My dad passed when I was about two years old. I then got a stepdad when I was five. He was my daddy. I called him daddy, and told everyone that he was my dad, unless they asked for details. I can't remember how old he was. I just remember being 14, going into my freshman year of high school when he didn't pick me up at carpool one day. My sister showed up, brought me home, and we ended up seeing him on the news. He had committed a crime, not a smart one, and when my mom saw, she divorced him. My mom and sister were so embarrassed at the attention and they instantly hated him. They still do, even though he's not even alive. I hadn't been able to see him when my mom divorced him, since he wasn't my biological father or something like that. I never had a car, but I had planned on visiting him when I did get one. I still don't have a car, but I got a Facebook message Prom morning, a few months ago. His sister told me he had passed away. My sister shoved it in my face and laughed. Said it was funny. They never knew how I still loved him and forgave him instantly. When I saw it on the news that day, I was just happy he was alive, because when he didn't pick me up at carpool, I had thought of worst-case scenarios. My mom and sister still don't know how sad I am, or why they catch me crying when I think I'm alone. I make up excuses because they told me they didn't understand how I wasn't embarrassed or angry. They said it was okay to be angry, they didn't believe me. But all I can think about is how he pretty much made up my whole childhood. He was my favorite parent. I never even knew he was on drugs until after I saw it on the news. The two years that I was unable to see him, I got a job. And he came in the store. But he didn't speak to me. I miss him. And I can't even think of how I'm going to get married one day or graduate and do all these things I had planned without him. Fly high, daddy.
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