pocket knife and leave them on top of the kitchen garbage can for me to find when we got home. Not even IN the garbage can, but ON TOP of the garbage can, so I'd be sure to see them and "learn my lesson." What the fuck, Dad? And way to be a man about it and not even be in the room when I found them. To not even say anything when I started crying. To not even acknowledge me when I slammed my bedroom door and screamed "That’s not fair!" And yeah, sure, that's another thing teenagers do — they slam doors and cry "it's not fair." But this time, I think I had a right.

And you know what else? Fuck you. What kind of 14-year-old girl confides her deep-secret boy troubles to her father? Never mind what kind of 14-year-old would ever trust anyone, with anything, ever again after that stunt with the "holy" jeans. And what kind of father, with his heartbroken daughter sniffling and hugging her Nuffy Bear and playing Gloria Estefan's "Anything For You" on an endless loop, as she shook her head sadly and hiccupped, "I don't want to talk about it!" would make her feel even worse by responding, "You can't even talk to your own father? Gee, thanks," and leaving the room in a huff? What kind of insensitive, self-centered jerk does that to a kid?

And what kind of thougtless, manipulative jerk thinks he’s going to get away with repeating that routine on the next daughter, once the 14-year-old has grown up, contemptuous and resentful, and while she's still there to intercede? What kind of big sister wouldn't protect her impressionable little sister from the same hurtful bullying she’d had to endure? What responsible and sympathetic sibling wouldn't expertly deflect that negative attention back to her own hardened self to shield someone she loved? What kind of self-preserving sister wouldn't speak up for the other, for herself, to say everything she should have said then, when she was angry and miserable and 14?

Not this one.

Fuck you. Those were MY jeans.