“I know,” I whispered, trying to stay strong, but inside, I was shattered.
The days after my birthday were a blur. I pretended everything was fine, but inside, I felt invisible. Dad’s absence reminded me that I wasn’t important enough for him. Then, a week later, Dad called. He acted as if nothing had happened.
“Hey, I got you a gift,” he said. “Want to come over and get it?”
Part of me wanted to tell him to forget it, but another part still held onto that sliver of hope. So, I agreed. When I arrived at his house, he greeted me with a smile and handed me a long, mysterious package. As I unwrapped it, my heart sank—it was a fishing rod.
“What do you think?” he asked proudly. “We can go fishing together sometime!”
The fishing rod wasn’t just a poorly chosen gift; it was a symbol of his absence, a reminder of the very activity that had taken him away from me.
“Thanks, Dad,” I forced a smile. “It’s… great.”
He didn’t seem to notice my lack of enthusiasm. “I figured it was time you learned the ropes. You’ll have fun!” He then suggested we go fishing the next weekend, but I knew I couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine.
“I… I can’t come next weekend, Dad,” I said. “I’ve got plans with Mom.”
He frowned for a moment, but then his smile returned. “No worries, we’ll find another time.” But I knew we wouldn’t, and for the first time, I was okay with that.
As I left his house holding the rod, I realized it was time to let go of the fantasy and accept the reality. I couldn’t keep chasing after someone who couldn’t be there for me. Over the next few months, I focused on the people who genuinely cared about me—my mom, my friends, and most importantly, myself. I threw myself into my music, practicing guitar for hours, and began helping Mom more around the house, grateful for everything she had done for me.
One evening, as we were doing dishes together, Mom asked, “Have you heard from your father lately?”
“Nah, but it’s okay. I’m done waiting for him to show up,” I replied.
She looked at me with a mix of sadness and understanding. “I’m sorry it turned out this way, Ryder. I always hoped…”
“I know, Mom,” I hugged her. “But I’ve got you, and that’s more than enough.”
As time passed, I learned that my worth wasn’t tied to Dad’s attention. I found strength in the love and support around me and realized that sometimes people won’t be what you need them to be—and that’s okay.
The fishing rod still sits in my closet, untouched. It serves as a reminder, not of what I lost, but of what I gained—self-respect, resilience, and the ability to let go of what I can’t change.
What would you have done if you were in my place?
