daily – 20

The food is cool, as I expected. A few minutes in the microwave will do the trick, but that doesn’t stop me from biting into an aromatic samosa on the way to the kitchenette. Standing at the counter while the machine counts down, I busy myself with the breakfast and lunch dishes. It’s Patrick’s chore, but I’m feeling guilty for snapping at him earlier. That gets me wondering at my behaviour. Sometimes, it just feels like I can’t help myself; I start saying the exact same things I hated hearing my father say, in that same holier than thou tone, as if I’m genetically programmed to repeat them, no matter what.

Patrick deserves better. He deserves better than this cramped economy condo. He deserves better than the one-size-fits-all treatment the public school system is forcing down kids’ throats nowadays.

I catch myself dodging the blame again, and I wring my frustration out on the dishrag. What Patrick really deserves is something better than a dad who manages to be home all day and never around enough.


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