There's no real reason
That I never called my step father
'Dad.'
I came up with some throwaway line
When Mom asked me to call him that.
I was young, but I remember saying
Something along the lines of
"I respect my Dan more than I respect my Dad."
She must've thought that was adequate reasoning
Because she never brought it up again,
And I've called him Dan ever since.
I think now I may have missed out
On an opportunity, but there's no way to really know.
At the time I thought that
If he had been the one to come up to me
And ask me to call him Dad,
Then maybe my answer would've been different.

I can't decide whether
I never consider my biological father,
Or if I constantly think about him subconsciously.
I wish there had been a day when
He wasn't a kind and loving person to me.
I wish he would've been more obviously
Cruel,
Or sick.
People told me he was schizophrenic,
But that was never what I saw.
I only ever saw my Dad, y'know?
If he had been more obviously sick,
Or maybe if my memory wasn't clouded
By the idealistic, fuzzy veil of childhood,
Then maybe it would've been easier
To accept it when he told me he was leaving.
But when someone who only has ever loved you
Shows up one day just to
Say goodbye,
Well... I don't know.
I guess it makes it harder
To let go of hope.

I see a lot of him leaving,
In myself.
The idea of running away
Is appealing.
The prospect of chalking up my
Lack of responsibility
To something like a mental disorder,
Or wanting to be crazy,
Has always been so alluring.
I guess at the end of the day
Everyone wants to be like their Dad.