Dear Dad,
I'll start this letter out as I did another one quite a while back ~ I had a dream. I can almost hear you laughing, I know how you feel about some of this stuff.
I dreamed of Papa last night. It was odd because up to that point I hadn't been dreaming of anything remotely like that. Here's what happened:
It's a sunny day. It's quite cool so I have on a heavy coat as does everyone here ~ me; you, Papa. I walk into the barn to see Papa trying to control a very high spirited Appaloosa (actually, it's the one that is in the field next door to me here). I stop near the tack room and Papa standing on the horse's left, trying to get the horse to stand still. The lead rope gets wrapped around the horse's right front leg, up high near his elbow where it couldn't be seen from the left. Papa yanks on the rope, causing a rope burn which in turn causes the horse to rear, buck and run out of the barn.
I get the horse and unwrap the rope from around it's leg. Papa meets me just inside the door and I tell him what happened. I also tell him off about what I think about his 'training'. He just grins at me as he pulls out a pocket knife and puts it near the horse's belly. Somehow, I grab the knife out of his hand and put it to his face, and tell him in no uncertain terms that if he hurts this horse or any other horse, I will kill him myself.
I work with the horse for a few minutes before putting it in the stall. The horse behaves perfectly even though I know that if there's one second that I don't pay attention to what I'm doing, that horse would be gone and out the door.
I walk the horse into his stall. There are two doors here. I have to close the door behind me before I take the halter off or I'll get run over as the break for freedom is made. That was all the horse needed ~ somehow the door doesn't close right and it is off and running. Papa is standing near the tack room, watching every move I make and the horse runs right over him. I go get the horse again.
I work the horse a few more minutes. Again, it behaves perfectly and I put him in the stall again. This time, the door stays put. I pull the halter off and go out the other door, watching the horse play with some river cane stacked in the corner ~ it reminds me of watching a dog playing, complete with all the head shaking. One stalk is thrown over the wall at me ~ I just laugh at the horse's antics.
Papa and you were sitting on a wagon, just inside the back door of the barn. Papa just grins at me like he's just indulging a child's game but none of it's real. I yell at him (since he's so damn hard of hearing) that he's going to get killed if he continues what he's doing. My exact words were, "You're aren't going to live long enough to see that horse trained and showing. That horse will never be a quiet saddle horse." He just gives me that "You don't know anything" grin again.
By now, I figure you're probably thinking, "What does this happen to do with anything? It's just a dream." Yes, it is. It is also exactly how I wished I handled Papa. In some ways, it's pretty close to how I wish I handled you.
You see, this dream made me realize that I'm going about things all wrong. When you told me that you wanted me to be a partner in the horse farm, it made my year. Hell, it made my century. It's always been my dream to work with horses. Always. I've always wished that we could spend more time together as well. So I sat back and waited for you to tell me what you wanted out of it. Hell, I waited for you to just tell me that you needed some help. Finally, I did go ahead and tell you what I would like to see happen in the next few years...I still don't know what you want out of the deal.
So, I made a mistake. I admit it. I didn't want to be accused of 'coming in and taking over' so I sat back and waited for you to come to me. You didn't. You just went on your merry way. That's why I get so angry sometimes ~ I just don't understand what it is with you.
I'll also admit that I've put off many times writing a letter like this. I guess I really didn't wasn't sure that I'd want to know what your response would be. You see, I feel that there is a lot more at stake here than just a horse farm. The horse farm seems to be a mirror for our whole relationship ~ such as it is. I still have a lot of questions that I'm not sure that I want to hear the answers to. Granted, some of these questions are left from my childhood. I've lived with them for a long time. Questions like, "Why now? I feel that you've spent so much time to keep me out of your life, I don't understand why you want me in it now." Questions like, "Why do you tell me these things if you never intend to include me in them? I didn't think you were that cruel. Was I wrong?" Questions like this chestnut from the dark ages, "Why did you do it? Did I remind you of something bad? Did I scare you? Did I, heavens forbid, embarrass you? Do I do something so bad that you had to go out and get another family, complete with another kid?"
Now, perhaps, you understand why I avoided those questions for so long. They're tough questions. It's also why I'm so 'reserved' with you sometimes ~ I feel that I can't let myself get my hopes up about whatever plan you have because I'll never truly be a part of it. That's the way it's been nearly my entire life. I will not let myself be hurt again by hoping and wishing that things will suddenly change.
So here's the deal. As of now, you're on probation. If you want me to be a part of your life, or the horse farm, you're going to have to work for the privilege. You're going to have to do something that will be tough.
You're going to have to talk to me. Really talk to me with none of this "Me man. You mindless female" B.S. (Oh yeah ~ it's there! Not all the time but it's there!) You're also going to have to keep your word. If you tell me that you want to help with something or that you want me to be a partner in some venture ~ then you better start filling me in on the plan and carry it out. I'm no damn mindreader.
So what happens if probation is broken? Honestly, I don't know yet. I guess I'll bomb that bridge when we get to it. For now, you're on solid ground.
Well, I guess I've finally said all that I needed to say. It feels good to finally say it. I've got to go feed the cats.
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