I used to know how it felt to have a dad.
Or did I?
Was the definition of dad a man with a briefcase that carried the weight of the world rushing to the basement to be alone with more work?
Was the definition of dad a man who screamed when he was stressed because he felt that he had to take care of everything that ever was?
Was the definition of dad a man who walked away from his wife and two children so he could get to the bottom of the next bottle? Did he fall hopelessly in love with the shame and the guilt after each swig? He became addicted to the pain.
Was the definition of dad a man who broke down doors, beat in walls until his hands were shedding blood, and being arrested with dead eyes?

Maybe I never had a dad at all. Someone who gave me money out of guilt and tried to buy my love. Or just to make me go away.

This Father's Day I can't say I can celebrate.

For I'm a daughter without a dad.