Justified Anger

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” Correction, hell hath no fury like a mama whose baby you’ve upset.
Yesterday was Blondie’s birthday.  The two of them saw their father the day before, and he told her when they were leaving that he would Skype her the next night to wish her happy birthday.
Her official birthday is at 7:12pm and this is very serious business to her.  She desperately wanted to be on Skype with him right then.  So she Skyped.  And then tried again.  Then begged me to call on my phone.  No answer.  Another try on Skype; two more phone calls and one voicemail message left.  I sent a Facebook message.  I think we covered all the bases.
7:14pm came and she sank down on the floor, slumped, and said in a baby voice “daddy missed my birthday”.
If that doesn’t break your heart, you don’t have one.
At least I was there to hug her and kiss her hair and tell her that I was sorry her dad didn’t answer.  Because I really was.
Sorry that her father is an asshole.
Sorry that a kid who’s 9 years and 2 minutes old had to have such a harsh reality check.
Sorry because I know that’s probably not the last disappointment she’ll experience from him.
Sorry because I know he’ll probably call her up today and feed her some half-assed excuse, and she’ll believe it because she wants to, like I did for years.
Am I’m pissed.  He couldn’t take 2 minutes out of his day, no matter how busy it may or may not have been, to wish his oldest child a happy birthday.  His family didn’t bother to send a card or even a text either. (Although his grandparents sent the girls combined gifts a month or so ago.)  All of this has hurt my child’s feelings.  It has caused her disappointment that she shouldn’t have to endure, not at the tender age of 9.  And I hate him for it.
I could scream at him; send pages and pages of words expressing my feelings.  But I know that it wouldn’t do any good and may, in fact, be counterproductive.  He twists everything I say, so I’m sure it would turn into me keeping her from him on this, the day he became a father.  Or me being selfish and using the kids to hurt him.  That’s what this type of thing always turns into.
So it will be silence.
I’ve largely stopped writing here, and thought about taking it all down, because writing about him allows him to affect my life.  It gives him more attention than is necessary.  The last few weeks have been quiet on that front; he was preoccupied with his spawn.  Then he came back with a vengeance, bold and ready to fight.  I engaged, briefly, though silence would have been better.  He knows how to push my buttons and get a response so that he can keep going and going and going and going.  I’m strong enough this time, or maybe pissed off enough, to be silent with him about this.  He of all people should know that yelling is good, it means I care; but silence on my part is very, very bad.
Carl, if by some chance you happen to read this, fuck you.  You are an asshole for the way you treated your child yesterday.  Fuck you.


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